Chapter 3: The King Under The Mountain, Unlikely Friendships

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The threshold opened to reveal men, women, children, dwarves and elves dressed in fine clothings she could only deduce are ones that they've either retrieved from the dwarves' keep or the elves' courtesy.

Elegant dresses, robes and tunics of every shade of velvety brown, gold, burgundy and green were majority of what everyone wore. Although there is also the occasional ethereal silver and pale blue from the elves here and there.

Nevertheless, it didn't change the fact that all eyes were on her when she entered the gargantuan doors of Erebor's grand hall.

Dressed in a royal blue velvet tunic that is cut just above her ankles, revealing only the chest part as well as the ends of the skirt of her sparkling powder blue dress underneath, the edges of her tunic and her belt being a thick and lustrous golden fabric. Celine had her thick midnight blue locks tied up in an intricate side bun.

To say that she had everyone else's attention fixed solely on her open arrival would be an understatement since everyone had openly shown their fascination with her captivating appearance by clapping and whispering amongst themselves in awe.

Lady Galadriel could never have been prouder of her taste in clothes for her dearest child. Even though Celine didn't actually know how on earth her mentor had come up with this set of particular clothes, it is apparently better than having to wear her only other pair of clothes which so happens to be currently soiled to the brim in blood and ashes.

She tried not to flinch and trip on her own boots at the thought. Keeping the loathsome memory at bay, she tried to think of a dozen more irrelevant things like: at least she get to keep her footwear, well at least a part of it that wasn't turned into the same shade that would perfectly go well with her clothes.

And before she could even so much as touch whatever last recollection she had in her mind to keep herself from thinking about all of the eyes that were watching her every movement, Thorin Oakenshield had cut through the crowd beginning to form in front of her with all the authority of a king and to everyone's surprise, had taken one of her silk white gloved hands in his and kissed the back of it as he knelt right in front of her.

"I owe you the blood and allegiance of Durin's folk, my dearest lady. The kingdom of Erebor shall forever be indebted to you and in accordance to it, we will all be eternally at your service."

One thing that her mentor had taught her about, a dwarf's oath -especially that of royalty- is as tenacious as the strongest metal their kind had ever and would ever forge.

And that once they offer it, you accept it graciously.

Celine couldn't help the blush that spread across her cheeks, she grew incredibly faint hearted ever since she wore this thing. She had a rather unpleasant history with these troublesome set of clothes.

Of course, it had to be the dress and not the horribly attractive dwarf king kneeling in front of her.

'Wait?! Kneeling? He's still kneeling?'

"I.. U-uh, appreciate it, very much so, Mister ermm.." She then suddenly bends down so she was at his level and whispers an urgent and hushed, "what do I call you now, Thorin?" Covering a side of her face with her freehand as if it would help contain her embarrassment between the two of them alone.

The dwarf chuckles and stands back up, knowing that such formalities isn't really needed anymore and that the priestess was simply growing more and more agitated as they keep this front up. He then swings his arm around her shoulders -since she's barely even taller than him at all- and upon his request, a mug of ale was now on his vacant hand.

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