Over Hill and Under Tree (Shiva x Traveler)

[Traveler]

Orin quirked a furry eyebrow at his companion. “For days?” He was rather looking forward to a soft bed and a hot meal. Now the prospect of sleeping on the ground seemed…uncivilized. He adjusted his rump on the saddle and harrumphed, listening to her explain how dim their immediate prospects were. Then she mentioned one individual who wasn’t capable of looking after himself, and Orin chuckled. “Oh…I bet he took plenty down before he was winged, poor old bastard.”

His face widened at the remembrance of their good fortune in running into Arathorn. Likewise, his good fortune he was run into. Orin didn’t think the ranger would have survived the troll attack. He would have been a troll snack, and that was enough to ruin anyone’s day.

He turned his face towards Maerwyn when she mentioned the Forsaken Inn. The mention of Dwarves liking the ale there was pleasurable; he enjoyed their time in Rivendell, but the Elves knew nothing of good beer. He pressed his bottom lip out a bit and wondered if he would know any of the Dwarves there. It wasn’t likely, but their world was small, and there was always the uncle of the half-sister’s brother’s wife’s uncle’s second cousin links that made it even smaller.

As he was contemplating Dwarf-worthy ale and a warm supper, Maerwyn mentioned orcs. Her words put a damper on his mood, and he reached down to the saddle to make sure his axe would come free if he needed it. “I suppose you’re right. Orcs mean work for us…” he sighed and shifted again. Riding was better than walking, but it sure but a damper on his behind and the insides of his legs. “So…Bree and Greenway are close enough for us to get regular jobs going back and forth?” That did not sound so bad to him; they could work a direction, then know that there was an inn to hold up in for a few days, then after they had spent enough time in each other’s arms to need some light exercise they could get another job going the other way.

She teased him about not eating and he shot her an annoyed glance. Did she forget who she was talking to? But his mood brightened at the offered bread, and with a grand smile he broke it into two and offered the other half back to her. When she indicated it was all for him, he happily obliged. He rode along, hips moving in concurrence with the saddle, the Elven bread quickly disappearing between his lips, and daydreams of running safety escorts between Bree and Greenway. Then he mentioned the sea, and he must have shifted his seat because his pony stilled.

He'd always wanted to see the great waters. They stretched as far as the horizon. He remembered stories of how the world seemed to curve where sky met ocean. It would be a grand thing to see. “I’d like to see the ocean,” he said when she said there was no need to decide right that minute. “No, truly,” he insisted. “I may not like the idea of being on a boat, but I have always wanted to see it.” He grinned goofily at her, his face widening in the effort. “It’s in the word, after all,” he explained. “The sea.”

Then he felt he had to explain it. “It’s because the words sound the same. See the sea?” But he could tell that she understood it – it just wasn’t funny to her. He settled into his saddle and mumbled something about people not understanding the pure nuance of the dwarven wit.

Later she called his attention to a change in their direction, and trusting her he brought his half of their ‘laddies’ group to follow after the much larger steed. Orin had already forgotten the animal’s name, but he knew that Maerwyn probably had it etched into her skin. “Do you know where we’re going?” he asked, eyeing their narrower path warily. But she just rode, taking them along a streamlet for quite a distance, until he was certain that they were going to start wading soon. When they reached the little pond and the shady copse of oaks he glanced around, certain that the spot she picked was bound to be visited by the kind of guest that liked to make side dishes of unsuspecting dwarves.

Aside from the song of birds and the occasional buzz of a dragon fly it seemed quiet there, and Orin shifted his weight and climbed down from his pony. “I suppose we could make an early day of it,” he agreed. After all, they were on no one’s schedule but their own. He unburdened his poor stocky equine and set the rolled bags down near the trunk of a tree, stripping off the pony’s back and tethering it in place with a bridle. The creature’s fur was matted and damp, and after about a good half hour of brushing you could see the pony underneath its shaggy coat.

“There you go, Pony,” he said, patting it’s round nose like one might a dog’s head. “Let’s see about your hooves, next, shall we?” Tending to the animal scratched Orin’s itch about needing to do a craft. There was some similarity between cleaning out a horse’s frog and shaping a shoe, or trimming the edge off the hoof tip and trimming down a blade to match it to its owner. When the hooves were oiled down and with the pony happily pulling at grass, Orin decided it was time for him to reward himself.

Now if only he could find a tapped keg nearby…

He glanced around and saw Maerwyn beginning to strip off her clothing. At first he was about to call out to her and ask if she was getting ready for bed. It was the middle of the day, after all. He couldn’t fathom why she would want to strip down in the middle of the day…until he saw her stepping into the water’s edge. “I haven’t checked the pond for snakes and crocodiles,” he called out to her. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

But she turned to him and called him her bear. He nearly melted.

Then she asked him if he wanted to learn to swim, and that languid smile on his face was replaced with a look of surprise. “I…you know dwarves can’t swim,” he protested. Nonetheless, when Merwyn extended her hand he walked towards her. He never could resist her. She was his siren. He stood next to the water as she reasoned that it was better to learn here than in the Loudwater. “You’re right – “ his eyes widened and his lips parted when she fell back. “Maerwyn!”

He paced the water, thinking to jump in, when she emerged. “You scared me!” His voice broke with the terror he felt. “Maer, I’m as happy in a bath as any dwarf, but you know that we can’t swim. It’s not in the way we were made.” Still, he stripped off his clothes, figuring he could use a cleansing, and unlike her he did not bother with modesty. He had the benefit of a hairy body whereas hers was mostly bare. Once he was nude he set his axe near the water, propping the handle against a log.

Water. Water that could cover his head, if he wasn’t careful. “Okay,” he said, beginning to wade in. The squishy, cold mud between his toes felt like a violation. He water lapped at his ankles, then his calves and knees as he took step after step, moving towards Maerwyn. When he was about waist-deep in the water he swirled his fingers at this sides, fanning his arms in circles near his hips. “Swimming lessons,” he repeated. “You might as well try to teach me to fly, darling.” But his eyes sparkled at her and he was willing to give it a try.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The still surface of the water had been warmed by the afternoon sun, but underneath the spring that fed the pool was cool and refreshing. As the dirt freed itself from her skin and sent her hair floating about her face, Maerwyn felt as though she could have lingered in that pool forever. But she could hear Orin's muffled voice panicking above her, and rather than give the poor dwarf a heart attack she reluctantly popped her head back up, looking like a waterlogged jack-in-the-box.

"Don't get in a state for no reason, Master Dwarf," she remarked, smoothing her sopping mane away from her face. "If the Easterlings, orcs, and trolls didn't end me, I highly doubt five feet of water will do the job. Besides, I told you before: I learned to swim in the Anduin. And that's a fair sight deeper and faster than this puddle." Indeed, as she waded out to the very middle of the pool she had no trouble keeping her head above the water, her toes just barely scraping the muddy bottom.

"No snakes," she added, diving under again and propelling towards Orin, quick as a fish. The mercenary had noticed her lover had stripped down entirely before coming into the water, and she just couldn't resist running an appreciative hand up the dwarf's thigh. Maerwyn could only hope after the fact he wouldn't mistake it for some malicious sea creature. Just in case, she planted a little kiss on his back as she came up behind him. "And no crocodiles either. Don't worry, I just checked," the woman teased as she rested her hands on his shoulders. "Also I don't think they really exist. Only time I've heard about them was from an old mercenary captain, and he was known for telling a tale or two. But anyway...."

Taking his wrists in each of her hands, Maerwyn began to move Orin's arms in large circles. "You'll want big arm movements if you want to actually go anywhere. All that flapping will do is just create a bit of a splash and scare away the fish. That's it, perfect," the mercenary nodded in approval as she let go of his arms and watched him move.

Once she was satisfied with the performance, the woman turned until she was perpendicular to Orin's body and held out her arms. "Now fall forward onto me. Don't worry, I promise I can hold you up in the water. Turn your head so your cheek is just touching the water, then move your arms like you were before. But try not to smack me in the face, all right?" Maerwyn added as she jerked her head sharply out of the way with a laugh. "And keep your back straight! If you curl yourself up like a stone, you'll sink like one."

It took a bit of effort, but her lover seemed to get the hang of it eventually, though not without wholly soaking his beard in the process. "All right, the last bit then. This is the worst: put your arms around me," Maerwyn instructed with a naughty wink, guiding his hands to her shoulders. "Then let your legs go straight back and kick gently, up and down. Not back and forth, unless you want to take out my shins." Very slowly, the mercenary began to pull him towards the deepest spot in the middle of the pool. After going back and forth a few times, she reached up to unwind Orin's arms from her body, holding onto his hands instead.

"Are you ready, Orin?" Her voice was surprisingly gentle as she stretched away from him. "I'm going to let go. Can you swim towards me? I promise, I will not let anything bad happen to you. On the count of three, all right?"

Her grip relaxed, but she didn't pull free just yet. "One...two..."

 

[Traveler]

Orin's breath caught in his throat when something brushed his thigh. He could have sworn it was a water snake! He started to whirl around when he felt Maerwyn's kiss upon his back.

"And no crocodiles either. Don't worry, I just checked," the woman teased as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

His grin widened. "Well, maybe there is one snake in the water," he teased, turning to look at her. Then his bushy brows shot up and he insisted, "There are crocodiles. I've seen a stuffed on," he insisted. "I mean…unless it was a baby dragon with its legs shortened and its wings removed."

At each step of her instruction, he followed them willingly. In the back of his mind he knew that he would never be caught dead by another Dwarf doing this. But for Maerwyn he would do anything. Even this. Big arm movements, falling into her arms, and kicking in the water was odd. It was fun…yes. But odd. He felt the buoyancy of the water on his dense body and though he did not relish the thought that his face might go under the water, he was okay as long as he was holding her hands.

The mud was squishy, and the water plants made him uncomfortable. He shivered not from the cold, but from the newness of it all. His face felt like it was extra heavy with all the water it held. Some of the movements embarrassed him, reminding him more of an Elven Dainty Dance than moves that a self-respecting Dwarf should make. But he was no self-respecting Dwarf; he was a Dwarf in love with a woman whose kin could turn into mighty beasts.

"Are you ready, Orin?"

He looked up at her. Would he ever be ready? No. He would not. But he was willing to give it a try. He knew how much this meant to her; his trust and his love were wrapped up in one. He smiled nervously at her. "I'm as ready as I can ever be." His voice was unsteady, but in the underlying tones his trust of her came through. If she thought she was ready to let go, then he would have to trust her.

It was time. She counted him down, and he took a shaky breath. Wide arms, kicking feet, trust the water to hold him. Who ever heard of a swimming Dwarf?

"One...two..."

On 'three,' she let him go, and at first he didn't know what to do with himself. Then he remembered her words. Wide movements with his arms, kicking feet. He turned his face from the water to keep breathing, and it felt for a moment like he was simply hanging there. He could see her; Maerwyn could still reach out to hold him if he started to swim.

No snakes. No crocodiles. Arm waves, kick, breathe…

He started to sink. He looked at her, thought of her. Wide arms, trust her – kick up and down not back and forth, trust her – wide arms, trust…Maerwyn was getting closer. Was she walking beneath the water? He felt the cold lapping at his mouth and nose. Some of it went into his sinuses and stung him. He felt like he was getting nowhere, but…

He wasn't sinking.

He wasn't sinking!

Orin's lips parted in a grin. Water splashed in, and for a moment he coughed and sputtered, feeling himself sinking. In his panic he forgot the wide arms and the kicking, and began to sink. Where – where was she? He had gotten himself turned around. Without Maerwyn he had no anchor. He was going to drown, he knew it!

 

[Shiva the Cat]

He can't drown in four feet of water the mercenary old herself as she watched Orin's efforts. Let him get used to it. He has to learn. After all, what if the dwarf got himself into some trouble or another while Maerwyn's back was turned? She had to be able to trust he would be all right. And besides, he wasn't doing horribly. At least, not until he suddenly decided to open his mouth for some stars-forsaken reason.

She gave him a few minutes to straighten himself out, but he didn't. His limbs were stilling, and his body was beginning to sink.

Damn it.

She was on him in a moment, wrapping her arms around his waist and urging him to grab onto her neck. In a single movement they were both upright again, feet firmly in the mud, and the water only up to their chests. Maerwyn could feel every contour of his body against hers, and the thin elven shift was practically invisible on her now that it had been thoroughly soaked.

"You did it! Mostly, anyway," she praised, kissing him on the brow. "I suppose I should've mentioned that you ought not to open your mouth underwater. My mistake, that. Are you feeling all right?" The mercenary pushed the soggy dark hair away from his face and gave him a thoughtful look. "You know, I think water agrees with you, Orin. You look a wee bit like one of those southern corsairs that go around with seaweed in their hair." Maerwyn plucked a stay bit of some pond plant or another out of his beard, then kissed him again. "Maybe once you've mastered swimming, you can see about doing a bit of ravishing, eh?"

Winking, she pushed away from him. "Right, then let's try it again."

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly (for Maerwyn at least; Orin may not have thought quite so highly of the near-drowning), and when the sun was directly above the Weather Hills the mercenary suggested they finish with swimming for the day and see about getting a fire started. "Doubt we'll get any fish out of there, with all the splashing we did," the woman remarked as she dried herself with her bearskin. "There should be good foraging this time of year though."

Indeed there was food and fuel aplenty in the nearby woods, and as the sun began to set Maerwyn declared it was the nicest meal they'd had since leaving Rivendell. "But it's strange, isn't it?" she asked after supper, leaning against her partner and taking a pull from her flask. "Seeing the sun go down with no mountains to hide it. Just those little bumps."

Maerwyn waved the flask dismissively in the direction of the Weather Hills before offering it to Orin. A moment later, she rested her head on his shoulder. "We've come quite a way since the spring, haven't we, my bear? Do...do you miss your home at all?"

A selfish part of her wanted him to say no. That he didn't miss his homeland, or his family, or his people. Stars, but they hadn't seen any other dwarves since leaving Dale. What must that have been like for him? Maerwyn squeezed his hand a little in silent sympathy, but it wasn't enough to silence the wicked prayer that he wouldn't ever want to be back among his own kind. That he could be happy with her and her alone for the rest of his days.

"How do you think things would have turned out if I hadn't approached you back at the Lantern?" the mercenary asked, trying to drive the worrisome thoughts from her mind. "Do you think you'd be here now? Or would you be in Moria, roasting over some orc's fire?" She grinned wickedly before wrapping a playful arm about his shoulders.

 

[Traveler]

Stinging, cold, cruel water filled his nostrils and mouth. He couldn't remember exactly how to float anymore. It was as if the water was sucking him down like a soulless dragon slurping him down its throat. Then he felt Maerwyn's strong hands grasping him and pulling him up, which was good; he was starting to feel the muck beneath his fingertips. Soon he'd be resting on the pond's floor – little did he know that he could have simply stood up and his face would be above the water!

Then she praised him and kissed him, and he tried to listen as she coughed and choked. "I'm m-much better than the, the time in the river!" he said, grinning through the stinging pain. She gave him a reason to keep on swimming (the ravishing, of course!) and they continued for the rest of the afternoon. It was rather pleasant, and soon he found himself able to float and swim short distances without drowning himself. He also learned that the pond wasn't as deep as he thought it was, which was a great reassurance.

When it was time to get out, he shook himself on the banks like a beast, sending sprays of water everywhere. She preferred the bear skin, an itchy thing that the did not like to think of rubbing against his skin. Orin found a mostly clean cloth to rub himself dry on, then proceeded to get dressed. "We have some food left from Rivendell," he said as he pulled his boots back on. Then he followed her gaze when she mentioned the sun set.

"Mmm, I suppose it's strange. I mean, it's different." He sat down to tie his lacings. "I don't really miss home." He looked up at her, his beard still dripping. "I mean…it's strange to not hear their voices, but I didn't really have close friends there. Just…familiar things. It's not the same." He dug through his pack and found his stiff, thick comb. He ran it through his short beard before finding a vial with some creamy oil in it and rubbing it through the curly stiff hair with his fingers. Then he began to comb out his hair to braid back into a single tail at the back of his head.

"Do you miss your family?" he asked, glancing over at her. He knew that he did. More than his own mountain, truth be told. The sound of the children's voices, the laughter from the womenfolk – it was like a serenade.

As he finished up his boots and pulled his shirt on over his furry chest, Maerwyn asked him what he thought would have happened had they never met. "Oh…" he frowned, then leaned back against a tree trunk. "I would have probably been robbed blind before I ever reached there, honestly. Maybe left on the side of the road somewhere by some highway men." He smirked at her. "I don't think I would have ever made it to Moria on my own. I mean…we're still a great distance away, and I have the best guide in Middle Earth."

He pulled her into his lap when she went to hug him, and then peppered her with scratchy kisses along her bosom and neck. Once the giggling and kissing had subsided, he rested with her, gazing at the now-settling pond. "I think we were meant to find each other. If I hadn't met you on the road you might have pulled my sorry ass out of a ditch somewhere, or found me in a spider's nest and rescue me."

His light brown eyes rested on her slate grey gems. "Because that's what you do, Maer. You save me." He sighed contentedly. Then his stomach growled, and he laughed. "And you feed me. You mentioned foraging?"

They found edible plants, thanks to Maerwyn's knowledge of the forest. Wild onions, mushrooms, and a strange root that was something like a potato but narrow and red. That and some of their dried meat and fruit made an amazing stew that he was certain they could never replicate on purpose. With a warm fire as company and stew that he savored, knowing this was the only time in his life he would taste this delicious combination, they passed the evening. Orin sang songs to his beloved guide and told her stories of the mountain. He smiled at her in the firelight as he took another bite, letting the flavors of their 'Pond Stew' linger on his tongue before chewing and swallowing.

"You once said that you used to look at the women dwarves and admire the way they wore jewels in their beard and hair," he remembered. "I'd love to put jewels in your hair," he said, "but I'm concerned that people might try to rob you if you wore your jewels in the open like that." If they lived in a town where they were known, she could. But she wasn't one to set down roots. "You're very pretty. I think I'm beginning to get a preference for women without their beards," he admitted, smiling bashfully at her. "That, and swimming…pretty soon I'll have more in common with the humans than my own people," he added with a grin.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn tried her hardest not to smile when Orin said he didn't miss home. He doesn't miss home yet she told herself, trying to stay realistic, but gave him a little squeeze of appreciation all the same. "I can't imagine you not having close friends," she remarked, taking another drink. "Everyone seems to like you, Orin. Men, elves, horses..." She nodded in acknowledgement to where Rhawnaur and Pony were blissfully grazing at the last of the summer grasses.

"Do you miss your family?" he asked, his eyes staring into Maerwyn's in that way she found so wonderful yet unavoidable. Still, she did her best to shrug and look away.

"Not really. I haven't had much of one since Mama passed away, and even before then then the older boys--Fulgrim and Valgrim--left home when they turned fifteen, as lads do among our people," she explained, tucking away her flask. "They're ten and twelve years older than I am, so as you can imagine I was quite small when they went away. Beorgrim and I were closer, he's only got six years on me, but even he started to go off with Da--I mean, Hulgrim--on his wanderings, and I didn't see much of him. For the most part it was just my mother and I, up until...well, you know."

The mercenary sighed a little, then tilted her head as she stared at her lover. "Mama would have liked you," she declared. "She always said men need to be as kind as they are strong, and you've plenty of both gifts, my bear. She had a soft spot for singers too," she added with a wink before continuing.

"After I set out on my own, I only ever saw Hulgrim and my brothers every few years when I passed through the Vales. As for all those cousins and aunts and uncles and things...Stars, I don't think I'd seen any of them since I was a wee lass." Maerwyn paused, her mouth quirking in something that was almost a smile. "Midsummer was fun though, wasn't it? Maybe we can head up that way again next year."

She couldn't help but nod in agreement that Orin probably wouldn't have made it all the way to Moria on his own, but she chuffed in response to all the unfortunate fates the dwarf had dreamed up for his theoretical self. "Give yourself a bit of credit, my bear. I don't know that you need me to save you, exactly. In fact, I seem to recall someone tackling a troll into a river to save me not so very long ago. I think you have all the strength and courage in the world you need to save yourself and others, Orin," the mercenary determined. "You just need someone to guide it all in the right direction. That's why you need me. I told you that back in the Lantern, didn't I?"

Maerwyn chucked as she ran her fingers through the damp locks hanging like pondweed around her face. "Oh aye, I'm sure a set of diamonds and rubies would look just lovely. Have you got any on hand?" she teased. "On this side of the mountains, robbers are the worst we have to fear, and I know a thing or two about dispatching them." She drew a threatening line across her throat with her finger. A followup thought occurred to her. "Well, robbers and hungry beasties. We should still keep up a watch for now."

An unfortunate necessity, considering she would have liked to drop her guard and drag her lover to the sheltered moss beneath the willows for a quick tryst. But they would be at the Forsaken Inn soon enough, with a comfortable bed and a locking door to keep out any intrusions.

Indeed, they came upon that very structure a couple days later, and considering how gray and cold the days had turned since their afternoon at the pond, Maerwyn was grateful to see the cheery orange lights peering out the many windows of the inn. The structure almost resembled a small castle or watchtower, which wasn't surprising considering the proprietor, old Mr. Jarrett Thorne, claimed be descended from the royal line of old Cardolan. Thorne and his vast brood of children and grandchildren lived like petty nobles of an empty kingdom, the brawny ones carrying crudely-made pikes as they patrolled the gates at night, while the others tended to the livestock and vast gardens that kept the inn's pantry well-stocked with supplies.

Young Billy Thorne was ready to greet the woman and dwarf at the stables, recognizing the former and greeting the latter with an equal smile. "We should have a room ready for you, Miss" the young man remarked as they dismounted. "It's a busy crowd tonight--Grandda's in his element, o' course--but after that business with the bandits a few years back I know he'll make space for you and your friend." The boy paused and looked curiously at Orin. "We've got a few dwarves in the house at the moment. Friends of yours, maybe?"

That thought brightened Maerwyn's expression considerable. "Where there's dwarves, there's treasure needing to be guarded," she murmured to Orin as they entered the common room. Here a gaggle of Thorne girls flitted from table to table, doling out dinner and drinks and avoiding the swatting hands of drunken patrons who found them a bit too pretty to resist. Daisy Thorne, a woman of about Maerwyn's own age, spotted the pair immediately and gave them a greeting as warm as Billy's, ushering them to a table near the fire while she saw about preparing a room and some supper for the guests.

The rest of the patrons were mostly men, inhabitants of Breeland out for a bit of adventure or else wandering strangers like the mercenary herself. In the corner of the room she saw a pair of shadowy figures dressed like Rangers, and along the far wall three hunched, bearded figures were conversing quietly among themselves. Maerwyn raised her mug of ale and let her eyes shift in their direction. "That must be them," she remarked, taking a drink. "Think we ought to approach them now, or wait a bit?"

 

[Traveler]

It seemed that Maerwyn had some similarities in her youth that Orin had. In many ways they were both 'only' children, both so far removed from their siblings in age. He blushed beneath his beard at her assertation that her mother would have liked him. Having her father approve of him and the thought that her mother would, too, made him feel warm inside. It was better than a mug of mulled spice and wine. Add to that her decision that he only needed someone to guide him and not to protect him, and he felt like he had just been dubbed the King of the Mountain.

That warm feeling of being appreciated and liked followed him the next few days as they came down the East side of the mountain range and made their way to the Forsaken Inn. The weather was brisk; a taste of the winter to come. He pulled the fur collar of his jacket around his neck and gazed at the inn as if it were an old friend. The idyllic hillsides and wooden fences made him feel like the place had its arms held wide open to welcome them. He liked the massive stonework and the show of permanence in the structure and was happy to see that the stables were well appointed for their mounts.

"Is there any city in which you do not know people?" Orin asked Maerwyn, his eyes flashing in admiration at how she seemed to have friends everywhere (and enemies as well), reinforcing his feeling that she was a woman who traveled extensively.

At the young lad's question about the dwarves being at the house, and whether they were friends of his, Orin teased, "Are you sure they be dwarves and not simply a band of stocky woodcutters?" Then he grinned, revealing it was all in jest. And of course, Maerwyn's induction that dwarves meant potential work brightened his mood even further.

It seemed the people here all looked similar. Orin, not realizing that the inn was run by an extensive family, took a look at the serving girls and assumed that all the people in the area must look alike. He wondered how anyone could tell each other apart. But everyone seemed to recognize Maerwyn. It seemed the lady acting as hostess recognized her, as if she was a long-lost friend, and beckoned them both to a table.

His eyes slipped over the table of dwarves as he walked. They seemed deep in their discussion and in their cups. He placed a hand on the side of his tankard, trying to figure out how approachable they might be. "If anything, we give them a little time to figure us out before we approach," he said. "They way they are sitting makes me think that they don't trust anyone. Which…" he shrugged, "is pretty normal for my folk. But they're not from my mountain as far as I can tell."

Dwarves

He raised his tankard and looked over at the trio. When he saw he caught one's eye, he inclined his head in a silent greeting and lifted his glass, acknowledging them without seeming nosey, then turned back to Maerwyn and took a deep drink. "That's pretty good ale," he complimented as he wiped the back of his forearm across his frothy beard. "Not bad at all."

Silently he took stock of the room. From the rangers in the back to the common farmers and craftsmen filling the room, it appeared that the Forsaken Inn was frequently full of regular guests and those passing through. It seemed strange to think that in a month this place would be a familiar stop to him, if Maerwyn's plans unfolded as she had hoped. Right now, it seemed full of mystery. He wondered if there would come a day when the stable boy or the hostess would greet him as cheerfully as they greeted his woman.

Orin blinked mid-draft. He held the mug to his lips and blinked at the thought. His woman. Was she? She said she was, and they that decided to travel together and work together, so did that make it so? "Hey Maerwyn," he began as he set down the mug a second time, "if anyone asks, do I say that you're a guide-mercenary, or do I tell them that you're my woman?" He had to practically shout to be heard. The din in the room had grown to a low roar of mixed voices, clanking silverware, and the intermittent sounds of a lute being strummed.

A moment later the gruff, blonder of the trio of dwarves was at their table. His deep-set eyes looked more like shadows beneath his brow and his forehead was lined in deep grooves. Through the mass of his tangled, braided beard a bottom lip jutted as if he was upset about something. He said something to Orin in the gruff dwarven tongue as he looked from the younger dwarf to the human woman.

"Please, the common tongue," Orin said, indicating Maerwyn.

The dwarf harrumphed and put his thick hands on his hips. "I said, we're wondering what a dwarven lass is doing traveling with a human," he raised an eyebrow at Maerwyn.

Orin grinned cheekily at his companion. "Well…I am Orin Indrafangin, of the House of Durin, son of Thimli, son of Thraem, who helped forge the Doors of Durin (Moria), son of Morlig who fought in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. If you would like more of our story," he glanced around the dwarf to the table with the others, "we should feast together and talk like Sons of Ilúvatar."

The stranger glanced over his shoulder and nodded his head to the side. A moment later the eldest of the trio nodded. "Alright," their newfound host said, "but yer paying yer own meals and ale," he warned.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Stars but it felt good to be in a tavern again. Maerwyn loved it better than being in any grand elven hall, or even her father's own great house. And when the weather was as cold and damp as it was tonight, it was even preferable to sleeping out under the stars. The drinks were strong and the food delicious, and the Thornes had even acquired a wandering minstrel from somewhere. The mercenary couldn't help but grin across the table at her partner, even going so far as to raise a mug in his honor.

"You've met a fair number of people yourself on this little journey of yours, Master Dwarf," she remarked, thinking of the comment he'd made earlier about how she seemed to know people in every city she visited (though calling the Forsaken Inn a city was at best a great compliment to its proprietors, and at worst a gross understatement). "I don't imagine any of them will soon forget you. You may have a few enemies waiting for you back in Laketown of course, should you ever return that way, but no doubt there will be friends watching for you always in Rivendell. And certainly in the Vales of the Anduin."

But for all the people Orin might have known, he made it clear the other dwarves in the room were not among them. "Pity," Maerwyn said, shaking her head a little. "But you all speak the same language, aye? You should be able to communicate well enough with them, when you think the time is right." That was another advantage to going into business with her lover: although the mercenary had never hesitated to approach dwarves as clients, for every one that said yes, it always seemed that ten more said no. Hopefully with Orin's help she could improve that ratio a bit.

"Hey Maerwyn," the dwarf remarked over his ale. "If anyone asks, do I say that you're a guide-mercenary, or do I tell them that you're my woman?"

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "Drunk already, my bear?" she teased, tempted to lean across the table and kiss him for it. In the eyes of potential clients, especially ones who might not approve of their countryman fucking a mortal woman, she refrained. "It's mercenary work we're wanting, unless you've suddenly decided to take up pandering as a trade and intend to try and sell me off. Best of luck to you if so." She took another long drink from her own mug. "I'd not tell anyone I'm your guide either," the mercenary added with a thought. "You want to seem experienced, aye? No need to tell a client you've no idea where you're headed in the meantime."

"Just tell them we're partners," Maerwyn concluded with a nod, though her eyes were gentle as she resisted the urge to take his hand. "It's the truth, after all. And..." She leaned forward enough to brush her lips against his ear, as though she were sharing an important mercenary trade secret. "If I were to be anyone's woman besides my own, then yes, Orin, I would be yours."

Perhaps she was drinking her ale a little too fast as well.

Thankfully she didn't need to worry about making the first approach to the dwarves at the other table. Indeed, neither she nor Orin had to approach them at all; the towheaded one with golden beads threaded in his beard came to them first, muttering something in the dwarves' throaty, gutteral language. Whatever the stranger had said, her partner seemed to understand it, though he was thoughtful enough to request the dwarf repeat his words in Westron.

"I said, we're wondering what a dwarven lass is doing traveling with a human."

Under any other circumstance the mercenary would have been unfazed by the remark; she might have even laughed at it. But not when the object of ridicule was her lover. Her fingers slowly curled into a fist, and it took several deep breaths to drop it into her lap and force a smile onto her face after Orin had made his introduction. "And I'm Maerwyn, sometimes known as Maerwyn Two-Swords." The fist opened and rested gently on the hilt of one of Thilion's elven blades. Her smile grew warmer as her body relaxed, this one small gesture restoring her confidence and professional demeanor. "Master Orin and I are partners and traveling companions."

Something in the dwarf's eyes told her he didn't quite believe that summary of their relationship, but it didn't stop him from waving over his companions. Not only that, but a fourth diminutive figure had appeared, this one armorless but dressed in an oversized tunic and close-fitting breeches. Judging by their golden beard Maerwyn suspected the newcomer might be kin to the first dwarf that had approached them, albeit a good deal younger, and when a surprisingly sweet and musical voice emitted from their sensual lips she realized with some shock that this could only be a dwarven woman.

The mercenary couldn't make out the exchange in Dwarven that followed, but Orin no doubt could hear and understand every word. "I told you to stay upstairs," one of the dwarves gruffly replied to the girl.

"Uncle said if I wore lad's togs I could come down!" the dwarfmaid argued, her fierce green eyes glinting rebelliously beneath their heavy lashes. Before any of the others could argue with her, the girl suddenly realized there were strangers at the table. Anger turned to amazement as she stared first at Maerwyn, then at Orin. The latter figure brought a warm blush to her cheeks, and instinctively she reached for the hem of her tunic, trying her best to offer him an awkward curtsy.

"Forgive me, My Lord," she apologized to Orin in their shared tongue. "I didn't realize I was interrupting." The dwarfmaid hardly seemed as concerned for her kin's sake as his, however. "I am Erís, daughter of Nyr, son of Nithi. May I ask what brings my countryman to this desolate place?"

 

[Traveler]

Orin raised a scruffy brow, nodded as if the description Maerwyn had given them was sufficient without shared ale, and smiled thinly at the dwarf challenging his choice of company. The insistence that they pay their own way was a boon; he had thought the one who walked over had insulted him more by not introducing himself first then by calling Orin a lass, and he was still waiting for that introduction with the man waved over his companions.

That act alone set the stage for their conversation. To join another's table was a sign of deference. You were their guest, not the other way around. Orin had expected them to invite the two newcomers to their protected corner, but instead, they joined them in the open. To Orin it meant two things; the first was that the unnamed dwarf saw Orin and Maerwyn as having some sort of standing in this community that was above their own, perhaps from the way the proprietors had greeted them. The second thing was that they saw being in the two partners' presence as more protective than having the tavern wall at their back.

He wished he could share those insights with the mercenary, but he could not. They would have to wing it, play it by ear, and hope for the best.

As the dwarves made their way over he surveyed them, assigning names in his mind based upon his first impression. 'Rudy' was the one who addressed them, and though he acted as the talking head of the trio thus far, Orin wasn't sure if that made him the leader. Old Silver, the greyest one of them all, seemed somewhat related to the rude blond. He was the shortest and widest of the three, had a bit of difficulty edging himself off the taller chair, and walked with a noticeable limp that seemed long-set based more in his hips than in his legs. The third, a brunette whose eyes were so deep that the color of them was only a shadow, walked with the arrogant stride of a warrior whose craft was more about pounding heads than metal.

And then…there emerged a forth.

Orin stared. There was no other word for it. His eyes froze upon the blond lady, eyes taking in the thick, sweet limbs, voluptuous curve of her breasts and hips, those glittering aquamarine eyes, and the soft pillows of her ample lips. Her braid was full and silky thick, much more so than his, and braided with a careful hand that wove a simple, modest gem into its apex.

He slid from his seat as she curtsied. Standing a full head taller than she, and indeed a few inches more than her traveling companions, he struck a handsome figure in the small crowd of the diminutive. A small smile teased at his lips as she apologized and introduced herself, revealing Rudy's true name to be Nyr, son of Nithi, and nothing more. Taking her hand, he brought it to his lips as he inclined his head. Once properly greeted, his hand lingered on hers.

'I am Orin Indrafangin, of the House of Durin, son of Thimli, son of Thraem, who helped forge the Doors of Durin (Moria), son of Morlig who fought in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears,' he said, in the dwarven dialect of the Lonely Mountain. His voice slid low and smooth over the syllables of his native tongue, 'My partner and I guide travelers safely across the land, protecting both goods and people.' He turned to look at Maerwyn, his hand almost sliding from the dwarven maid's, and would have, had she not held onto it. 'My partner is Maerwyn Two-Swords,' he smiled at the mercenary, then turned back to his countrywoman, 'and does not speak our language. Would you mind if we continued in the common tongue?'

There was an abrupt episode of throat clearing from Nyr, who took his daughter by the shoulders and steered her into the bench across from Maerwyn, waving the lass to the end so he could sit between her and anyone who might be too interested. His companions filtered in beside him, and on the ends of the table, leaving Orin to slide in next to Maerwyn.

Gruffly, the blond male conceded. "I am Nyr, son of Nithi," he confirmed. Glancing suspiciously at Maerwyn he nodded once, abruptly, and tapped the woman at his side on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "My daughter, Erís," glancing at the grey bearded dwarf at the far end of the table, "my brother, Tag-"

"And I," declared the brunette in a loud voice, "am Dulir." Like many dwarves, he did not trust his real name to those who did not have dwarven blood running through their veins. It had surprised him that Orin had, at least with his partner, done so. Even they knew the names Thraem, and Morlig, and did not think one would claim such a lineage unless it was true.

Orin raised a hand to hail the serving woman to their table. As she made her way over, he turned his attention back to the others. "You're from the Grey Mountains, I take it. Not far from my own home. What brings you here?"

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn was hardly surprised at the way the dwarf girl was staring at Orin. If he was attractive to her own mortal eyes, then surely to one of his own kind he must have been irresistible. What the mercenary couldn't gauge was how lovely the blonde girl was to dwarven eyes. Her voice was certainly lovely, making the otherwise harsh sound of the Dwarven language sound oddly beautiful, almost romantic. It was strange hearing Orin's response as well, he'd used his native tongue so rarely around her. But the mercenary could easily pick out her own name among the syllables, and the dwarf girl finally seemed to notice her.

"You do have two swords!" she marveled in clear, slightly accented Westron. "I didn't think mortal women carried weapons. I always heard they were too fragile to fight."

The mercenary raised an eyebrow. "Many are, but not all," she replied in a cool tone, taking a long draught from her mug. "Your countryman here can vouch for my mettle, if you require it." She clapped a firm hand on Orin's shoulder, her fingers flexing almost possessively against him.

The dwarfmaid blushed. "I didn't mean it as an insult, Mistress Maerwyn. I was surprised, that's all." Cocking her head, she stared curiously from the woman to the dwarf, those cat-green eyes searching both faces for...something. Before she could find it though, one of the other travelers had seized the girl by the shoulder and forced her onto the bench across from the mercenaries. Perhaps forced by the youngest dwarf's thoughtless words and actions, the leader of the group gruffly introduced himself and his party, though Maerwyn could sense a certain reluctance in his tone.

She was content to let Orin ask the questions for now while she sipped at her ale and avoided young Erís' gaze, both action of which master Nythi seemed to approve. Reaching into a pocket of his cloak, he withdrew a long pipe and began to fill it with a bit of sweet-smelling leaf from a leather pouch.

"We're on our way to visit my kinsmen in the Blue Mountains," he answered, lighting the pipe too quickly for Maerwyn to see how the trick had been done. What she did see, however, was the scoffing look that crossed Erís' face when her father mentioned the word 'visit'.

"Not enjoying the journey so far, miss?" the woman asked curiously. It was hard to guess at Erís' age, but if the mercenary had to guess she must have been around Orin's age or slightly younger. "Ever been away from home before?"

Erís smiled, happy to be included in the conversation for once, and shook her head. "No, not until a few weeks ago. I always wanted to travel though. I wanted to visit Erebor especially." Here she paused and beamed at Orin, who was still wrangling matters with the other men at the table. "I've heard it's a kingdom of marvels, almost as grand as the old realm of Khazad-dûm. Are you from there as well?"

Maerwyn shook her head. "Nah miss, my people are from the Vales of the Anduin. But I've been to Dale many a-time. That's where I found him," she jabbed a thumb at her partner. "I've seen the Lonely Mountain from the outside, but never been through the gates."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be allowed," the dwarfmaid acknowledged with a sigh. "It was the same back home in Kibilgund. I think the lords traded with some of your people north of the forest, but only dwarves were admitted past the gates." Her eyes fell, and she let out a bitter laugh. "They won't keep anyone out now though. Not since the dragon--"

"Erís!" Nyr suddenly let out a hushed string of angry whispers in Dwarven. For a moment his daughter was cowed by what was probably a scolding, but as she caught Orin's eye something defiant rose up in the girl's heart.

"It's hardly a secret, father. If they don't hear it from us, they'll hear it from anyone else who escaped!" Erís retorted before facing Orin straight on. "Our city, Kibilgund, was attacked by a dragon over the summer. He shattered the gates and plundered our treasure, and...and killed..." Her sweet voice was suddenly choked, and Maerwyn could see tears filling the girl's eyes. An unlikely pity filled the mercenary's chest, and she felt an irresistible urge to reach across the table and touch the maiden's hand. Before she could though, Nyr had put a protective arm around his daughter's shoulder and glared at the woman, as though Erís' tears were somehow her fault.

Tag, seemingly in agreement that there was no use hiding anymore, continued the story. "Aye, we lost many in the attack. The worm came out of the Withered Heath. Who knows why or how he came to learn of us; Kibilgund had its riches in silver, but there are other settlements in the mountains with more than we had, and none as wealthy as Erebor," he explained, glancing pointedly at Orin.

"Now we're off to join my brother Dulim at his halls in Naragbizar," Dulir finished, his expression grim. "We don't dare risk leaving her--" he gestured towards Erís, who had composed herself somewhat by now. "--east of the mountains. We lost her mother to the worm, and she's the last daughter of the line." Dulim didn't speak the words aloud, but the look he gave Orin was obvious enough to one who knew dwarvish custom: Erís would fetch a king's ransom in dowry when it came time for her to marry. The dwarves of Kibilgund might have lost a fortune in silver, but this one treasure at least remained to them.

"As long as she keeps herself out of trouble," Nyr grunted, assured now that his daughter's emotions were under control. "Her disobedience has nearly cost her life and ours a dozen times since leaving. If we get her to the Blue Mountains in one piece, it'll be a miracle."

Under the table, Maerwyn's hand suddenly seized onto Orin's thigh, though she didn't look directly at him. Ask them! Ask them now!