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It was rare for the conversation to turn sour around the evening campfire. The hopes and dreams of the company ran rampant each night, fueling their ambitions of the reclamation of Erebor and beyond.
Much of the activities were typically geared towards jokes, folklore, and songs, dwarven culture abounded.
At some point, every individual conveyed their motivations, needing to know why each of you was not home, safe, in your own beds. Instead, you were on the road risking life and limb. Trolls attempting to cook you, goblins were trying to pulverize you, and orcs with a boner for Thorin.
You sat in a semi-circle with your back's to one of the few boulders in the desert-like valley—an errant climate with a stark beauty that required careful consideration to travel through.
Talk turned singularly to the town that you were entering tomorrow, Hollow Marks. It was far from a welcoming village, an elitist group of humans who claimed Numenorians roots but with the hearts of a shriveled necromancer.
Even the avarice Iron Mountain Dwarves avoided them: the contempt they conveyed in every interaction, the dismissive manner with which they treated others, and there desire for assimilating others cultures in the absence of due respect. Rumor had it that they illegally sold dwarven artifacts from age's past, calling it cultural exploration and preservation; Grave robbers.
Unfortunately, there was no other town for miles, and supplies were necessary for the last leg of the trip. It was a chokehold that they had on travelers in the area.
A warm bed would be a nice reprieve from the cold nights and hot days, lack of water. Many within the company were beginning to resemble the very earth below them: dry, weathered, and cracked.
Most of all, Kili seemed to carry the very boulder he should have been at rest upon. Looking down at his fingers that were aggressively picking at the skin on his thumbs, beginning to bloody. His brother, Fili, was trying to engage him in any kind of chatter.
"Bofur, what's wrong with Kili?" your eye's searching the sweet dwarf beside you. Even his unwavering optimism seemed dampened.
"Ack, a 'lady' at the bar, was less than kind to Prince Kili." He whispered, for once, hoping to be rid of the subject. Staring keenly in your request for more information, he turned his back to the fire.
"She poured a drink on his head and scoffed his height. Told him he was no man." Your spirits sunk right along with the companies.
Kili wrapped his arms around himself and proceeded to go for a walk, alone. Fili responded by breaking the wood in half that he had been widdling.
A smooth pouring of humiliation and sadness flowed down to your stomach at the knowledge. Kili might not be the wisest, but he was kind, intelligent, protective, and funny. He had been the first one to speak with you. Heartily laughing at your jokes. Encouraging you to talk about your culture and life before the company with his bright smile and dazzling looks. Skipping around naked through the river to get you to smile after being scared to go in. River spirits.
"Ori, I may need your help." A glint of mischief entering your hazel eyes as you stared down the young artist.
The ride into town was silent, the dwardem's backs straight, unyielding, and proud. There hair glinting in the sunlight braided so finely you wondered when they'd woken to do it.
In contrast, your own hair was up in its usual bun, clinging to your scalp with grime and sweat. The natural color darkened by the road. Clothes not pristine but as clean as the way would allow.
You had plans to hammer out, leaving much less time to groom.
"I'll get us rooms at the tavern. As I recall three to a room." Thorin was riding off with his face in a deeper grimace than usual. He might be doing what's best for the company long term; however, his temper was still being tested.
Scanning the crowd of mostly humans for other race's limited there time in the odious place as well. It appeared one out of every three had a whispered comment or grimace for your group.
Dwalin veered to the right where the scribes and book shops were located. They had been known to 'borrow' khuzdul text, even Karthu' Urd. He was determined to 'acquire' some for Erebors library.
Each member of the company filing off to complete some task or requirement. In and out, one night only.
Arriving at the clothing shop, a vision of elven and dwarvish styles could be seen within its walls. The owner was commenting on how enriched each piece was with a sense of culture. The title entitled ass was more appropriate. Instead, you settled on items that curiously were embellished with your own cultural symbols and designs. Gowns of such renown you wondered who in this town could afford to purchase them.
Luckily your talents had not gone unnoticed in the previous town. A lord had mentioned that an ability such as yours should have more exceptional garments and accouterment, three gold pieces. Now was the time to put it to good use. Even if it did grate you to have to purchase anything in this place.
Ori, on the other hand, was a blushing mess when you had finished.
His eye for color, as you had guessed, was invaluable. A carob brown waist cincher that covered a sheer navy blouse. The bountiful breast that you had kept concealed with armor and wraps sat high and buoyant. The sheer material allowing the smoothness of them to show and hint at the softness underneath while still maintaining your dignity.
While a skirt had been tempting lugging around the extra material would have been ridiculous. Instead, you wore leather pants that embellished every curve.
The boots had enough of a heel that your hindquarters could have bounced a dwarves coin off them—some might of paid to try.
"Ori, I appreciate you coming." Handing him a silver coin for his troubles, which he unduly returned.
"You've done enough for all of us." Ori blushed ever the gentleman. You were a woman of many talents, mostly due to a proclivity towards boredom: that and a dire need to useful and prepared.
"Well then go buy everyone dinner for me. I have one more stop." Feeling your own attractiveness, you winked at the dwarf, a kind and gentle soul.
"Should buy clothes more often." He mumbled while turning towards the tavern. Pulling his hat down over his ears. You were tempted to watch this town burn and half inclined to try. There was no sweeter heart in the whole company that Ori except perhaps Bofur. To see him shamed, unforgivable.
After finishing up at the apothecary, you headed back to the tavern to finish your plan's final steps for the night.
Within the hour, the tavern was filled with far more people and none of them regulars. They were chattering happily, drinking deeply on your purse strings. You garnered their interest for the night by promising interesting stories, music, and a free drink or two if your fancy took to them.
The individuals selected for there patient and accepting demeanor towards the dwarves, even a degree of affection.
The company had been edgy initially, given the past, but these humans were entirely free in their speech, none of it hateful. Eventually settling into an almost pleasant evening.
The old rafters were lit with candles every few feet, an elvish design but with dwarven craftsmanship. Clearly, at its inception, they had hoped for higher clientele that never transpired. Now, it was mostly filled with ladies of the evening and their…handlers. The establishment was bordering on a brothel if not for the occasional group of travelers that would take over every week or two. Such as your own.
The usual crowd herded into a corner of the bar. The owners smiling brightly at your group for you paid promptly and caused no problems …A woman with a stein of beer sat grudgingly in the corner, unused to being ignored. She was her handler's finest in both experience and visage. Not that it meant much outside of the tavern.
Every time she moved towards the group, the sons of Durin gazed apprehensively.
Kilis grimace seemed to tickle her, knowing she had caused it. She turned, smiling smugly with her nose in the air. A haughty laugh that never reached her cruel gaze at the implicit memory.
Her form lithe, almost to the point of gaunt, while still managing to balance her breast on a ragged spine that was padded to the trained eye. Her twigs for legs standing to go to the bar. A dramatic swish being added to her costumed hips.
Individuals here and there stopped to watch her walk. Her chest was jutting out into a strut as she grabbed another full glass of nearly free beer.
Quiet slowly descended on the room. The woman was practically panting at the idea that it was her power and beauty that drew such silence. Until heads began turning one by one to the smell of star jasmine, musk, and sandalwood coming down the stairs.
Your lustrous hair was pulled out of your face by two combs secured by dwarvish clasp lest your volume of hair strain them. The vile woman's beady eye's blazed in a rage after seeing you descend. It wasn't often that true beauty graced its walls.
No rouge's or powders, your skin shone from within like Elendil's light had settled itself into your blood.
Kili stood straight up from his spot on the bench. His fingers were fretting, moving an errant strand here or there, preening.
Solemn gaze flickering to life as you locked eyes with the young dwarf.
The dwarven forges of Erebor couldn't rival the mirth alight in his face.
You moved down the stairs and straight onto his arm. Every gaze following your path to the table filled with dwarves. Each of them greeting you as though Aule's consort, Yavanna, had just appeared.
One intolerant and resentful filled heart smashed her empty glass, breaking the spell.
"Good Evening, Kili." You were confident a warrior's stature that you had earned over the many miles traveled.
A natural beauty and strength that needed no announcement. It was all aimed at him tonight.
"All the better for you in it." You blushed at his response. Dwalin brought you a chair that Kili pushed in for you.
"You look," Kili paused, your eyes locked together while members of the company filled in the blanks for him.
"Stunning."
"Absolutely ravishing."
"A real gem."
The company staring as his jaw worked, "more beautiful than Varda's lights in the night sky and all the wealth of Erebor." Fili nodded, impressed at his brother's words.
"Master Dwarf, you flatter me with your compliments." Your skin tight over your cheekbones with each inch your smile spread. Descending towards his face, you kissed him soundly. Apples and beer, the taste on your tongues as you move smoothly against one another. Nails scraping over his scruff while his hands slid to your waist. The feel of supple leather and your curves underneath egging him on to explore further.
The once lustrous lady of the night throwing her stein onto the floor to the attention of no one. The entire bar was cheering for the young dwarf, nearly.
Over the day, word had gotten around of a woman who had humiliated a dwarf. How a young woman was attempting the rectify the travesty.
Thundering clomps were heard near your party. The townspeople were moving back in uncertainty.
"Delia!?!" The woman was ignoring the unspoken command, her handler. Her now obviously warn skirts that only looked to dazzle in low lights swished as she grabbed another stein from a nearby patron.
While Orcs were born with hatred and contempt in their hearts, it was far less reviled than the spirit in this woman's breast. While you could have pity for what must have been a difficult life. The noxious way in which she spread her malice was far crueler.
Now her poison stopped. She burst through Ori, who attempted to halt her without unduly laying hands on her. His palms were open and uncupped but rigid as he tried to hold her back without marring her body. Ever the well-bred gentleman.
The other dwarves were creating a blockade headed by Fili. Before she could reach the company, you flew above there heads, landing on the ground in front of her. She-wolf snarling and ready to snap the neck of anything that harmed her pack.
"Delia?" Your voice was dripping with contempt. Where she was a heaving slobbering mess: her powders out of place, beer sloshed in spots on her gown, and bustle undid.
Most of the beer in her cup sloshed on the ground, a small mouth full all that was left.
"You deigned to hold yourself above a good dwarf. He is intelligent, funny, and brave, with a genuine heart and a soul willing to protect anyone he deems in need. He stands mountains above your shallow grave." Her hand-launched the glass the little amount of beer sloshing down your shirt. Kile stood enraged, storming through his mates.
"If the only thing you can manage in rebuttal is a little beer that will come out just fine. Then clearly, you know I'm right. Now let me be perfectly clear." Grasping the stein shattering it, it's well empty. The rest of the glass sticking out in staggered edges. The handle pressed against your palm, glass knuckles.
"Kili of the noble house, Durin, might be unwilling to retaliate against a woman, but I have no such qualms." The glass grating against her cheek, the blood mixing in her makeup, the decaying substance flecking on in chalky bits.
Fist clenching, she retreated back into the dark corner she had resided in. Her deranged aggression was fizzling out into a murky drop—a watered-down glass of 'beer' in her hand.
The company was patting your shoulder and bumping heads, albeit more subdued. Dwalin had already K.O.'d you once on accident.
In the midst of it all, Kili grabbed you by the waist, his forearms holding your back and neck securely as he dipped you. Lips were locking together as tongues danced. A mewling emerging from your lips as the kiss deepened.
"My hero," Kili mumbled. His thumb was running over the soft apples of your cheeks.