Over Hill and Under Tree (Shiva x Traveler)

[Shiva the Cat]

A momentary warmth washed over Maerwyn as Orin commended her efforts in getting them this far. She even went so far as to smile a little along the rim of her cup, shrugging in the silky fabric of the robe. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? A bit of a roundabout path I'll admit, and a bit more dramatic than I would have liked, but if you're happy, that's all that matters to me."

There was a weight in those last words that she hadn't quite intended, and she could feel them hanging heavily between the dwarf and herself the instant they plummeted off her wine-soaked lips. How many of those invisible bricks of meaning were going to pile up, walling Orin away from her until he was utterly beyond her reach? And why could she think of no other way to destroy them other than to simply address the truth that she so dreaded, not only to speak but to hear?

Orin wasn't any happier with matters than she was, even one as insensitive as Maerwyn could see that when she dared look back at his face. Her heart ached for him, but there was no denying the spark of indignity beneath it. What was she supposed to say, after all? She'd already made a fool of herself expressing her joy at just seeing him alive again, in front of a bunch of stuck-up elves no less. And she'd acknowledged the beauty of the valley and its buildings, even the luxury of the damn towels. Was she supposed to pretend that they were going to live here happily ever after, Orin becoming a master smith while she...what, shoveled the horse shit from the stables and swept the endless paths of stairs and bridges?

"All I meant was that we need to think ahead," she mumbled, looking back out the windows again. "It's what mercenaries do, Orin. It's how people like me survive. If I spent the next few months, even the next few weeks here doing nothing but drinking wine and sitting on my arse, then by the time we finally leave...what do you think would happen to us? You think we'll just be able to magically find work when winter comes?"

She barked out a cynical laugh. "Bandits stay inside when the snows come, just like everyone else. There won't be any caravans to protect, no travelers to guide. There'll be no going back over the mountains, which means we'll need to make for the Gap of Rohan, and before that Dunland. And Dunlendings aren't so picky about the source of their meat, when winter famine sets in. Do you remember the Long Winter, ten years ago? That is what happens when you don't plan for what comes next."

It was only when she saw the dwarf turning for the door that Maerwyn seemed to realize the harshness of her words. Her face softening, she set aside her now-empty cup and turned in the window seat, letter her bare feet lightly brush the stone floor beneath them. "I'm sorry, Orin. I get no pleasure out of bringing up such dreadful subjects, especially after the day we've both had. I just want you to understand." Rising to her feet, she began to slowly follow after him.

"I'm not a smith, Orin. Nor am I a scholar, or a healer. I'm not even that great of a warrior if I'm being honest, at least not compared with all the immortal bastards around here who've had centuries of practice," she added with a grim smile. "I know you have a lot you wish to learn from the people of Rivendell That's your business, and I'll not keep you from it. But I'll also not sit here and twiddle my thumbs while you grow wiser and I grow slower, and weaker with the waiting. I...I haven't as much time as you, Orin, we both know that."

Before he could open the door and depart, Maerwyn's hands landed firmly on his shoulders. "All I want is to protect you, Orin. Will you not let me?"

She moved around to the front of him, sliding her body in the narrow place between his and the door. She dropped her hands as she did so, letting them wrap around his waist until she was clinging to him in a firm embrace. "I nearly lost you today, Master Dwarf. Please don't tell me you want to be parted already," Maerwyn whispered in his ear, squeezing him a little tighter.

 

[Traveler]

As Maerwyn explained her reasoning for wanting to go and look for work, Orin wasn’t believing most of it. After all, he had paid her enough to hire her as a guide for an entire year. Yet here she was, scarcely four months into it, looking for more work. Working as mercenary guides together was supposed to be fun, not because they needed it, but because they wanted a reason to travel.

He lowered his gaze when she explained how bandits work. Then she explained how Dunlendings worked, and he hadn’t heard about the incident ten years ago but he could guess it had something to do with eating travelers. The mere thought made him shudder, and the fact that they’d be traveling through that area, albeit hopefully before the snows hit, made him feel like he had led them down the wrong path.

There wasn’t anything, it seemed, that the sturdy little dwarf could not mess up. But Maerwyn’s soft “I’m sorry, Orin,” made him pause. He thought that she was going to tell him this wasn’t working out. She said she wanted him to understand and then crossed the distance between them. Despite his acceptance that she wanted him gone, she seemed to also want him to linger. He didn’t understand her one bit.

He didn’t care that she wasn’t a smith or a healer. Or even a warrior. He just wanted to spend his time with her. When she mentioned him growing wiser while she basically wasted away, Orin looked away and blinked through tear laden eyes. He hated this. He felt his resolve weaken as his heart did whenever she spoke softly to him. He looked up at her as she told him that she wanted to protect him.

The very idea brought a sad smile to his lips and he nodded. Sure, she wanted to protect him, and she didn’t need him to protect her at all. She could take care of herself as well with him as without him. Hellfire, she might be better off not having to drag his stumpy self all over the lands. She was drawn to tall, willowy beauties like the elves around them or the lanky form of the fletcher. Why did he continually jump from heartbreak to heartbreak?

He let her step between himself and then door, but when her arms wrapped around him he couldn’t help but hug her back. He shut his eyes as she listened to her words. “I don’t want to be parted so soon, Maerwyn,” he reassured her, squeezing her back. “Give me three days here to set things in order, and then I’ll come with you wherever you wish.” He didn’t want to pull away nor feel her breath leave the sweet spot near his ear. He wanted to spend every day at her side and every night with her in his bed, but he understood that she had felt a bit embarrassed in front of the elves, and he feared that she was embarrassed that they might think she had lain with a Dwarf and let the news go back to Thranduil. Whether or not Carlin and her sister cared, there was still the elven lord to worry about.

He still didn’t understand her intent. When she said that he should get a good night’s rest he thought she was dismissing him. Even now, in her arms, he didn’t understand that she was asking him to stay. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Maer, I don’t want to go.” His hands pulled her into him possessively. “I won’t get any rest without you,” firm, full lips found the curve of her neck and began to trace along her skin. His beard scratched along her tender pulse line. “I don’t care what the elves think of us,” he said as his tongue flicked out and tasted her skin, then led his lips to kiss her behind her ear. “I want you.”

His thick fingers grasped her waist through the thin fabric of her shift and pulled her harder against the rigid line now pressing against his trousers, and he pressed her back against the dense wood of her door. Orin broke his assault on her neck to look into the forest eyes of the woman he longed for. His voice was low and husky with undisguised arousal, and he did not hide the darkening lust now burning in his gaze. “Tell me you want me to stay.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

For one brief, breathless moment, Maerwyn was sure he was going to pull away from her. Orin would have every right, of course. He was probably exhausted yet after his ordeal, and if he was annoyed at how she was forcing him to limit his time in the valley, she also knew he was too good-hearted to show it to her. He also did have his own reputation to think of, even if hers had already preceeded her. It was one thing for a high-born dwarf to carry on a chaste romance with a titleless human, but the idea that he would lay with her here, as though they were in any northern bawdy-house, seemed nothing more than a fantasy.

But Orin's arms were around her now, and she could feel his beard brushing against her cheek as Maerwyn's body was firmly sealed against his. “Maer, I don’t want to go.”

The words alone were enough to make the woman sigh in pleasure, even before she tilted her neck in offering to him. "Orin..." she groaned, sliding her hands forward up his stomach to his chest. Maerwyn could feel his desire pressing against her, and her body was quick to respond in kind. The sheer silky fabric of the nightgown did nothing to conceal her hardening nipples, and she was sure that as she hitched one leg up over Orin's hip, the dwarf would be able to the feel the warmth and wetness begging him to take her right there against the door.

“I don’t care what the elves think of us,” he said as his tongue flicked out and tasted her skin, then led his lips to kiss her behind her ear. “I want you.”

Maerwyn wound her fingers in his hair, firmly pulling his head back until she could look him straight in the eyes. "I'll be the ruin of you," she whispered before capturing his lips with her own. The mercenary darted her tongue seductively against his for a few moments, before pulling away again. "You could become a great smith if you didn't have me pulling you away from all this." One hand dropped downward to fumble with his trousers, teasing and tickling until she'd managed to free his cock and take him in her grasp.

"Or you could have become a mighty warrior for your people, if you had just stayed back in your mountain where you belong," the woman continued as she stroked along the length of him. "But stay with me, Orin, and you will never be anything more than a wanderer. An exile. Belonging nowhere, except among other vagabonds like me. Your people may never take you back again if you spend too many years living that way."

She released him then, instead staring into those deep dark eyes she love so much. "I should let you go. I'm not doing you any favors by keeping you with me," Maerwyn whispered in a quavering voice. But just as her lower lip began to tremble, a defiant fire sprang to life, and both arms went tight around Orin's shoulders again.

"But fuck it. I'm a selfish woman, and I always have been, and I'll not change that now," she growled, writhing her hips against him until the fabric of her nightgown had ridden up almost to her stomach. "I want you, and I'll keep you, Orin Indrafangin. Elves, dwarves, and every man in the world be damned for it. I'll not let you leave me, and that's a promise. Now are you going to fuck me where you stand, or should we pretend to be civilized folk and do it on the bed?"

Grinning, the mercenary expressed her own preference by circling her legs around him, fully clinging to his body and and trusting his strength to hold her up.

 

[Traveler]

If she was going to be the ruin of him, Orin wanted total annihilation. He felt the urgent grasp of her fingers around his hear, the soft kiss of hers against her lips, and wanted nothing more than to practice the craft of loving her every day of his life. He drew in a breath of lustful anticipation at the brush of her hand against his trousers, then let out a low moan as she took hold of his hardened need.

He didn’t want to be a mighty warrior for his people or a master craftsman if that meant having no one in his life he loved more than his work. He thought of Celebrimbor and the path the elven king had taken, letting his love of craftsmanship and his pride in his work blind him to Annatar’s deceit. Only in hindsight did the truth of Sauran, guised as Annatar, become known. But by then it was too late, both for the king and for Middle Earth. If rumors were true, Celebrimbor paid for it with the life of those he loved and his own.

No, Orin didn’t want his skills to mean more to him than his people. Maerwyn was his world, his person, and even the suggestion that she breathed that she should let him go caused him to shake his head and step closer. “No,” he whispered, decrying her release of his body as she looked down into his eyes.

Her declaration that she was selfish, and the resulting arms she flung around his shoulders, brought a crooked smile to his lips. He took the grinding of her hips and the subsequent wrapping of her legs around him as a sign that they both wanted the same thing tonight. His wide, thick hands grasped her by her rear and held her against his exposed sex. “Why can’t I do both?” he suggested, pressing her against the door as he held her. He slid a hand to further unencumber the dress around her thighs, then pushed his trousers away from the strain of his cock.

Orin kissed his way along her neck on his way to her delightful lips. With the guidance of his hand, his bulbous tip slid along the slick parting of her womanhood, danced against her nub of tender nerve endings, and plunged within to discover the tight entry of her body.

He was rough in his entry. He pushed her against the wood and thrust himself into her fiercely as if claiming her as his own. His movements were hard, slamming her against the wood with every stroke. Lifting her body with the strength of his powerful short legs. Orin moaned into his kiss and grunted with every stroke, desperate to make the two of them into that blissful oneness that came with completion.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

“Why can’t I do both?” he suggested, pressing her against the door as he held her.

Maerwyn let out a ringing chuckle of relief. "Quite ambitious for someone who was half-dead a day ago, aren't you my bear?" she mused, teasing her fingers through his beard with a smile on her face unlike ay she'd worn in days.

He still wanted her, damn the consequences (and damn any nosey elves that might have their ears to the wall). Orin was so much like herself in that way, so unafraid and unwilling to back down when it came to his desires. I never should have doubted him, not for a moment the mercenary told herself, allowing the dwarf to support the full weight of her body as she kissed him again. Despite the few extra inches of height she had against him, Maerwyn was sure of her lover's strength to hold her up against the warm, silky wood of the door. Not once in all their days of climbing mountains, fording streams, fighting spiders, orcs, and everything in between had Orin ever failed her. Even in that last dangerous misstep the night before he'd still accomplished what he'd tried to do: he'd saved her.

The woman let out a cry of delight as she finally felt him enter her, her hungry sex gripping at him as though she would never let him go. Her limbs circled more firmly around his torso, and if it weren't for the disheveled clothing still between them, the heat of their bodies might have been enough to meld them into a single being. Please, let us just stay like this forever Maerwyn prayed silently as her hips began to rock, meeting each of his thrusts with a tighter embrace of her inner walls. But much as she might have wanted to make the pleasure last, she could quickly feel herself approaching the brink.

"Oh, Orin!" she gasped as she felt him pounding oh-so-sweetly against the entrance to her womb. "Don't stop...please, my dearest...don't stop...!"

And then the waves of pleasure overtook her, filling Maerwyn's mind with stars and fire as she quivered in Orin's grasp. The scent of musk mixing witth the late-summer roses blooming beyond the door soon brought the woman back into herself, and when she opened her eyes it was to smile again at her lover's face. "You get better and better at that every time," she giggled, brushing a strand of hair away from his brow. Slowly and not at all sure in her footing, the mercenary let her legs drop down to the floor until she was standing again, although her arms were still firmly wound around the dwarf's neck.

"Have I mentioned to you that I am very, very glad indeed that you didn't drown in that river, Master Dwarf?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, and there was an unusual emotion in it and in Maerwyn's eyes as they locked with his. "You have to promise me you won't let it happen again, all right? I...I would be very annoyed, to lose you that way." To lose you at all she wanted to add, but somehow she couldn't find the strength.

 

[Traveler]

Her bear. He liked the way that sounded, and when she played with his beard he felt like she wanted all of him. Dwarf or not, she wanted him. He held her as they moved together, their passion mounting as her cries of delight blended with his grunts and gasps, clinging together more tightly, as if any moment one of them could disappear.

He knew that eventually, if they survived the tests of life, he would have to say goodbye to her. He would be at her side as she breathed her last. But today, right now, she was here, she wanted him, and her gasps of his name and entreaty to not stop were sweet music to his ears.

Her voice and body pulled at him. He felt her shivering around his shaft, silky heat washing along its length as they reached their peak. His orgasm clenched around his fleshy sacs, shooting simultaneously to the back of his head and through the tightened conduit of his sex as he filled her. He groaned, throwing his head back as the final flush froze him in place. Then the tension was replaced with a feeling of complete peace and he leaned his head forward, resting it against her shoulder as he leaned them both against the door and felt his shoulders relax. He chuckled against her as she claimed he got better each time.

Maybe he was just more confident. After all, everything he knew was learned with her. The words of approval from her lips made him glow inside. He felt her legs ease down around him, and when she was settled on the ground his hands moved from her glorious buttocks to the curve of her waist. Long years of travel on foot and sparse living had made her form delectable. Feminine yet strong, she was a delight to hold.

Orin hummed against her neck. “You did mention that a time or two, and I’m glad I didn’t drown either.” Well, he did drown, but he didn’t die. Permanently. He turned his face, pulling his beard across her chest to look at her. “I will do everything in my power, my sword maiden, to never scare you like that again.” He lifted her slightly to slide himself away from her, then with a wicked chuckle lifted her into his arms.

Stepping away from the door he whirled her around. “Now, my love, the only place you’re going to ‘lose me’ is in the depths of sleep. With you, in your bed, customs be damned.”

He walked over and playfully tossed her on the plush mattress, then stripped his tunic over his head, revealing the hardened, furry body beneath. Grinning at her he kicked off his boots, then shrugged his trousers and smallclothes to the floor before joining her on the bed. As he slid beneath the covers, he bent towards her and kissed her slowly. He love for her bloomed across his hairy chest and sparkled in his eyes. “Three days,” he promised, “and less if possible. And then we’ll both go and seek out work to carry us through the winter.”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

What started as a groan ended in a contented sigh as Maerwyn felt her lover's hot seed filling her to the brim. A little bolt of concern shot through her pleasure-clouded mind for a moment, reminding her to take the herbs Iorhild had subtly slipped into her pack before they'd departed Hulgrim's hall. "The road's no place for a bairn," the healer had whispered, and though she'd been a little embarrassed that the woman had guessed at the relationship between Maerwyn and Orin, the mercenary had to agree that it was better to be safe than sorry. But for one fleeting moment she found herself wondering: what if?

The feel of Orin pulling out of her quickly jolted her back to reality. It was a ridiculous thought after all, if not an impossible one. Orin would no doubt have his own sons someday, maybe even a daughter (will he name her after me? Maerwyn couldn't help but wonder), but by the time that came to pass she would be long in her grave. Not forgotten though, that she was sure as the dwarf's beard tickled against her neck again and he promised against any future recklessness like he'd shown at the river.

"Knowing you, Orin Wolfsbane, slayer of spiders and orcs, I somehow think you will frighten me again before too long," she teased, leaning forward to nip playfully at his ear. "You're too bold a fighter to ever--aah!"

If any elves in the vicinity had managed to sleep through their exertions near the door, there was no way they could have missed the little shriek of surprise as Orin lifted the mercenary clear off the ground and carried her across the room, as though she weighed no more than a feather. "What are you doing you tricky little--" The thought was cut off as Maerwyn found herself nearly flying through the air onto the mattress, collapsing into giggles at the absurdity of the action. Drunkards in the taverns of Dale and Esgaroth often joked about tossing dwarves, but to find oneself being tossed by a dwarf was irresistibly hilarious to a mind and body as exhausted as hers.

"Whatever shall I do with you, Master Dwarf?" the woman laughed, shrugging out of the silky robe and tossing it unceremoniously over the foot of the bed. After a moment's consideration, she peeled the slightly damp nightgown off as well, leaving herself naked as the day she was born before sliding between the blankets. It felt so much better, having nothing between Orin herself as he joined her. How many nights had she watched him sleep while she kept an eye out for danger, feeling the strange loneliness of separation even though he was only steps away? Now, just feeling the hair of his chest and the roughness of his hands on her bare skin was heavenly, and Maerwyn could already feel the fog of a healing sleep creeping ever closer around her.

But just as she nuzzled her head against the crook of his neck, one arm draped over his chest, one last thought threatened to shatter the peace that was so tantalizingly close.

“Now, my love," he'd said. "the only place you’re going to ‘lose me’ is in the depths of sleep..."

My love.

"Do you really mean that?" Maerwyn asked, her voice barely above a whisper, tinged with both dread and hope. "When you call me 'love.' Do...do you truly fancy yourself in love with me, Orin?"

 

[Traveler]

Orin’s bruised lips curved up in a satisfied smile when she asked him what she should do with him. He wanted her to keep doing what she was doing; sharing her life, sharing her bed, her troubles and joys, her days, her life. He wanted to be at her side as long as they had, and nothing could convince him otherwise. He was ready to settle in for a long night’s sleep when Maerwyn asked if he really meant he was in love with her.

“Hmm…” he snuggled in tighter beside her. After a moment of consideration he raised his head to look at her, then pushed himself up to his elbow to look at her better. “Maer darling, I know that you don’t want to be tied to the likes of me, or possibly anyone. And I don’t want to scare you away, but I canna help how I feel about you.” He reached over and tenderly caressed strands of hair away from her cheek. “What I feel for you is different than what I felt for Dís. It’s no simple infatuation. I do love you,” he said, smiling softly down at her. He bent to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her lips.

“Now, don’t trouble yourself, Lass,” he said as he settled back beside her. He wasn’t going to ask her to marry him again. Her reaction the last time was enough to deter him. It was enough; this would have to be enough.

As he laid there he thought about his mother and Lorryn. Havus had always been a woman to push boundaries and when no court would marry her and her elven lover, they handfasted. A simple vow spoken before witnesses, a pledge and a drink, and it was done. And now they’d been married for nearly sixty years and from all appearances were happy enough. The only thing that might have made them happier was to raise a child that lived and breathed as a testimony to their shared love. For a brief pregnancy they lived in the dream that it had occurred, and then the child was born and their hopes dashed. Still, for nearly ten years Lorryn had been a father to Orin, though after he left the dwarfling forgot the fact. Now that Orin had visited them again, the memories had slowly started to return.

Those happy memories flitted in and out of Orin’s mind. A moment remembered when young Orin had sat on Lorryn’s knee as the elf demonstrated the way a feather’s blades worked. Another memory of touching his mother’s furry jaw and his ‘father’s,’ then giggling and touching his own. Those precious glimpses into his past had made Orin wonder what he would have looked like had Lorryn truly been his father, and that made him wonder what a child from Maerwyn and himself would look like.

But mixed breed babies were rare. And Maerwyn wanted no children. So…he supposed he would never know what their children would look like. If they would have her eyes and the set of her jaw, his stocky hands or her lithe ones.

Perhaps one day ten or twenty decades from now Orin would know the joys of fatherhood. Today he would simply know the joys of loving Maerwyn.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"It’s no simple infatuation. I do love you," he said, as simply as though he were telling her about the weather, or what he'd had for dinner.

A thousand arguments danced on the tip of Maerwyn's tongue.

You don't know anything about love; you're barely more than a child, by your people's standards.
You don't know anything about me. If you knew half of what I've done, what I'm capable of...
I'm the only woman you've ever fucked. You're thinking with your cock, not your heart.
You cannot really love me.

And yet she swallowed them all for one simple reason: she desperately wanted it to be true.

"I think," the mercenary said slowly as she began to trace a finger from his shoulder down his arm. "I can count on one hand the number of people who ever loved me. I mean, really loved me." Maerwyn thought a moment. "My mother did, I know that. And I think my father did once, when I was a little girl, before I became what I am now." Just as her hand was about to reach his, she pulled it away and instead rested it on the jasper amulet as she remembers its previous owner. "Emlin does too, I never doubted that, but she loves everyone, so I'm not sure how much that counts. And Thilion..."

She dropped her hand and pulled away from Orin a moment, but in only a few breaths she could feel the imagined betrayal dying inside her. That dream was over, the mercenary could accept it now that the waking had proved anything beyond her own imagination. "He couldn't love me, not the way I wanted him to. But he did feel bad about about not loving me. I suppose I should give him credit for that."

Maerwyn shifted on the bed, sliding upward until her head was level with the dwarf's. "What I'm meaning to say with all this, Orin, is that all I know about love is the hurt that goes with it. It's like," she furrowed her brow a moment, trying to think of the proper analogy. "It's like taking off every piece of armor, and every scrap of clothing on you, then drawing a target over your heart, and then putting a knife in the other person's hand and telling them 'Good luck! Have fun!'" She barked out a bitter little laugh. "What kind of self-destructive fool does that?"

Rolling onto her side, she pressed her forehead to his for a moment, trying to imagine the happiest possible outcome for any kind of life together. Even if they found some quiet corner of the world where they could live together in peace, would Orin be able to watch her growing older? Growing weaker? When she could no longer hold a sword or walk without the aid of a stick, would he resist the temptation to walk away and find a younger wife among his own people, one who could even give him children? Maybe not, but then the grief would be his own, not Maerwyn's. Because eventually the mortal woman would pass away from this world, leaving the dwarf utterly alone behind her.

She squeezed him a little tighter at this sudden, horrible thought, and Maerwyn pressed a firm kiss to his brow, desperate to remind herself that he was still here with her. "I suppose I am a fool," was her final admission as her fingers stroked through his hair, urging him to lay his head against her breast. "I never felt a pain like what I felt the other night, when I thought I'd lost you. I didn't even think I could feel something like that. But I did, and it couldn't have been for nothing."

Her eyes drifted shut as she settled into the pillows, relaxing into Orin's warmth. "If I can love anyone--properly, the way you deserve, my bear--I will love you, I'm sure of it. I just need to learn how. But...I want to, Orin. I want to, very very much."

That was all she could manage before exhaustion finally overtook her, and the next thing Maerwyn knew, it was morning.

 

[Traveler]

Orin smiled sleepily as she began to reminisce. He thought that her father did love her. From what he saw, the man would have given his life to save hers. He cherished her and wanted a closer relationship. But perhaps she couldn’t see it, having only her father to compare it to, and not knowing that other fathers treated their children much differently than Hulgrin had. Orin would have loved to have Hulgrin as his Da. Aside from the fact that it would have made Maerwyn his sister, and that would have made what they just did…awkward.

He was in a state of complete contentment. He let her words slide over him like a soft breeze, accepting her assessment that love came with pain. His eyes wandered to her as she laughed bitterly, asking what kind of self-destructive fool did that.

Smiling sleepily, he pointed at himself. He was the self-destructive fool. He did that gladly, not willing to bypass the joys of love for the fear of what might come afterwards.

It was enough to know that she wanted to love him. It was enough to know she wanted him at her side.

Early the next morning a letter had been slipped under the door, and outside rested a tray of tea, mild pear juice, fruits and finger cakes. A few boiled eggs were peeled and salted in a bowl, and some delicate squares of cheese were paired along them. Outside their window the soft patter of rain testified to one of the reasons they had slept so well. The white noise of the rain through the branches had created its own soothing song, keeping the pair tucked into their blankets longer than they might have otherwise.

Or maybe it was just that Orin didn’t want to leave Maerwyn’s side. His dreams had been repeats of the troll attack, of seeing Arathorn in their cave so close to the mercenary, and then seeing not the ranger, but a golden elf at her side. The dwarf was still wrestling with the thought that she might not be able to love him ‘the way (he) deserved,’ and that the pain she had felt upon his falling into the river might not truly have meant she felt something for him. He’d seen more elves in the last day than he’d seen in his entire life. Each one seemed more beautiful than the last. When he thought of himself, all stumpy and grizzled with fur, thick bodied and simple in his speech and his ways, he couldn’t fathom how someone could prefer his presence over the ethereal elves. Or one particular elf, Thillion. The elf she had loved, and who had left this world because he could not love her in return.

The rain had slowly eased into a drizzling mist outside. Soon birds would sing the sun in, and the forest blossoms would spread their petals wide to welcome its soft forest embrace.

“Mmm,” Orin wanted to nuzzle into Maerwyn some more but the scent of something enticing rumbled his belly. He furred a kiss onto the side of her neck before rolling towards the door. His bare feet hit the wooden floor and he sat on the bed a moment before hauling himself from its tantalizing warmth. As he walked, he rubbed the side of his head to get his brain juices flowing. “There’s a letter,” he observed, stooping to scoop it up. Then he opened the door a crack, saw the food tray and the empty hall, and quickly brought the tray inside.

He was, after all, still nude.

Orin padded to the table and set the tray down, leaving the letter upon it, then went to retrieve his trousers. For even dwarves knew it was bad form to eat with your pants off. Well, depending on what you were feasting upon…His eyes darted to Maerwyn and he smiled slyly as he remembered their passionate toss the night before. “Did you sleep well, darling?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

As lovely as the room, the bed, and the company all were, Maerwyn's sleep was far from restful. Dreams and reality rose and fell before her mind, crashing into one another like waves in a storm until she couldn't tell one from the other. One moment she was sure she was awake, shivering and walking endlessly along the banks of the Bruinen in search of Orin's body. Then the next he was underneath her in the bed, thrusting up into her and whispering that he loved her. Only...a moment later he wasn't Orin at all, but Thilion, and he wasn't making love to her; he was lying on the ground, bleeding out the way Arathorn had been when they'd found him near the rocks, with the strangest smile on his face as the blue eyes she'd adored so well drifted shut--

Some sound nearby suddenly jolted the mercenary awake, and though a fresh yellow light was already beginning to fill the room, she at first couldn't comprehend where she was or how she'd gotten there. The fragrant breeze caressing through an open window for a moment made her think this was another dream, but this time when Maerwyn looked over in the bed she was utterly alone. Though...as she reached out a hand to touch the pillow beside her, it was still warm and smelled faintly of her lover.

The woman's entire body relaxed when her eyes finally fell upon Orin's naked form, setting a heavily laden breakfast tray down on the table as though it weighed hardly more than a feather. As she sank back into the pillows and pulled the coverlet up to her chin, Maerwyn couldn't help but smile languidly in appreciation of his body. More than that, he was here, and he was hers, and none the worse for wear after all he'd been through. Nothing like the hardiness of dwarves she thought with a yawn, hoping she might feign being asleep before Orin noticed, and secretly watch him a little longer.

But no such luck. Scowling playfully at being found out, Maerwyn spread out farther across the bed, clearly not anxious to get up just yet. "I slept," she acknowledged, rolling onto her stomach and laying her cheek in his pillow. "You look fresh as a daisy though. Fix all that yourself?" the mercenary asked, waving one hand towards the breakfast table. Although her tired mind had little interest in food, her stomach had other ideas, and there was no disguising the growl the rumbled out from beneath the blankets.

With a grunt of annoyance, Maerwyn tossed aside the blankets and sat up, utterly unabashed at her own nudity, though she did decide to put on the dressing gown from last night in case any errant elves should appear (though her haphazard dressing still left one breast almost totally exposed, and her sex was hidden by nothing more than the end of the thin belt). She didn't notice the impropriety, being too focused on the contents of the breakfast tray, which in her opinion were sorely lacking in a few essentials.

"Hmph...no bacon," she muttered, grabbing instead something that was a cross between a bun and a cake, which reminded her a bit of the northmen's honeycakes. "Suppose I can't exactly see elves tending to creatures as low as pigs. Probably don't smoke their fish either."

There was tea though, and eggs of some kind, and a cold clear beverage that did wonders to clear the fog in her head. By the time she'd finished eating, Maerwyn's spirits were decidedly improved, and she looked back at Orin with renewed curiosity. "And what are your plans for the day, Master Dwarf?" she asked, pouring herself another cup of tea and sitting back in the chair. "Taking a turn about the garden, or just amusing yourself at the feet of some simpering elf maid?"

 

[Traveler]

Orin watched the lovely sight of Maerwyn stretching out on the bed, her expressing bordering on an invitation to return. She said she had slept, but her tone indicated that it wasn’t the best of sleep. Then she asked if he had fixed all of that himself, and Orin grinned. “Now that would be a fancy trick, wouldn’t it?” He pulled off the covers on their meal and inhaled in awe at the plethora of food provided. True, it was all elven fare and would barely take the edge off his hunger, but he was grateful nonetheless.

Her grumble over the lack of bacon brought a chuff of happiness to his lips. “Aye, the lack of meat in general is a problem,” he said, “but I bet their teas are superb!” he chuckled at his own joke as he sat down opposite her and popped a hardboiled egg into his mouth, chewing happily. “Besides, they tended to this here dwarf,” he said, making himself the brunt of the joke, “I don’t see them too far above tending pigs, or buying ham from those who do.”

He happily guzzled the refreshing drink and ate the pastries and eggs that were offered. Sharp cheeses and creamy spreads set off the tart crispness of the fruit, and though Orin would have normally denied any suggestion that elven fare would fill him, he found himself quite satisfied. He sat back in the chair and sighed happily.

The only thing that would make the morning better would be another toss in the bunk with his woman. Unfortunately, she seemed more focused on what they would do with the day.

Orin’s eyes flickered over at her. “Do you know me so little that you would think I’d be amused at the feet of a simpering elf maid?” he asked, standing up and strolling around the table. “Oh, Maerwyn…I think you need another lesson in ‘what Orin likes,’ and it’s certainly not lazing about a garden with a woman who might break in two if I looked at her too hard.”

He waggled his thick brows at her as he reached for her hand. “I like a woman with some muscle about her bones, some sass to her ass, and a tongue as wicked as it is sublime.” His lips curved into a mischievous smile behind his beard.

“Today I’m going to see about securing an invitation to return sometime in the future. I’d like to check on Arathorn, of course. You should come with me for that. And…I don’t know. Maybe roam around, sketch parts of the kingdom? Listen to elven music and meet their people.” His slate colored eyes met hers. “What about you Lovely? Are you of the mind to wander about, listening to elven poetry and –” he was about to ask her if she was going to look to see if Thilion might be hiding here, and not across the seas on the elven boat to eternity, but caught himself. “And seeing if they might have some of those exploding arrows like Lorryn gave you?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"If you ask me, I think all these elves could use a good breaking or two," Maerwyn replied cheerfully, rising to her feet in search of some more appropriate clothing. She still had some winter gear and a formal gown Isvera had insisted she take ("In case of any important ceremonies while you're away from home," she'd said with a wink), but Gonodril still hadn't returned with either her shirt or trousers. I suppose staying in bed all day wouldn't be the worst idea the mercenary thought, especially when Orin chimed in with his own saucy words.

"Well now, that would be one way to while away three days, wouldn't it Master Dwarf?" she replied, letting her robe fall open a little bit further as she stalked towards him. Leaning over, she let her lips brush against his ear a moment before whispering, "Shall I show you how wicked and sublime my tongue really is?"

Before he could say either yay or nay to such an offer, the sound of voices carrying on outside the door utterly spoiled the mood, reminding her that the solitude and privacy of the night was long past. Sighing, Maerwyn straightened up again, catching sight of what looked like a clothes chest near the wall. "Perhaps later," she sighed, wandering over to see if anything even remotely to her taste had be left behind. There wasn't, but there was a relatively plain blue-gray gown that was much too long on her legs and too tight across her chest, but it would suffice. Hiking up the skirts to make room for her muddy boots underneath, she nodded thoughtfully at the mention of Arathorn.

"Aye, I suppose it'd only be polite to go check on him, seeing as he's the only reason we're here, after all. Or at least, the only reason I'm here. Not that I'd let a handful of elves keep me from finding you once I knew where you were, of course," she added with a pointed glance up at him. "As for sketching and socializing, I think I'll leave that to you, educated nobleman that you are. But that's a good idea about looking into the arrows." Standing up, she crossed the room to check her quiver, noting with pride that nothing seemed to be missing. Lightly dragging her fingers over the colored fletchings that denoted Lorryn's arrows, she gingerly selected one and ran her finger over the strange carving on the shaft.

"I have to admit, I never was much good at reading elvish," she murmured, squinting a little as she tried to make out the letter. "I suppose I ought to learn exactly what each of these damned things does before I go asking for more of them." Slinging the quiver over her shoulder--and with a second thought, her bow--she turned back toward the table and picked up the folded bit of parchment. "Can't read a word of this either," Maerwyn grunted, tossing it into Orin's lap. "Though I think that bit there might be something about food...or mucking out the stables?"

That reminded her, she ought to go see good old Rhawnaur as well. The Rangers had brought him in last night, and after nearly buying the horse's life with her lover's she felt a certain sense of claim on the beast. Grabbing a ruby-red apple from the breakfast tray, she tucked it into the pocket of the gown (thank the stars the elves had some sense of practicality) then looked back towards the dwarf.

"Well then, are you coming?"

 

[Traveler]

Maerwyn had a love-hate-despise kind of relationship with elves. It was apparent in her comment about elves who could use a good breaking or two, her broken heart over Thilion, her friendship/competition with Carlin and Emlin, and her discomfort in Riverdel. Orin was glad that she hadn’t encountered enough dwarves to make her feel similarly about him. Or if she had, she had gotten past her reservations quickly enough that they were lovers now.​

He liked being her lover. He loved the way her legs wrapped around them when they coupled, the long arc of her neck, her breasts that fit into his stout hands ‘just so,’ and how good it felt to collapse in her arms afterwards and just let the world revolve around them.

Unfortunately it seemed like such past times would need to wait until the night returned. He dressed when it became apparent that Maerwyn was going to cover up, opting for his better traveling clothes. Then he joined her at the table. As she agreed to Join him to see Arathorn and teasing him about her reasons for being here. It made him smile to think of her taking on an entire elven army to get to him. She would do it, too. He watched her checking her arrows, her fingers dancing across their surface like he wished she would dance them across his neck, dragging lightly as she considered what she wanted to do next with him. Or…to him.

Orin smiled wistfully at his daydream. He came to when Maerwyn tossed the note at him as she said something about not reading elvish and mucking out the stables. He picked up the note and looked at it, wondering what the curly script meant. Wouldn’t they have known that neither he nor Maerwyn would be able to read their note?

“I’m sure we can ask someone to read this for us. Your arrows too,” he mused. He took another bite of toast with soft cheese spread across it. He wasn’t in a hurry. At least, he wasn’t until Maerwyn asked him if he was coming. “Already?” Orin stuffed the rest of the toast in his pocket. It seemed a shame to leave it all uneaten. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing a boiled egg and shoving it into his mouth, then grabbing a couple slices of hard cheese as he hurried to pull on his boots and hurry after her. Right before he left the room, he thought to grab his jacket as well.

As they walked, he ate. It wasn’t nearly as much as a sturdy dwarf would normally eat but it was a good deal more than he and Maerwyn had in the last few weeks.

At the sign of the first elven servant, Orin stopped her and asked her about the note. She smiled sweetly but shook her head, haltingly explaining that she ‘No Common’ – could not speak their tongue. The second maidservant did understand enough to tell them that it was a note that invited them to rest and come down when they were ready. Orin smiled at Maerwyn. So, they could have delayed that morning…

He shrugged apologetically at his guide as he took a bite of his cheese. “So…shall we visit Arathorn first?”​

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn nodded in assent as she gathered up as much of the skirt as she could in hand (how the ladies of Rivendell avoided tripping over such silly things she couldn't begin to imagine) and took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. Despite have absolutely no idea where the injured man might have been lodging, she still strode confidently over the neatly-swept paths, completely ignoring every elf they passed and only stopping when she caught sight of a familiar face in a courtyard overlooking the falls.

"Ah, Mistress Maerwyn! And Lord Orin as well! Good to see you both up and about again," remarked the old Ranger she had met near the river the day before. Glancing behind him, the mercenary also recognized the two men standing with him as other members of the search party, both of whom bowed respectfully towards the woman and dwarf.

"I'm afraid in the confusion of yesterday we didn't get a chance to introduce ourselves," their leader continued. "I am Arahon, and this are my comrades Lodon and Ârdaer, both members of Lord Arathorn's personal guard."

Maerwyn raised an eyebrow at both and nodded in acknowledgement before turning her attention back to Arahon. "And how is the old grouch this morning?" she asked, noting with some amusement at the horror of the younger Rangers at having their leader addressed in such a way. "Orin thought we ought to go and pay our respects if he was in a receiving mood. Do you suppose he'd see us?"

Thankfully Arahon seemed much less shocked at the woman's coarse tongue; indeed, his own mouth even quirked at a smile in it for a moment. Then his shoulders relaxed and he let out a sigh, shaking his head. "He still lives," the Ranger began slowly. "But his wounds were grave. And Lord Elrond is unfortunately away in the land of Lothlórien visiting his daughter. The other healers are doing their best, but I fear it may not be enough."

"You're wrong!" rang a high, clear voice as another figure stepped out from an alcove of the nearest building. The speaker was a gangly youth, who despite his remarkable height could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. His clothing was rich but simple, and Maerwyn couldn't help but notice a remarkable resemblance not only to Arahon with his expressive gray eyes, but to Arathorn himself in the grim cast of his features and dark hair.

Brushing past the Rangers, the boy stood proudly before Orin and Maerwyn, hands clenched in fists at his side. "My mother, the Lady Llamiryl, is the best healer in Imladris besides Lord Elrond himself. He taught her everything she knows. She will save him, I know it! Just like she saved you, Lord Orin," the boy insisted, focusing his gaze on the dwarf with a mix of confidence and wonder.

Arahon rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Of course, lad. No one was dissuaging Lady Llamiryl's skills. If anyone can save your father, she can."

Realization dawned on Maerwyn's face. "Arathorn is...your father?"

The boy's cheeks flushed pink, and suddenly remembering his position, he offered the guests a deep and imperfect bow. "Yes, My Lady. My name is Argonui, son of Lord Arathorn and Lady Llamiryl, grandson of Arassuil, Chieftain of the Dúnedain," the lad stated in the stilted rhythms of a speech that had been rehearsed a thousand times. When it was over he straightened his back and glanced hesitantly towards Arahon, obviously wondering if his performance had passed muster.

Judging by the smile on the old man's face, Argonui had done quite well. "You did forget 'great-nephew of Arahon the Wise', but I supposed we can forgive that small detail," he teased, then looked thoughtfully back towards Orin and Maerwyn.

"Since Lord Arathorn is still resting, we might lend you the use of young Argonui here as a guide, if you like. Mistress Maerwyn looks as though she might get some use out of the archery range," he said with a nod towards the bow and quiver slung over her shoulders. "You might even give the lad a few pointers if you like. His marksmanship needs work."

Ignoring the refreshed color on Argonui's face, the mercenary was quick to shake her head. "Oh no, I was really just looking for some help with a bit of translation. See, there was this strange elf in Mirkwood who gave me some arrows--"

"Oh, I can help translate that," the boy interrupted quickly, stepping in between the woman and the dwarf and gesturing for them to follow him before the other men could embarrass him further. "Come this way, I can show you to the library."

With a shrug towards both Orin and the Rangers, Maerwyn picked up her skirt again and eagerly followed after the lad, trusting her lover to do the same.

Once they were out of earshot, Argonui paused in his stride and looked back at the pair. Despite his best posturing at being an adult, there was a childlike curiosity in his gaze as he studied Orin in particular, and Maerwyn wondered if the boy had ever even seen a dwarf before.

"Did you really come all the way from the Lonely Mountain?" Argonui asked Orin finally. "I've only ever seen it on maps and read about it in books. It must be on the far side of the world! Please, tell me what it's like." He paused and kicked a little at a loose stone on the path before him. "I've never been anywhere outside of the valley. Mother and Father won't let me leave until I'm grown, not even to visit the other villages. Is it really so dangerous out there?" There was skepticism and rebellion in his voice as he spoke, but still his eyes were wide and trusting as he looked from the dwarf to the woman and back again.

 

[Traveler]

Any morning that started in Maewyn’s arms and then proceeded with Orin following behind, his eyes tracing over the very feminine lines of her body that the elven dress revealed, was a good on in his book. He tromped behind her happily, smiling politely at the elves they passed, and feeling like the near drowning was worth the result of seeing her relieved at his return and the attention he had received.

In truth, Orin liked the fussing.

It was so unlike his barely acknowledged existence of yesteryear, where he felt like a shameful secret his father barely tolerated and his brother loved to lord over. When he was trying to court…Orin realized with a start that he forgot the woman’s name. How could he forget the name of a Dwarven lady he had professed to love? He frowned to himself as he racked his brain, seeking out the syllables he had once whispered to himself at night until he fell asleep. So engrossed was he in his mental rummaging that he nearly ran into Maerwyn when she stopped to address a small group of rangers.

He stepped to the side to get a better look at their companions. Like Arathorn, they were dressed in leather clothes and heavy wool, humans born and bred to be hearty and endure harsh conditions. They were a little like dwarves in that way.

Their names were exotic. Orin repeated them to himself; Arahon, Lodon, and Ârdaer…and then he learned that Arathorn was a Lord, and warranted personal guards. The injured man they had met was much more than he had appeared to be, and Orin felt like Maerwyn and his part in helping Lord Arathorn probably went great lengths to explaining the fine treatment they had received from the elves. Orin’s strut wilted slightly at realizing they had simply been lucky enough to have found the injured man. Had they approached Rivendell empty-handed it was likely that they would have been turned away.

Fate was a fickle friend.

Though it seemed that fate also was a generous one. When Orin learned that the one who healed him was none other than Lord Aragorn’s wife, and that their son, Argonui, was happy to take them to the library, it seemed that life was favoring the travelers once again.

Orin walked near Maerwyn as they followed their young host. “You called Lorryn a ‘strange elf?’” he asked. “He’s not a strange elf…” his voice was low and secretive. All elves were strange. Lorryn was family.

Argonui’s interest in the pair was enchanting. All the elves looked ageless, but there was something even more ethereal and surreal when it came to elven children. His questions solved the matter of whether elven young were like all others. It turned out that they were.

“Listen to your parents,” Orin agreed. “It is more dangerous than they say.” He slipped a hand into Maerwyn’s. “When I left the Lonely Mountain I was a naïve adventurer, bound to get myself killed or worse.” He glanced at the woman at his side, looking up into her stormy eyes and seeing the lovely slant to her cheeks, barely believing that he had such a beautiful woman to hold in his bed. “Had I not met this mercenary woman who offered to be my guide, I would not be here today.”

He turned his gaze back to the young Dúnedain who already towered over him. “The mountain is a lot like Rivendell. Instead of open sky, we have solid rock above us. Our paths run in all directions, much like your foot bridges and stairs do, but they are hewn from the rock and not strung from tree to tree. Though…we do have some bridges built over chasms. Great works of stone, meant to stand the test of time.

“Our families are not as vibrant as yours. Women are rare, children even rarer. And everyone has a role to play in the Mountain,” he said. “I was a smith.” Their footsteps took them down a path and across a swaying footbridge. “I hope one day I can return here and learn from the elves, perhaps apprentice to one of their masters.” It was a long shot but planting a seed in this young man’s head for the future was a risk that might lead to his future goal, and it would free up himself to leave with Maerwyn sooner.​

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Aye, and when you're a grand smith, Master Dwarf, you might make me a weapon that will not blow up in my face, unlike the arrows made by a certain 'strange elf' we know," Maerwyn teased as she elbowed Orin in the side. It did not occur to her that bringing such weapons into the library may not have been the wisest of ideas.

As the youth led them up a set of low stairs into a long, straight corridor, the mercenary paused curiously when her eyes caught two murals on either side of her. To her left was a line of gracefully elegant female figures, taller even than elves thanks to the considerable height of the hallway. Seven sets of jeweled eyes stared across the way at seven male figures portrayed in the mural to the right, each one more grave and mighty-looking than the last.

Maerwyn was less interested in these than the women, particularly the second one from the end; a lady dressed in green with hair the color of ripe wheat falling in waves to her feet. She was framed on either side by two trees, and her arms were laden with flowers of all shapes and sizes, and some the northwoman had never seen before. Yet somehow she knew the lady's serene, noble face as she remembered childhood stories from her parents' hearth.

"Is that the Lady of the Wood? All the way on this side of the mountains?" the mercenary asked Argonui as he paused beside her, curious at what could have enraptured his guest.

"Where, in the painting?" He asked, following her gaze. "That's Yavanna Kementári, one of the Valar. Do your people know of her? Mother says most lines of Men have forgotten the names and faces of High Ones, and only the elves and Dúnedain still remember. What about your people, Master Orin?" the boy added with a curious cock of the head.

The woman was tempted to reach out and touch the hand of the portrait, but something in her warned to do so would be disrespectful. Dropping her hand, she felt a clench of the heart in recalling a threat every child of Woodmen had heard at least a dozen times growing up: If you don't start behaving, I'll tell the Lady of the Wood! It was never entirely clear what, exactly, the Lady of the Wood would do once she'd arrived to dispense justice to the offending youngster, but if executed correctly by a stern enough elder it was usually enough to get the job done.

There was a warm side to the Lady as well. When sick people made sudden and miraculous improvements, it was always believed that the Lady of the Wood had visited in secret and healed the patient with her great powers. Or when the crops were particularly bountiful in any given year, the general consensus was that the Lady was pleased with how the Woodmen had treated her lands, and a proper tribute was always left in some sacred place or another on her behalf. And the very last thing Maerwyn ever remembered her mother saying to her father was a murmured prayer before his departure on that last fateful journey: "May the Lady guide and guard your steps through the woods, my darling."

Had Hulgrim offered any such words in return? Had he asked the Lady to keep his wife and daughter safe while he was away? Maerwyn couldn't remember.

"We never had a name for her," she said finally, shaking away the memory. "I just thought it was something people said, I didn't think she was a real person. And I haven't a clue who the rest of this lot are," Maerwyn added with a wave the hand as she prepared to continue onward.

"Well, that one there is Lady Yavanna's husband, Aulë the Smith," Argonui pointed out the portrait directly across from Yavanna with a little smile towards Orin. "Surely your people still know him?"

Maerwyn raised an eyebrow. "The Lady has a Lord?" Crossing the hall, she stared up at the imposing figure of a brawny, bearded man clutching a hammer and surrounded by a rainbow of gemstones and precious metals. She didn't quite get Argonui's joke towards Orin, but she had to acknowledge that side from Aulë's height, there was something a little dwarvish about him. "Doesn't look like he'd have much interest in forests," she commented, looking back towards his wife. "Wonder how happy that marriage was. She must have been away quite a bit if the people of Mirkwood never heard of him."

The youth blushed a little and muttered something about how she'd have to ask the elves more about that, then hurried a bit quicker down to the ornate doors at the end of the hall. The mercenary followed readily, but not without a glance back at Yavanna and Aulë. Forest and Forge. Flowers and rocks she thought. How could they ever find happiness together, when their very natures should have kept them apart?

Then Maerwyn's eyes landed on Orin's face face again, lingering on his eyes as a familiar pleasurable shudder ran through her. Perhaps it wasn't so strange after all.

Despite the size of the doors, Argonui opened them easily, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond with shelves as far as the eye could see, each one laden with books and scrolls of every color and size imaginable. The library was reasonably lit by four tall windows looking out at the falls, while a fire too small for the size of the hearth added a little extra warmth and light on the opposite wall. There were a few other elves already in the room, all of whom noticed the new arrivals and acknowledged them with a nod, but were otherwise busy with their own studies or tasks along the shelves.

The boy led the woman and dwarf to a large table near the windows where the light was best, then sat down in an ornately carved wooden chair. "May I look at your arrows, Mistress?" he asked Maerwyn respectfully after she sat down on a bench before the window. "Master Orin, I think the last shelf over there some records on smithing if you want to start with those. Otherwise Heledir should be somewhere around here; he's the archivist. He should be able to help as well, if he's not in the middle of writing more poetry," the boy added with a grin as the mercenary began to slowly dig through her quiver to find the six-fletched arrows.

 

[Traveler]

He grinned at Maerwyn at her quip about weapons blowing up in her face. “He might have told you what they were, if you’d have given him half a minute.” Orin was all smiles as they walked up the stairs and into the corridor. This place reminded him greatly of the large cavern halls in the mountain, with walls that stretched high above his head. Not that it was hard for anything to be above his head.

The portraits that hung above them were impressive. He felt like he was looking at giants. Gods, even. As they walked, he turned in a slow circle to take in them all. The clothes, the eyes, the great frames…it was impressive. He felt like he was standing in the midst of heroes.

Maerwyn asked about the Lady of the Wood and Orin moved closer to listen in. “One of the Valar?” Orin didn’t know what that was, but it sounded quite impressive. His eyes flickered to Argonui. “I…I don’t know of them,” he confessed. “But I was never much for studying,” he chuckled. “At least, not history.”

He watched as Maerwyn looked at the portrait as if she was looking at the person herself.

"We never had a name for her," she said finally, shaking away the memory. "I just thought it was something people said, I didn't think she was a real person. And I haven't a clue who the rest of this lot are," Maerwyn added with a wave the hand as she prepared to continue onward.

‘This lot.’ Leave Maerwyn to reduce the greats to something trivial. He stood a small distance from her as their young guide pointed out Lady Yavanna’s husband, and as the man was pointed out, Orin looked up at him. ‘He’s rather handsome,’ Orin thought, looking at the bearded man standing over him.

“I didn’t think that elves grew beards,” he mused, catching up to Maerwyn. “WAIT.” His feet froze. “Aulë…the Maker?” He turned back around to look up again, memorizing every feature of the portrait. He wondered about the Valar and his wife, the woman standing across from him. Eternally looking at each other, unable to touch…he wondered at their fates, and if Maerwyn and Orin’s fate, were intertwined.

"Doesn't look like he'd have much interest in forests," she commented, looking back towards his wife. "Wonder how happy that marriage was. She must have been away quite a bit if the people of Mirkwood never heard of him."

“Love works in mysterious ways,” Orin said, more convinced than ever that there was hope for them both. He followed after Maerwyn and Argonui, smiling contently at the thought. Then his eyes met Maerwyn’s and his smile widened. They were destined for each other. They were the embodiment of Yavanna and Aulë.

As they walked through the next grand doors, Orin’s heart nearly stopped. He stood there and looked at the shelves. He never even knew that these many tomes existed in the world. The windows stretched to the sky; the sounds in the room were muted. He stepped forward, feeling like he was stepping into another realm. Every step was sacred as he followed them in and to the table. “This…is amazing,” he breathed.

He looked at Maerwyn guiltily but she seemed happily digging for her arrows. “Heledir? What does he look like?” He was eager to look at the books, but he knew it was unlikely he would have been able to read the Elven script. Once the boy described the man, Orin crossed back to Maerwyn’s side and eyed the arrows, then cupped her cheek and gave her an impulsive kiss. “I’ll be back, but maybe not soon,” he said with a smile. “Thank you,” he added, his whispered voice both a praise and a prayer. “This means a lot to me,” he said. “I won’t forget our schedule.”

With that, he happily tromped away, hoping that the archivist could point him in the direction of books he could look at now, and permission to return in a hundred or so years to do a more in depth study when life, and loves, gave him a reason to need to ease his broken heart by throwing himself into his craft.​

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn blushed a little at Orin's kiss, not quite as embarrassed as she was pleased at his blatant show of affection, but still a fair mix of both. To her relief, Argonui had gingerly picked up the first arrow she'd laid before him, and seemed too interested in studying it to have noticed the kiss, although the mercenary could have sworn the lad's cheeks weren't naturally that pink. Once she'd seen the dwarf safely received by a kindly-looking elf in red robes, the woman laid out the rest of Lorryn's arrows neatly on the table before her and tilted her head inquisitively.

"Well then lad, what do you make of these?"

Argonui's nimble fingers ran lightly along the shaft, tapping gently on the glyphs near the fletching. "Well, that's 'light,' for one," the boy translated. "At least, I'm pretty sure that's what it says. This letter here looks a bit strange though, and that one almost looks backward. Did you say the elf who gave them to you was one of the Wood elves?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I don't know what in the world sort of elf he is. The kind who lives underground with a dwarven wife, I suppose."

"Underground? But I thought no elves had underground since Nargothrond!"

"Nargo-what?"

The boy stared at her as though she'd never heard of the sky or sea before, and while he was tempted to delve into a summary of his favorite legends of the First Age, the impatient expression on the mercenary's face made him think better of it. Instead he began to examine the other arrows, translating the five different marks as "fire," "poison," something that was either "smoke" or "cloud," and an ominous looking symbol that didn't appear to say anything at all, but which greatly resembled one of the giant spiders of Mirkwood.

"You should show these to the Farethon, the Master of Arms as well," Argonui added as he passed the eight remaining arrows back to their owner. "He might know how such weapons are made. At the very least, I'm sure he'd want to know more about the one who made them."

Maerwyn shrugged as she carefully tucked the arrows back into her quiver. "He'd have to talk to Orin about that, and he looks rather busy at the moment," she replied with a nod in the dwarf's direction.

Heledir the Archivist had picked his head up from his scroll the instant his own name had passed Argonui's lips, and when the elf laid his violet eyes on Orin it was with an expression of warmth and wonder. Rising to his feet, he approached the dwarf with both hands held out in greeting, the hem of his long scarlet robe brushing the floor as firelight glittered against the silver thread in his iron-gray hair. "Well met, Orin of Erebor," the archivist greeted in a low, musical tone. He spoke in clear Westron, in the same noble accent as Arathorn and his men, though with a hint of merriment rather than their usual grimness. "It has been more than an age since one of your kind has entered My Lord Elrond's great library, but I have no doubt that if he were here, he would be pleased to see such scholarly interest as I see in you now."

Gesturing towards the same Argonui had indicated, the elf laid a gentle hand on Orin's shoulder. "I understand you wish to learn more about the great works of your ancestors as well as mine, is that so? If you can tell me what exactly it is you wish to know, I would be more than happy to assist in translation."

Across the room, Maerwyn couldn't help but smile a little as she watched the interaction. She'd half-expected Heledir to treat Orin the way Thranduil and his people had often treated her, even when she was invited. As a stranger, an outsider, not to be trusted. But the archivist, for all his mooning looks and scatterbrained movements, seemed to truly want to help the dwarf in his quest for knowledge, and suddenly she felt sure that he would be safe here. They both would.

Silently rising her to her feet, the mercenary gently touched Argonui's arm. "If Orin asks for me, tell me I've gone back to our quarters and I'll wait for him there. I'm sick of carrying these things around," she whispered with a conspiring chuckle as she adjusted the quiver on her shoulder.

"Of course, Mistress. Would you like me to walk you back?" the boy offered gallantly, but Maerwyn shook her head.

"No thank you, lad. I'm sure I can make my own way. And in fact, I'd prefer it if you'd keep an eye on the dwarf for me and give him my message when he realizes I've stepped out. Don't interrupt him though." Pausing, Maerwyn suddenly gave the boy an uncharacteristic bow, to which he could only blush in reply.

"Thank you for your help with those markings, Argonui," she replied as she straightened. "You're a fine young man, and I don't say that about just anyone. If there's anything I can do to repay you..."

"No! Of course not, Mistress, it was nothing. Really," the boy insisted as he avoided her gaze. "I was happy to do it, honest."

Grinning, Maerwyn ruffled his hair. "Well if you think of anything, I'm in your debt. You have my word on that." Then stepping lightly as she could in her dress and boots, she slipped between the shelves and out the far door, emerging into the golden afternoon sunlight in the courtyard beyond.

 

[Traveler]

“Oh!” Orin grinned happily at the reception he got from Heledir. The elf’s red robes and his eyes kind and wise. The dwarf felt like he could seen entire lifetimes of knowledge in the librarian’s eyes. His lips parted at the man’s greeting, and placing his hand to his chest he asked, “You know of me?”

It would have been as amazing as if Aulë himself had called Orin by his given name. Orin gave another “Oh…” this one full of wonder when Heledir said that hit had been a while since a dwarf had enter the library. “I do want to learn about them, and the elves,” he said. “We, uh…we’ve lost the finesse in our work,” he said. “I was hoping to spend some time in the books, but also, if possible…” he felt awkward and odd even asking it. “I thought maybe if it were possible, I could come back in, say…a century or so? To stay and learn more thoroughly?”

His dark brows pulled together and upwards as he pleaded in the least begging-ish way he knew how.

The librarian nodded sagely, put a slim hand on the dwarf’s arm, and smiled. “Come back when you can, stay as long as you might. Knowledge is wealth, but only if it is shared, son of the House of Durin.” He led Orin to the shelves of books, some half the size of the dwarf himself, and swept his arm as if to encompass them all. “Enjoy.”

To Orin’s delight he found that nearly half were written in the heavy, dark strokes of his native tongue. He did not know where to start first! He pulled one book and looked at it longingly, then stared at another, trading one for the other. Eventually he had a small stacks of books that he hauled to a table, thinking he would merely sift through them to get a feel of what might be discovered.

Many, many, many hours later, he started to notice a strange sound coming from nearby. Orin closed the book he was reading and crept from his chair, noticing that he felt rather stiff. He peeked around a bookshelf and noticed the young man, Argonui, asleep on a cushion.

Orin wiped at his eyes and noted how dry it was. “Uhm, Argonui?” he said, reaching out to shake the lad. The young man startled awake. “Hey, it’s okay,” Orin assured him. “It’s just me.”

“Ah, Lord Orin! Maerwyn wanted me to let you know she went back to your quarters.”

Orin’s eyes widened. “She left?” He whirled around. When had she left? He turned to Argonui. “When did she leave?” A few minutes later, after Argonui assured him that he would put back the books for him, Orin was trotting back towards the quarters he shared with Maerwyn. The sun had already set and he had no idea how many hours had passed since he had seen her. He wound his way along the paths, up the stairs, across foot bridges, until he reached their little corner of the kingdom. He paused out side their door to take the time to run his hand through his hair and tame it somewhat before turning the door handle and going inside.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Without the aid--or in Maerwyn's opinion, hindrance--of a guide, the mercenary found herself idly wandering the stone paths leading away from the great library. The afternoon breeze was pleasantly cool, but there was a vague threat underneath it: the ever-approaching dearth of winter. Would it snow in Rivendell? It never seemed to in Thranduil's realm, and that was a good ways north of here yet. Perhaps there was something in the trees that kept the white flakes from littering the leafy trails between the houses, or it might have been some power of the elves themselves. The woman thought it very in-character that people blessed with such abilities would use them just to increase their own comfort, and she rebelliously kicked a stray pebble into the brush to her left.

"Díheno nin, heryn. Sevin dhâf peded gi?" Murmured a low voice from farther up the trail, jerking the mercenary's attention away from the pebble and confusedly towards the speaker. It was an elf, of course, albeit one dressed more soberly than those that had congregated in the library. His hair was dark but his clothing was darker, and despite the peaceful air of the valley he still wore shining armor and a wicked looking sword at his side. Maerwyn's fingers twitched reflexively as she felt for the bow on her back, but the elf's face was open and honest, and his eyes even hinted at an awkwardness unusual among his people. He was no enemy to her, although the fact he hadn't greeted her in Westron like the other people of Rivendell did not bode well for the future conversation.

"Gi suilon," she answered in the stilted accent of Mirkwood. "Pedig Annúnaid? Edhellen alvaer."

The elf looked apologetic at her and shook his head. "U-bedin, heryn."

Her shoulders slumped. Not enough Sindarin on her end, and not enough Westron on his. "No heryns here, mate," the woman grumbled under her breath. "Just Maerwyn. Er...im Maerwyn" she added, hoping at least he might understand that much.

Judging by the the brightened expression on the elf's face, he did. "Farethon," he replied, thumping his fist against his chest.

"Ah, the Master of Arms?" That would explain why the fellow looked like he might actually be able to win a fight. Looking on him with renewed interest, Maerwyn almost found herself wishing she had a better grasp of the language, but although Farethon spoke quickly he was liberal with his use of Silvan words, which helped smooth things over somewhat. From what the woman could gather, he had seen her arrive yesterday and wished to speak with her, but had no desire to interrupt her and her...well...

Maerwyn couldn't help but smile at the blush on Farethon's cheeks. "Penin hervenn," she cut in quickly, but the elf had already moved on. He wanted her to accompany him somewhere, he had something for her. Anu. A gift.

Why the in the world some stranger in a place she'd never intended to visit would have a gift of her, she couldn't say, but the woman was too intrigued to decline the offer now. Following Farethon down the path, he led her to an open courtyard lined with archer targets and smelling faintly of metal. Off to one side she could see--or rather, smell--the stables of Rivendell, while the clattering sounds from an opposite building hinted at the location of the settlement's forges. The Master of Arms gestured towards a third building between the two, a dimly lit storeroom of sorts where other military-looking elves were sorting through weapons and armor.

Several chests and boxes had been stacked from floor to ceiling on the inside of the warehouse, but Farethon led the woman towards a smaller bundle resting on a table at the rear of the building. It was long and thin, wrapped in oilcloth and lightly secured with twine, and when the elf placed the bundle in Maerwyn's hands, she noticed something familiar about the weight. It cannot be... she didn't dare to hope it. How could these be here? How could they be in her hands now, after all these years?

With trembling fingers she undid the loose knots in the bindings, and as she unfolded the oilcloth she half expected to see nothing more inside than a loose bundle of twigs. But even the dim light from the lamps overhead was enough to shine brightly off the silver blades of the twin swords. The mercenary could remember hundreds of nights watching campfire blades dancing off them while Thilion carefully cleaned and polished each, and she could remember the shivering electric joy when he let her hold one of them in both her small hands. That was the first sword she had ever touched, and all her life she had longed to possess those very blades.

"Where did you get these?" she whispered in Westron, taking one in each hand and inspecting them closer. "O hin sa odul?"

She could only understand bits and pieces of the story, but as soon as she heard his name it was enough to understand. "Thilion...is he still here?" She repeated the question in Silvan. In Sindar. Blood was beginning to rush in her ears, and she kept asking over in over, in every language she could think of. "Is he here?"

Farethon shook his head apologetically. No, something about the havens. Some weeks ago. Midsummer?

Maerwyn sunk into a waiting chair, letting the swords rest in the lap of her gown. Gone then. Not even a goodbye to her, or a chance for her to say anything in response. No opportunity to beg him to stay, to ask why it was he'd rejected her. She couldn't even brag to Thilion about her new lover, or see what that pretty face of his looked like when she told him she was regularly fucking a dwarf and she absolutely loved it, and wasn't he jealous now that he had never so much as kissed her anywhere but her forehead, and even then not since she'd been sixteen?

Bastard. Of course he'd leave his swords behind for her, what use would he have for them in that green paradise for him across the sea? No orcs to hunt, no little orphan girls to rescue, no short-lived temptresses sneaking into his bedroll and begging him to use them how he saw fit. The elf could have thrown his fucking blades into the sea for all they were worth to her now. Even though she'd asked for the swords nearly every day for all the years she lived with Thilion and his sisters, it was never about them. They were never what she really wanted, and now...now they were all she'd ever have of him.

Not enough, never enough. Never more than scraps...

The mercenary wanted to shove them back into Farethon's grasp. But when she found the strength to stand again, and held the swords in just the stance Thilion had taught her so many years ago, there was no denying the weapons were well-made. Light and swift, yet just heavy enough to easily cut through orc and goblin flesh. If she left them here, what would happen then? Would they be lost in the towers of shelves and chests in this cavernous storeroom, their owner utterly forgotten as the memory of his brief visit faded away? The waste of such fine weapons would be a shame, after all.

So it was that when Orin returned to the quarters he shared with the woman that he found her seated at a table near the window, her fingers thoughtfully stroking each of the leather-wrapped hilts. When she heard him enter Maerwyn looked up with a smile on her face, although her eyes and nose were curiously red as she rose to her feet.

"There you are. Was beginning to wonder if you'd fallen in the river again," she remarked with a little too much merriment in her voice. Coming before him, the mercenary leaned forward and kissed him briefly but fiercely on the mouth, before quickly turning away to gesture towards the table. "The elves gave me some new swords. Do you know when dinner is? I could eat a horse."

She refused to look at him further.

 

[Traveler]

Orin felt the air shift with tension as soon as he opened the door. He had been eager to see Maerwyn and tell her all he had learned, perhaps over a large tankard of ale, or some of the elves’ sweet wine. But when the door opened and he saw the mercenary, he knew that something was wrong.

Immediately he assumed that, whatever the something was, it was his fault.

Maerwyn’s tone when she addressed him only made him more convinced that it was. He raked his mind for any memory of a set time he was supposed to be back. Had he overstayed his time in the library? Was there something that they had planned to do together, and he had left her hanging? He did not know. He only knew that she was mad, it was his fault, and there was little he could do to make it better.

He slowly closed the door behind himself.

When she walked up to him and nearly punched him in the mouth with her lips, he worked his lips in a little bruised circle as he looked to the swords on the table.

“I…don’t know when dinner is,” he said, his voice subdued. What was that about new swords? His eyes trailed to the table, where double swords as fine as any he had ever seen laid upon the wooden surface.

He looked back at Maerwyn but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Tentatively he walked over to the swords. “These are…” his eyes traced the edges, fine swoops crafted by a master. The leather wrappings were not new; in fact, they looked lovingly cared for over decades. The blades as well; he could pick up delicate traces of where tiny nicks had been smoothed over by a whetstone. “These are quite beautiful,” he said, “they look like they were made for royalty.”

His mind could not comprehend why she was so upset. Perhaps she thought that they elves were saying that her swords were inadequate, and it had hurt her feelings. Or maybe she was told they were new and they clearly were not, so she felt insulted.

Maybe the moon had reached its apex and she was souring over her cycle.

He had no clue.

“Maerwyn my dear,” he said, turning away from his eyes-only inspection of the weapons to look upon his guide. “Did I do something wrong?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn was still so overcome by her own emotions that she didn't notice the curious tone in Orin's voice right away. But when their eyes met over the swords, there was a peculiar shadow on his face. She stood up quickly, wondering if something had happened in the library. A cruel word from one of their skinny, stuck-up hosts perhaps? Or was it just exhaustion plaguing him still? The mercenary wouldn't have thought spending an afternoon sitting amongst piles of books would be so tiring, but then again she barely read herself, so who was to say?

“These are quite beautiful,” he said, “they look like they were made for royalty.” There was no mistaking the note of pain in his voice now, but where in the world had it come from?

In an effort to cheer him, Maerwyn shrugged carelessly and set the weapons aside. "They were Harthion's. Possibly his father's even, I'm not quite sure. Apparently Thil--" the name caught in her throat, and something stung in her eyes as she turned away again. "Thilion left them here, before he went to the West. I might as well take them, they're good swords. Don't know if we'll have much use for them on this side of the mountains, but on the return journey perhaps..."

Ah yes, the return journey. When Orin would inevitably leave her as well, the same way that bastard elf had. But then again...Orin said he loved her, and more than once at that. He seemed to think her fair enough to look at too, and he certainly wasn't shy about taking her to his bed, all their differences aside. And he wasn't afraid to let others know what he felt for her either.

He's not like Thilion. The mercenary slowly turned back towards him, looking at the dwarf with a cautious new expression. Perhaps he wouldn't leave her after all. He said he wanted to be a mercenary, and even though he might not quite have gotten the hang of things yet, the spirit was certainly willing. And it was interesting how well he had seemed to fit in back at the library. Orin was a very curious dwarf, unlike any Maerwyn had ever met before. He always seemed to belong wherever he was, and maybe...just maybe that included being by her side, no matter where the roads might have taken her.

“Maerwyn my dear,” Stars, but why was his voice so strained when he spoke? “Did I do something wrong?”

Her mossy eyes widened. "You, my bear? Done something wrong?" What in the world could have given him that idea? Perhaps he had suspected something about the swords and their previous owner, and the claim Thilion had held on Maerwyn's heart. Or perhaps it was her slipping away from the library without a word, or the constant nagging about leaving the night before. Come to think of it, she'd really been quite unpleasant to him when she looked back on it all. Orin never asked anything of her, it wasn't his way. Nor did he argue against her judgment, or hold her mistakes against her. He loved her without question, and she gave him nothing but coldness in return.

I'm as bad as Dís the woman thought guiltily, and without a word she took the dwarf into her arms, squeezing him tightly. "I'm sorry, Orin," she murmured against his hair. "I've not been half as kind to you as you deserve, and I wish I had been. You've done nothing wrong, not a thing." Pressing a light kiss to his temple, she pulled away and offered him a warmer smile this time. "Women do get their moods about them, and I'm no different than any other. But if you'll forgive my poor temper, I'll make it worth your while." A saucy glint sparkled in her eye as she reached for the waistband of his trousers.

"I imagine we must have some time before dinner yet..."

*****
​

The rest of their days in Rivendell passed quickly and uneventfully. The next morning they were allowed to visit Arathorn, who while still rather on the grumpy side was overall improved in his condition and was even well enough to take tea with them in the afternoon. Maerwyn spent most of her time (when not in bed with her lover) either practicing with her new swords at the training grounds, or enjoying the company of the horses in the stables. Like his master, Rhawnaur was doing much better after his ordeal, but on the morning the travelers were to depart the valley, the mercenary noticed with some disappointment he was missing from his stall.

"What a pity," she remarked to Orin as she rejoined him at the door to their room, dressed in her full traveling gear again. "I'd really grown quite fond of the beast. I suppose that happens when you save a creature from becoming a troll's supper."

To her great surprise though, the red stallion was waiting patiently for them at the gates, saddled and ready with Arathorn at his side, leaning heavily on his wife.

"I thought the two of you ought to take him," the Ranger remarked as he held out Rhawnaur's reins. "I'll be in no shape to ride for some time, and I could think of no other way to repay you for saving me."

"But you are always welcome in Rivendell, and among the Dúnedain," added Llamiryl with a bow.

Argonui stepped out from behind her, echoing his mother's gesture as he looked from the woman to the dwarf. "I hope you'll visit again," he said shyly. "And if you ever need more translations done..."

"I know just who to speak to," Maerwyn added with a grin, ruffling the boy's hair again. They made a few additional farewells to the other men and elves who had appeared to see them off, the last of them being Glorfindel, who gripped her hands firmly between his own and gave her a strange look that made her shiver a little.

"Have courage, Lady of the Wood," he whispered with a squeeze of her hand. "Trust your heart, always, and it will see you through all dangers. I look forward to seeing you again. You and your family."

That last sentence left the mercenary so bewildered she couldn't make out the elf's final words to Orin, but she found new strength when she laid a hand on the dwarf's shoulder.

"Well then, Master Dwarf, what say you? Shall we be off?"

 

[Traveler]

Ah, there it was. The ghost of the elf she had loved was still haunting her. Orin’s eyes softened as he heard the catch in her throat and saw the way her body stilled as she spoke of him. The dwarf could not understand why one who had so much life ahead of himself would end it simply to not be subjected to the pain of loss. It was worth the pain to have been, even for a moment, the glimmer of happiness in Maerwyn’s eyes. He didn’t understand why Thilion had to say goodbye. Worse, why the man was so cowardly he couldn’t say goodbye properly, but left the world to pick up the broken pieces his departure left in the world and in that woman’s heart.

He left you a fine gift then, Orin concluded. Whether Thilion meant to or not, the gods saw fit for these to come to her. He smiled at her as he settled in his heart the realization that she would always have a part of her that loved the elf.

And when he asked her if he had done something wrong, he felt the warmth in his heart bloom when she called him her bear. As she hugged him, blaming her recent mood on womanly ways, he thought that he understood. It was one of those things that women went through, wasn’t it? Those moody swings that made them cry for no reason or break dishes? He had not experienced it much himself, having only Dís and his mother to judge from, but he’d heard about it whispered between older dwarves who had known a woman or two.

It seemed that the next few days in Rivendell provided no more of those moody woman days, and though Orin spent much time studying in the library, he also got to watch some of their best smiths at their craft, and speak to many others. It was like a birthday that just got better and better. Despite his differences, or perhaps because of it, the elves seemed to view his curiosity as amusing at worst. Especially once Orin got in the habit of bathing daily.

On the morning they were to leave, Orin felt a tinge of sadness at having to go. Even though he had been given permission to return if his feet ever brought him back, he knew that the next time he stepped foot in Rivendell it might be years after he had lost Maerwyn. The thought of that put a pall of sorrow over everything he laid his eyes on. Even the morning sweet cakes did not taste as good, and he realized he was looking at it all as ‘the last time’ with his love.

He joined her at the door to their room, bags packed and traveling clothes on. He’d taken a bath that morning, rather finding that he enjoyed the bubbles that they cleverly fed into their waters, and would miss a lot more about this place than the libraries.

“Rhawnaur isn’t in the stables?” He cocked his head curiously at her. “I suppose that’s true – I mean, the elves here rescued me from being drowned, so that might explain why they’re fond of me, too!” He grinned at his own joke. Then he reached out and gave her hands a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay, Maerwyn. I’m sure that Arathron and his horse will both think fondly of you.”

He was surprised to see them both waiting at the gates for them, and at first he had the crazed thought that the ranger was going to join them, despite how tightly his wife had him by the arm.

Orin’s face must have betrayed his amazement at the queenly gift the ranger was giving Maerwyn. He looked from one to the other, then to the wife, and finally to their tall willow of a son who had helped the dwarf so steadily translating and finding books for him. They were beginning to feel more like family than strangers, and Orin found he loved them warmly. He said his goodbyes to the trio as Maerwyn and the golden-haired elf who had helped pull him from the freezing waters.

Then the tall, kingly form of Glorfindel turned to Orin and once again he put his hands on the dwarf’s shoulders and looked him straight in his face as if reading the man’s fate with those intense eyes of his.

“Orin of the House of Durin, it has been an honor to meet you,” he said, his voice smooth and ageless. “If only one thing were to survive Erebor, I am glad that it is you.”

Orin cocked his head quizzically. By the time he got his tongue untangled enough to reply, the elf had continued. “It seems history has a way of repeating itself – the path you walk is a glorious one. Be brave; the darkness comes before the dawn,” he said mysteriously, before giving Orin a sturdy pat and sending him on his way.

With a final look behind them, he turned with Maerwyn and left their temporary home and began to make their way south along the Bruinen River.

It was bitterly cold. The wind whipped at their exposed skin, turning it red and dry. The furs and blankets they had could only do so much, and though he knew they had escaped the worst of it, there was still a weather pattern weighing down on them; heavy clouds that looked pregnant with rain, a stiff wind that spoke of changing pressure and potential storms, and through it all the knowledge that they were not precisely sure of where they were going.

Moria? Eventually. One day, Orin would like to go home. He could not do so until he found that dagger. It did not matter that he no longer cared for Dís or her silly challenges. He had made a vow.

Damn it, he would keep that vow. He had to go home someday.

Glancing at Maerwyn, he thought that ‘someday’ didn’t have to be soon. Hell, he could spend his days adventuring, learning the life of a mercenary, and then, decades and decades from now, he could venture into Moria on his own.

After they had been riding a few hours, he called out to her. “Do you think the next town might have some work for us?” He shifted his shaggy pony closer to her huge mount. “I was thinking…taking on a guide position might be profitable, and maybe we can find a town to stay in over winter?” Thick eyebrows reached to his hairline. His stomach grumbled, destroying any chance that moment might seem heroic, and reminding him that it had been quite too long since they had breakfast.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Ah, it was good to have a road before her again, and the dangers of the east safely walled behind the Misty Mountains. Despite the gloom of the day and the obvious warmth and comfort of Rivendell growing ever smaller at their backs, Maerwyn felt almost cheerful as their mounts lightly clopped their way westward, even humming an annoying elf song that just would not free itself from her mind, no matter how hard she tried to forget it.

Of course, there was still the danger of the Trollshaws to the north, but during her conversations with Rangers they made it very clear the ways would be well guarded by men and elves alike. And once they cleared the Last Bridge (though she had always considered it the First Bridge) the way would be familiar to her again, and the prospects of finding work would be even brighter.

"There won't be a 'next town' for several days, Master Dwarf," Maerwyn replied, utterly unperturbed. "The Rangers have some settlements a ways north, but they seldom have use for mercenaries. Quite capable of looking after themselves, that lot. Well, except for one individual, apparently." She shot him a knowing look. Considering how Arathorn had been improving when they left, she thought he could withstand the barb.

"But once we get past the Weather Hills, we'll stop for a night at the Forsaken Inn," she continued. "I've had good luck there in the past. Dwarves seem to like the ale there, and it's bigger than any of the places in Bree. This time of year we should see quite a bit of traffic, unless snows in the mountains have cut the pass off." Pausing, she suddenly twisted Rhawnaur's reins uncomfortably in her hands. "Stars, now that I think on it, I hope that trouble with the orcs wasn't as bad as everyone was saying back in Rivendell. That could put a damper on things."

She tried to shake away the concern. "Ah, but if we do have trouble, I'm sure Bree will have something. Merchants wanting to send goods down the Greenway and the like. Breefolk don't pay as well as dwarves do, but if we end up heading south the weather shouldn't be so troublesome. Could possibly even spend the winter just going back and forth if we have to. I've done it before, though after about the fourth trip I thought I'd've gone mad with boredom."

A flock of birds passing overhead brought another new idea into Maerwyn's mind. A foolish one, granted, though not without its appeals. "Then again, I suppose if you aren't of a mind to eat too often--" Judging by the growl in Orin stomach at that moment, he certainly was of such a mind. She smiled and fished in her saddlebag for a leaf-wrapped bit of elvish bread, tossing it lightly to the dwarf. "As I was saying, if you don't need to eat every day, we might continue down the Old South Road past Tharbad and have a look at the sea. I've never been farther than the ruins myself, but I imagine it must be warm enough. Probably some fish as well, if we can figure out how to catch them. Bit different from fishing in a stream, I'd imagine."

A vision passed before her mind for a moment: the sea, not as people had described it to her, with beaches and marshes blending the water and land together, but how she had imagined it as a child: coming down from some great wall of mountains to see it stretched out before her, endless and eternal. Suddenly her own desire to go to the sea flickered to life, though she did her best to keep her expression as careless and neutral as ever.

"No need to decide right this minute, of course," Maerwyn stated. "When we get to Bree, perhaps..."

Within days they had pass the dangers of the Trollshaws, and by the time they crossed the Last/First Bridge over the Hoarwell, the weather made a marked improvement. It even grew downright hot some days, as though summer was making one rebellious last stand before the oncoming autumn and belching forth the last of its scalding afternoon winds.

On one such day when the Weather Hills were just beginning to rise up before them in the west, the mercenary noticed a familiar streamlet and suddenly smiled. "Oy, Orin," she called to her partner, turning the red horse off of the road and into the brush along the water. "Let's go up this way a bit. I'm in the mood for a detour, and the laddies--" This was her affectionate nickname for the horse and pony. "--could use a bit of a rest."

Without telling him anything more about where they were headed, Maerwyn led the dwarf perhaps a mile or two south of the road, where the streamlet widened into a placid pool surrounded with rushes and willows. The afternoon breezes were cooler here, and there was plenty of shade under the gnarled arms of the trees. Dismounting from Rhawnaur's back, the woman led him to the water and stretched her arms languidly. "I know it's a bit early in the day to make camp, but this was always one of my favorite places. I think we ought to enjoy the weather while we have it, don't you?"

For the next hour or so they tended to the horses and themselves, and just when the day seemed at its hottest the mercenary did a very peculiar thing indeed. Stepping to the water's side, she stripped naked (well, nearly so; she kept on a thin white chemise cut in the elvish style, leaving very little to the imagination indeed) and turned back to face her partner.

"Well my bear, what would you say to a swimming lesson?" Maerwyn asked with a smile on her face, stepping into the water and holding out one hand in supplication to him. "I'd rather teach you in a place like this than try it in the Loudwater again. And we may not get many more chances until springtime, though I'm sure we'll come across some more rivers before then. If not the sea," she added, letting herself fall backward into the water until she disappeared under the mirror-like surface.