Chapter Text
The man standing in front of Thorin smirked when he noticed his eyes settle on the heavy coin pouch in his hand. Clearly he saw the fact that Thorin’s clothes were worn and boots were scuffed without seeing that the quality of the fabric and leather would outlast anything that he could acquire in the towns of men.
He looked at Thorin as if he were a penniless vagabond who could be easily manipulated with just a hint of gold.
Unfortunately, infuriatingly, it was not that far from the truth. As much as Thorin wanted to turn him away and walk out of the dank inn in Bree known as the Prancing Pony, he needed the money. Not just for him, but for his sister and her two boys.
And it was a lot of gold. Not a true reflection of his skill – no man had ever offered him that - but enough to keep his family safe and warm throughout the fast approaching winter.
So he forced down his pride, even though it thrashed and crawled inside his stomach like a living thing, and asked, “What do you need me to do?”
The man who had introduced himself with the unlikely name of Hunter smirked at him. “I want you to make some armour, and a knife and bow. But not just any armour.” He paused to take a gulp of his ale before leaning closer to Thorin. “You have heard the tales of the creature that lives in the woods beyond the Barrow-Downs, haven’t you?”
“Creature?” Thorin asked sceptically.
The man didn’t seem to pick up on Thorin’s tone and leaned even closer, his voice lowering to deter any eavesdroppers, though how there could be any in the noisy room Thorin had no idea. “Yes… it resembles a deer, but its hide is a pale colour, like honey.” Hunter stared at him expectantly for a few moments, before asking incredulously, “You really haven’t heard of it?”
“I care little for the superstitions of men,” Thorin said, leaning away from the man’s ale-soaked breath.
His client’s smug expression faded just a little into anger. “It is no superstition! Poachers have been telling tales about it for generations. It can move unseen at will and no arrows have ever been able to pierce it!”
Thorin sighed. “And what do you expect me to do with this information?”
“I want you to hunt this creature and use its hide when you make my armour.” His eyes gleamed. “I want the protection that the creature has.”
“What makes you think that I will be able to succeed where so many others have failed?”
Hunter stared at him blankly. “You’re a dwarf,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “You lot can sniff out valuable things. You should have no problems tracking it down.”
Thorin almost felt like laughing at that, but held it back to focus on the most important thing. “I want half my fee now,” Thorin demanded, finally picking up his own tankard.
“What? I am not paying you anything until I have my armour!”
Thorin shrugged. “If you want to send me on a hunt for an invisible creature that cannot be harmed, then I want half now, to pay for my time. You can give me the rest after I have forged the armour.”
The man scowled. “I’ll give you a third now, and the rest when you have finished the job.”
They negotiated for a few minutes, but Thorin knew that he couldn’t afford to turn the man down, no matter how much he might be inclined to. The man knew it too, which made things even worse.
Eventually, the man left him in peace with a third of his fee, re-joining his companions, who were all staring at him speculatively. Thorin slipped the coins into the secret pouch inside of his coat, making a mental note to approach Hunter when he was alone when it was time to collect his fee, and left the inn.
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In another life, if history had been different, Thorin would not have had to labour in the villages and towns and men for barely enough coin to get by, and his sister would not have to work almost every hour of daylight, barely managing to spend any time with her two boys.
Thorin’s grandfather had been king of the greatest, richest, and most magnificent of the dwarven kingdoms, known as Erebor.
But his Grandfather Thror had been overthrown by his younger brother Gror, one of Durin’s sons betraying another, and it had only been the courage of his wife, who had fled with her young son in the company of a single cousin as a bodyguard, that ensured his line’s survival.
She had escaped without the aid of the dwarves who had once sworn fealty to her, and the elves and men who had claimed to be her allies, and made a new life for herself in the Blue Mountains with her son, and her family had lived there ever since.
But dwarves have long memories, and there were few willing to risk the ire of Erebor to help the descendants of a fallen king, no matter how little threat they presented to Thorin’s cousin Dain, who was known even in the Blue Mountains to be a wise and well-beloved king. There were few jobs and fewer resources in the small dwarven settlement where they had made their home, and what little there was did not filter down to them.
So Thorin left his sister and her two young sons every spring and summer, working to earn enough coin to see them through the winter.
He didn’t spend much time thinking of the heritage that could have been his. It was a waste of time and energy and Thorin had little to spare of either. But when his brother Frerin had died from an illness that could have been treated had they the money, or when his sister Dis looked particularly exhausted caring for her boys alone after her husband had been killed in a mining accident, or when he noticed that his nephews had sprung up in height during his absence it was hard not to feel bitter.
Or when an disreputable, unkempt man who in truth was little better than a brigand looked down on him literally and figuratively, offering to pay him far less than his true worth for a job beneath his skill.
But he had agreed to take on this job, foolish as he thought it was, so he headed outside to meet his travelling companion, cousin and closest friend, and descendant of his ancestor’s bodyguard.
Dwalin waited for him outside of the inn, lounging next to their ponies and travelling forge, fierce enough even in idleness that he was not bothered by the residents of Bree beyond the occasional dirty look.
He scowled at the look on Thorin’s face. “What did he have to say for himself, then?”
“He wants some magical weapons made from the hide of an invisible deer,” Thorin replied dryly.
Dwalin stared at him for a few seconds, before laughing incredulously. “I hope he’s paying you well for it.”
Thorin shook his head. “Better than most,” he replied, and Dwalin nodded grimly. His family’s long association with Thorin’s meant that he knew what it was like to be underpaid both in the Blue Mountains and in the towns of Men.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.
“There’s no need for us both to spend a few weeks shivering in the woods looking for something that probably isn’t there,” Thorin replied.
“Are you sure?” Dwalin pressed. “You remember what happened the last time you went off into the woods by yourself?”
Thorin shoved him a little bit, but Dwalin barely moved. He just grinned.
“Here,” Thorin said, taking out the money pouch the man had given him. He removed a couple of coins and handed the rest to Dwalin. “Give this to Dis. Tell her I’ll be home soon.”
Dwalin nodded and hid the pouch away. “Don’t be too long looking for this magic deer. It’s already mid-October. You spend too long here and you’ll be cut off by the snow.”
“A month. No longer than that,” Thorin agreed. “I am not eager to travel home in the cold.”