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Unbeknownst to Thorin, and the rest of your friends, you had picked up a craft to gift something to your lover. Metal work scared the shit out of you between the strength required and burning slag coming off in great chips. Gem cutting also scared the shit out of you because if you cut the gem incorrectly then that’s it, final, ruined. Wood working felt the same way in its finality, as well as stonework.
Glass; however, now that was interesting. So, you went to what looked like a glass workshop and started to mess around. That lasted an hour before someone found you, sat you down, scolded you like a child and asked you if you wanted to set yourself on fire.
So, for the past three weeks you’ve been learning all you can about glass pulling and glass blowing to make a sculpture for Thorin. You knew it had to be good for a gift, so you practiced and made little bits and bobbles to perfect your techniques. It’s taken you hours upon hours to get a design and then get it approved by your teacher.
You wanted to make him two gifts. Thorin keeps his beads loose on the dresser top, so your first task was to make him a tray to hold them. You decided to make him a green oak leaf tray so that both his silver and gold beads would look beautiful in it.
The second gift was going to be more elaborate. You wanted to create something that looked alive. You wanted to make a glass statue of flowers—snowdrops to remind him of beauty, resilience, and hope and how they overcome even the most bitter winter.
It all had been going to plan for nearly a month; three weeks of training before you felt comfortable with your skill. It all had been going to plan until it all went to shit.
Thorin’s waiting for you in the sitting room and it even feels like an ambush. “Where have you been going as of late?” You open your mouth to play it off, but it’s as if he reads your mind. “Do not lie to me. It will not be taken lightly.”
Now your mouth goes dry as it snaps shut. You’re pinned. You could lie but you were just advised against that, and to be honest, you don’t want to lie to him. You could tell the truth but that would ruin the surprise you had planned. You’re stuck.
“No.” Thorin’s taken aback by that answer. “I’m not telling you.”
His surprise is short lived as he glares at you. “I already know. It’s because you’ve been with another dwarf,” he replies sneering, looking you up and down. “I’ve been told of you leaving rooms together after long hours alone, you come back to our chambers looking spent, our bed exhausted!” His voice raises to a shout and you see red.
You will not take this. “I have been with another dwarf! And do you want to know why?” you don’t want for his response before you dig, “Because it’s a fucking surprise for you! Do you want to ruin a surprise because you let your jealously get in the way? Do you want your insecurity and jealously to be the reason we can hardly look at each other?”
“We hardly see each other let alone speak! You come home late, you miss suppers we would have spent together, we hardly touch! We may share a bed, but our pleasures have certainly grown cold, and it’s no wonder because you have given your warmth to another!”
And there are the insecurities you knew would come up. “If you want me to share my pleasures with you, my warmth, I need you to tell me because I’m not a mind reader!” you implore.
He stares at the floor, holding his breath before quietly declaring, “Then allow me to lay them out before you: I do not wish to see you tonight. To hear that you’ve been consorting with another all while I long for you here is too much!”
Your stomach drops as you realize what he’s saying. ‘He wants to sleep alone. He wants space from me. He wants me to leave.’ You stare at him, eyes wide and teary, mouth open. You don’t say anything else. All the fire from before has been sucked out of you.
You remain silent as you gather a bag and fill it with things you’ll need for the next day. You’ll deal with everything else later.
A week passes by with you sleeping in another room. By day, you’re the ever devoted queen-to-be and by night, you’re slaving away over your surprise gifts for Thorin. Despite the sting of the accusations thrown at you, you won’t leave yourself with nothing to show for it. You start work before supper and leave long after sundown, long after everyone else leaves for the night.
You leave the pieces in their intended locations without a note and without announcing your presence. You know he’ll know.
And he does. He notices it the second he enters his office. There in the fire light is a green and white glass statue of flowers. He’s never been good with identifying them, but he swears he’s seen them on his spring travels.
Thorin stares at the statue on his desk, caught off guard by how small it is. Yes, there are imperfections, but he can’t think of anyone who could have—oh Mahal. A sick tremor runs up his spine and turns his stomach over as he thinks of you. You must have been the one behind the bead tray and you were the one behind this trinket, and he sent you away. He told you to find your own quarters! He told you to leave!
“Do you like it?” a voice asks behind him. So caught up in his thoughts, Thorin whirls around to find his best friend and king’s guard watching him for signs of his approval. “Caught her working on it last week. Poor thing even burnt herself ‘few times trying to get it done.”
Thorin’s throat closes as his eyes well with tears and then fall over his cheeks. Dwalin rushes forward but Thorin grabs at him, croaking, “Where is she? Dwalin, where is she, please!”
The bald dwarf is confused. “Is this because it’s good? I sure hope it’s good-.”
“DWALIN!”
“She’s staying close to the Glass District! Close by to the Ri brothers by Weaving!”
Thorin doesn’t need to hear another word as he takes off like a shot. He runs down the stairs and past the markets, hoping you’re still with the Ri brothers.
He pounds on the door. Out of desperation, he tries to turn the handle. “Open this door now by order of your king!”
“Aye, King of Breaking Hearts you are,” comes a smug voice from inside that makes Thorin painfully aware of the fact you’ve told all three brothers everything. With Nori at the door, he’s not getting in. With his locks combined with Dori’s strength, he would need a small siege to enter. Now he has to talk his way through. Oh great.
“Nori, I need to speak with her. I understand, I finally understand.”
“Hmm. . . And if she wants to call you a stupid, pig-brained boulder head?”
Thorin grinds his teeth. “Then she is welcome to say that directly to me and I will gladly let her.” He rests his forehead to the wood and his hands along the frame. “Please, Nori.”
There’s a long silence before the sound of a bolt clearing with a grind and thud vibrates against his head. The door opens to reveal Nori without his weapons, but there’s no doubt he’s armed.
“Let me be very clear Thorin, king or not, I’d have you beg on your knees in the street, but your lady is awfully forgiving. There’s to be no trouble here.”
‘I’ll agree to anything’ he thinks before saying, “Yes,” aloud.
The sight inside breaks his heart; Dori and Ori flank you on a couch while you look exhausted. Your right hand above the blanket has a white bandage around the wrist while your fingertips look individually wrapped. Your eyes are red, the bags under them purple, and the rest of you is pallid.
“I received your gifts this morning.” You look at him, willing and waiting for him to continue. “You made them yourself?” You nod, not trusting your voice. “They’re beautiful. So much so that when Dwalin found me I was speechless.”
He comes forward to kneel at your feet, looking up at your now downcast eyes. “Why-,” he pauses as he remembers Nori’s words and adjusts his tone, “-Why not tell me you had chosen a craft? It is so important to us dwarves that we celebrate a calling like that, no matter the material, why keep it a secret?”
Your bottom lips quivers and it all feels so silly now. It feels messed up in the worst way possible like a ball of yarn knotted up and unable to be unwound. The distress and embarrassment of it all force your head into your hands. The brothers pat your shoulders, then leave your side and eventually leave the room, leaving Nori in the corner like a shadow while you and Thorin face off.
“I wanted it to be a real surprise. I knew if I told you- you would try and find the shop and then the teacher and then my work. I wanted it to be a surprise,” you pitifully whisper again as though it should explain everything else.
Thorin’s hand rests on your knee and then your elbow as he asks, “You have more work? In a shop somewhere?”
You risk a glance at his face and the teasing and the mocking expression you were expecting is nowhere to be found. He’s in awe with love in his eyes. Spurred on by this, you nod.
“And when did these happen?” he motions to the bandages.
“Earlier this week. I hit the glass with my arm and the smaller glass pole got too hot to hold on to.”
“They’ve been well treated?” You nod. “May I see your other works? If it is alright with you?” The exchange between you and Nori doesn’t escape his notice as the shadow leaves the room as you stand.
You can’t help the insecurities that bubble in you as you suddenly plead, “Please don’t make fun of them when we get there! I know they aren’t nice but they’re just practice!” Thorin nods quickly and allows you to take the lead.
A short walk later leaves you both standing in the Glass District working rooms: A heated vat of glass on the far wall with workstations and benches lining the room, glass poles and forceps hand on hooks lining the benches. You lead him over to your little workstation with trinkets on the shelves and tools meticulously laid out. You’re both silent as he looks them over, holds them in his hands, looks around the room again and then notices the broken rough drafts of the Snowdrops in the ‘to be melted’ bin.
Thorin’s breath is taken away. Your workstation reflects you perfectly. He could have spotted it from a mile away. The trinkets on the wall are clearly experimental, but it’s enough to make his heart swell with joy. He had not been lying when he said ones calling to a craft should be celebrated, and while he’s lost time, he can try to make up for it in the present.
He slowly and wordlessly takes you in his arms and holds you close. The little dams of your eyelids break and steadily drip tears onto his coat. “I am so proud of you,” he whispers in your ear.
After some time, you finally stop crying but he still holds you. “I don’t know if it’s my craft, but I just wanted to make you something.”
Thorin’s heart melts. He’s made you a few gifts since reclaiming the mountain, so he knows that drive to create and give, and most importantly how it grows until you do make something.
“I’ve offended you greatly. Accusing you of being unfaithful and making you leave our rooms is deplorable. If you could forgive me, I would ask you to return. At the very least to get better rest than what you must be getting,” he runs a thumb under your eyes, tracing the bags. “This may not be your craft of calling, but I would hope you follow it to the end of its course. Please know I love your gifts and understand now why it was kept secret. My reaction was in very poor taste.”
Your heart melts. Thorin’s pleas move you and soothe the ache from before. It almost makes the little burns worth the trouble. ‘Well, almost.’
“I want to come home,” you whisper and now it’s Thorin’s turn to turn teary eyed. He pulls you back into a bone crushing hug, whispering everything and soft nothings in your ear.
He doesn’t care anymore about the pleasures that had grown cold or the missed suppers or the time away because he understands the craft. He understands the desire that comes with it and ones work.
And he whispers the last thing he thinks, “I never should have made you feel unwelcome. Return to me, return to your rooms and your bed, and forgive your pig-brained love.”
Your only response a watery laugh and a quiet, “My pig-brained love will have to help me carry my bags back home.”
“Gladly.”