Chapter 08
The Woods shall wave on Mountains
Human Age Equivalent - 21
"Must we invite the Elves?"
"Here, Thorin. Have another turkey leg." As young as she was, Gin saw the storm brewing and she watched under lowered eyes as her mother and her future mother-in-law and her future grandmother-in-law - who just so happened to be the Queen - wink and nod appreciatively.
"They are invited, Thorin," Thrór answered swiftly. He lifted his goblet for a servant to refill. "We cannot uninvite them."
"Watch me."
"It would be rude."
"We are dwarves, are we not?"
There was twittering around the table at that pronouncement, which only made Thorin more irate.
"I do not understand why we need such a huge, elaborate, formal state wedding at all. Gin and I wanted something... private. Just the family."
The room went silent, all eyes on the bride and groom-to-be before exploding into an uproar, with the males - Gin's father, Eyða, Thrór and Thráin, bellowing as if they were ready to go to battle. Thorin expected one or both to call up the Dwarven Armies; yell 'Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!' and start a war over the fact they just wanted something simple. The females were red in the face and shouting at each other. Thorin knew he heard his mother - You are a Prince of Erebor - as if that was supposed to humble him like it did when he was younger. Gin's grandmother was yelling, after all this was her wedding as well, and shouldn't the children's wishes be taken into consideration? Her mother was crying; her daughter deserved a lavish wedding, every dwarf-lass dreams of her special day! It was quite a sight, the servants disappearing back into the shadows. He felt a tap on this elbow.
Gin nodded towards the door; her intent, very clear.
The two slid from the large dining room in the King's Chambers - this was an important meeting indeed - and quickly hurried to the main hall.
"We need to hide, Gin. The minute they realize we are gone-" Apparently, Gin had a place picked out and she yanked his hand, Thorin gladly following. Within minutes, he knew where they were going, where they were heading. They found the winding, hidden staircase of their youth and climbed high to the balcony, that quiet terrace where so long ago, Thrór chastised and bonded with a young, irate dwarfling who trying so hard to pretend he did not like a certain dwarf-lass.
The moon was up, full and bright. The City of Dale was lit of for the evening, fireflies winking and playing among the tulips on the mountain. Many of these flowers were being grown specially for the Prince and his Beloved's wedding.
Thorin put his arms around Gin, tucking her under his chin. "Do you want all of this?"
