Loving Gin

Human Age Equivalent; 16


For the next few days, Thorin sulked about like no one had ever seen. His mother fretted, his siblings stayed away, especially Dís. He had been in such a fowl mood after his talk with Gin, he went straight to his chambers and sat on the edge of his bed, refusing dinner.

"Your son hasn't eaten!" Með whispered to Thráin. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"Munuð-kvilla," her husband whispered back, shaking his head mournfully.

She threw her hands up. "Hormones!"

Thráin nodded his head in sullen agreement. Humans, he thought to himself morosely, had it easy. They only go through a few hormonal years, unlike the Dwarven twenty-five to thirty!

The next evening was worse. Thorin came home, scratched, scraped up and bloodied.

"What happened to you, hrodi-flík?" Thorin's brother, Frerin, was unhappy his older brother was to be allowed to wander Dale freely with his friends after dark, while he was still considered a child. Despite the fact Thorin had closed off the opening to his chambers, the door didn't quite shut and Frerin followed him in, much to Thorin's disgust.

"Shut up." Thorin pulled off his ragged tunic and threw it in the wastebasket, new wounds and bruises now showing.

Seeing the injuries his brother carried, Frerin now grew concerned. "Who'd you get in a fight with?" He sidled up to him, irritation turning to alarm and revenge. "Who cornered you? We'll go after him together!"

Dís heard the commotion, the whispering going on in Thorin's chambers. She peeked in and gasped. "MAMA!!! Thorin's all beat up!"

"Mahal," Thorin whispered under his breath. "Remind me to shut and bar the door from now on."

"Thorin?" The door crashed further open as Með rushed the room. Pushing Frerin aside, she began to inspect her eldest child, no matter that he was not really a child and taller than her. Gently seizing his chin, she turned his face back and forth. "Dís, get me a hot cloth, a pan of hot, soapy water and my healer's kit-"

"Mother!" Thorin jerked his head to the side. "'Tis not that bad."

"'Tis not that good!" She grabbed him again. "Stop acting like a child and let me look." She turned his face from side to side. "Fernin, go put water on for tea. Now." She waited until she heard the door move. "Something tells me," she lowered her voice, "that this didn't happen in the practice yard wrestling or sparring with practice weapons." She watched as her son's face hardened. "I thought not. Either you and Dwalin had words," Thorin scowled at that, "which I doubt as that one would follow you into the very fires of Mahal's forge, or you came to blows with Balin," Thorin's scowl turned into a snarl, "which I doubt because you revere him as an older brother and you should, or you came to blows with the young dwarf taking Gin to the faire." Thorin now began to howl. "I thought so!" Now she growled angrily. "Fighting! Thorin! You are heir to the throne! A prince!" Thorin turned away from her so she wouldn't see him mimicking her. "I know what you're doing!" Með was not a stupid dwarf, having done the same thing herself, growing up. She knew no punishment she could come up with would faze her son, so she went a step further. "Just wait until your father gets home!"

So Thorin missed supper, cleaned up, ointments and salves on his face, his arms, his back and drinking nothing but willow bark tea. He sat on the edge of the furs, back to the doorway, glaring the walls into submission.

He was not aware when his father arrived nor did he hear the door shut behind him.

"Thorin?"

"What?" It was sullen, snarling, a foreshadowing of what his voice would become.

"Turn around, let me look, so I can yell at you like your mother thinks I should and then we can discuss this, dwarf to dwarf." Thorin did as his father bid, most of the bruising hidden in the shade of the room. His eye had now turned black and his look matched it. Thráin inhaled. "Alright." He rolled his eyes. "Ready?" Thorin nodded. Thráin drew in.

"THORIN! HOW COULD YOU!!! YOU ARE A PRINCE OF EREBOR! MY HEIR AND WILL BE KING UNDER THE MOUNTAIN SOMEDAY! ENGAGING IN COMMON FIGHTING! ARGH!" Thráin shook his head. "That," he said quietly, "should appease your mother somewhat and make your siblings believe that I am thoroughly disgusted and you are getting your comeuppance." At that, the dwarf came around the furs and sat down next to his son. He saw that the young dwarf-prince's hand was cupped close to his body and in the large palm sat a little grey mús, Thorin casually stroking its head. The act seemed to be calming to his eldest son. Thráin reached over and scratched its ear. "Greetings, Grarm, brave and sturdy warrior!" For a moment, Thorin's mouth lifted in what would pass as an almost smile. "I have seen Reka. His father pulled me out from the sorting room highly aggrieved that Erebor's Prince has no self-control."

"He started it."

"So I gathered and so how you would see it. Dwalin and Balin both were quite vocal about the altercation. Yes, I spoke to them." With his son growling, Thráin leaned over and put his head next to Thorin's. "Reka looks bad; you most definitely got the upper hand. I am glad you can fend for yourself in a fight." Thorin started to snicker at the hard won praise, but ended up grimacing for the movement irritated his eye. "Thorin," Thráin continued quietly. "You are a prince of Erebor. When I am king, you will be the Crown Prince and eventually, King." Although he said nothing, with his own father sliding deeper into Dragon Sickness, Thráin feared he would become king sooner than later and the truth was, he had no desire to be king at all. He wasn't sure that he wanted that burden weighing down on his son, either. "You must learn to turn aside from goading, see it for the cry for attention that it is. Yes!" He stopped Thorin's interruption. "He goaded you. He is taking the Dwarf-girl you desire to the faire. You should have asked her sooner. This will be a lesson to you; do not wait when it comes to the object of your affections."

Thorin slumped. "I know, it's just-"

"Reka and his father have been told quite explicitly that Reka's bragging about his so-called exploits are well-known and will not be tolerated. No self-respecting dwarf will tolerate such nonsense and no mature fully grown dwarf will feel the need to brag. In fact, had she had an older brother, he would have administered the beating and I told both of them so." Thráin patted his son on the knee. "I believe Reka's father will have a long talk with him as well. If anyone asks, you were simply tired of his bragging about adventures he hasn't had." As he stood up, Thráin turned to look at his son, who was still stroking the little mús. "Aye. Reka took the harsher beating. Good on you. Be prepared if it backfires in the face of Gin." He took in Thorin's look of shock. "Females are strange. You never know what they are going to think when you defend their honor. I'll tell your mother to send you a slab of beef. You can eat it or put it on your eye."

And with that, the Dwarf left his son in the growing darkness with his thoughts.



The day of the Faire dawned bright and warm, the promise of a cooling breeze blowing gently in the wind. Reka had stayed out of Thorin's way, his sight.

Thorin was seen in the training arena, taking his ire out on those who chose to challenge him; namely Dwalin, who understood his friend's ire and inner rage. He wrestled with Balin, as well, one who never seemed to let his temper get in the way of his gentle nature.

Gin would not speak to him at all. She turned her nose up at him and flounced - if dwarves could flounce, that one did - off, her female friends imitating her and following behind her like a row of ducks.

So much for defending a female's honor.

When it came time to leave for the faire, Dwalin and Balin were both lagging. Thorin didn't want to go down into Dale alone, but the way they were dragging their booted feet...

Finally - after Thorin threatened to leave them behind - they made their way down the long gangway from the Lonely Mountain towards Dale, Thorin anxious to find Gin and keep an eye on her all night.

More than once, Balin patted him on the shoulder. "Dinna worry, lad. Gin will be safe t'night."

"How can you be so sure?"

Balin nodded ahead, the back of Gin with her parents and her young brother before them. "Looks t'me as if the lassie dinnit have a date after all."

Thorin followed Balin's pointing, not realizing Dwalin was snickering. "She's alo---" He stopped himself from galloping down the huge granite walkway. This wasn't right. "Balin! What did you do?" he whispered.

"I did nothing, laddie," Balin responded in an undertone. "Dwalin, I think on the other hand..."

"Dwalin?" It was an accusatory question.

"I have a date waiting for me in Dale." Dwalin tried to break free from his friend and brother. "I best be movin' on."

Thorin grabbed him as he went passed and held fast. "What did you do? And worse, will I be blamed for it?"

"I'm not thinking, you bake cookies, d'ya now?"

"Oh no." Balin turned ashen.

"What did you do?" If anything, Thorin's grip became tighter.

Dwalin stopped pulling and rolled his eyes. "Did y'know that corin seed, when pounded into a mash and heated, turns into a clear liquid and is tasteless?"

Corin seed corin seed corin seed corin seeeeee... Thorin's jaw dropped when he finally realized. "You made him cookies with corin seed juice baked in?" He popped his hand over his mouth.

"I told 'im Gin made 'em."

Thorin was now pretty giddy. "Oh! He'll never ask her out again!" He started to run ahead, to catch up to Gin, but stopped himself. "Remind me, never to make you angry."

"I've yer back, Thorin. My grandfather has your grandfather's back, my father has your father's back and now I've yer back. Now, off wit' you! Go enjoy yourself!" He shoved Thorin towards Gin. He and his brother watched as Thorin bounced ahead, up to Gin and her family and then after exchanging pleasantries, moved on ahead with Gin.

"How much corin seed did y'put inna mix?"

"I replaced the water wit' it."

Balin was horrified. "Great Mahal's Anvil! That much will give him the galloping shites!"

"And then some." Dwalin was completely unapologetic. "Thorin won't worry, yew kin enjoy yerself an' I," he rubbed his hands together, "have someone waitin' on me." With that, the young, burly dwarf took off.

Balin watched him take off. "I have a feelin' our parents 'twill not be pleased."



The food was plenty, the mead and ale was heady, and while the younger ones were tuckered out and starting to whine, those with a loved one, whether they had been with them for years or it was someone new or special, were trying to find quieter places.

Thorin had explored the town on many occasions, coming down with his father, his grandfather, and yes, his mother. This little courtyard was out of the way; one could still see the main square from the opening, the noise from the festivities, muted. It had a small fountain, the tinkling of the water, a quiet music. There was a bright array of mums surrounding the little yard, small benches here and there.

Thorin and Gin sat in the shadows to the left of the fountain, hands held tightly. They had danced, eaten, danced more, sang, danced some more, until both were breathless, and happily worn out. The music drifted into the small alcove, the birds cooing in a potted tree behind them.

It made for a very romantic atmosphere.

"This is a horrible thing to say," Gin whispered, "but I'm glad Reka got sick." Thorin leaned closer to hear her, she spoke so quietly. "To be honest, I don't like him a bit."

"Then why did you agree to go with him?"

Her scowl marred her features. "We've discussed this."

"Aye. We have."

There was a light touch on Thorin's face and he almost jumped, until he realized that it was the back of Gin's hand. "Your stubble is coming in nicely."

He slowly moved his face nearer to hers. "Really?"

She nodded once and then let her fingertips trace the edge of his eye, still bruised from the fight. "Why did this happen?"

Thorin ducked his head, attempting to hide the blush that he could feel on his cheeks. "Reka was bragging and not nicely."

"Goading you."

"Aye."

Closer... closer...

Just when he was so close, he could feel her breath, she pulled back, her eyes no longer fluttering shut. "Thorin?" It was a breathy whisper. "Who is that with Dwalin?"

He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. "I don't know. I don't care."

Gin put both hands on his chest. "Thorin!" Seeing he was not to be deterred, she grabbed him by his front braids and pulled his ear down to her mouth. "He's here with a woman!"

All thoughts of a first kiss went flying up with the butterflies. Keeping focused on Gin, he whispered back. "Where?"

"On the other side of the fountain. I don't think they see.... oh Mahal! I know they don't see us! I can see them over your shoulder."

"Which one?"

She tapped his left shoulder. Thorin slowly turned to look over...

DEAR MAHAL!

Dwalin was so wrapped up, one could not tell where he began, she ended and where the shadows intertwined them.

The woman squealed. "Oh Dwalin! What thick arms..." The rest was lost and now Gin was thumping her head against Thorin's chest.

The young prince gently grasped her by the elbows. "Shhh." Standing, the two crept along the shadows, to the narrow entrance, and back into the revelry. The crowd had dwindled a bit; the young ones had been taken home by their mothers, but there were still plenty who were still dancing and singing.

"Thorin!" Now that they were out of the secluded courtyard, Gin was now speaking in a normal voice. "What are we going to do?"

"Nothing." He was searching for another secluded, isolated courtyard or alley.

"Nothing? Are you insane? We can't-"

"We can!" he interjected, "I know who he is with. She is a tavern wench from the Mithril Axe Pub."

"But Thorin-"

"Gin! I would like to take you somewhere quiet and kiss you!"

For the two young dwarves, all sound stopped. Thorin wanted to kick himself. So much for the romantic approach.

"Really?"

Thorin couldn't answer, much less nod. Gin continued to look at him strangely. Finally...

"Balin?"

"Aye, you two!" Balin materialized out of nowhere, a mug of something frothy in each hand. "I'm lookin' for Dwalin, but he seems to have disappeared. I have a-" he finally looked at the two, Gin's amusement and Thorin's uncomfortable blush. He handed both mugs over to Thorin. "You two look as if you need a bit of coolin' off." He smiled knowingly. "There is a quiet, dark square over yonder..." his voice trailed off as he nodded to where the young dwarves had just come from.

"'Tis taken."

"Is it now?" Balin was quite astute for such a young dwarf, wisdom coming early for this one. "Anyone I know?"

"Aye."

Balin's face hardened into a rare scowl. "Is he with a certain over-painted tavern wench?"

"Aye."

Balin rolled his eyes and turned away, disappearing into the crowd.

The two watched him, watched the goings on for a while, silence hanging over them.

"Do you have a curfew?" Fireworks were being set off and both made a quiet mental note of the reflection of the light in both pairs of eyes. Both mugs were finished and now dangling from thick fingers. Thorin's empty hand found Gin's empty hand and with that touch...

"Aye. I'm allowed to watch the fireworks, but I need to be home soon after."

So soon after the show was ended, the two made their way back to the Lonely Mountain.

And somewhere between the Gates of Dale and the Gates of Erebor, Thorin got his kiss.


tbc

Note: There is no such thing as corin seed. I made it up!

Munuð- kvilla; Love-sickness

fierce - grarm

hrodi - snot (Old Norse)

flík - rag

mús - mouse