Chapter Text
The forge was alive with the vapour of the shovels and picthforks being worked into life from fire and water, droplets of it clinging to the bare skin of the two dwarrows working there, glistening in a tempting way along the bulging biceps.
How low had they fallen: from ereborian nobility to working for men in order to scrap up some money and survive, living peacefully in the stable settlement of Ered Luin.
But Dwalin could do it as long as he could sing Mahal’s hymns into Thorin’s skin at night in their room.