The Halls of Erebor

From Bree

 Bree was pleasant enough. Frin had initially worried about being in the land of men but her worries were soon laid to rest. The people of Bree, despite being hesitant of new people, were actually pleasant. The longer they stayed the more pleasant they became. After a few months in the small village, using it as a base for their search, they found themselves very welcome. As a group they had rented a small cottage, with over sized furniture but they managed and it was comfortable enough. Money was a constant struggle. The dwarves used their skills as smiths to get by, while Frin hunted and traded goods. It didn't take long for the people of Bree to start relying on the dwarven crafted goods.

The months were grewling. As soon as they had gathered enough wealth to leave for a few weeks they would go into the hills and nearby mountains in search of a home for their people. With each journey they returned exhausted and disappointed. With little rest they would return to the forges. The cycle was grewling.

Their search felt impossible, but Frin found herself both content and concerned. Most mornings she would awaken next to Thorin, in his bed. She wondered if that was all he wanted, a body in his bed. It seemed as though he was closed off from her. There was a time when he would tell her his worries and dreams but now he was rough, distant. Whenever she pressed him for answers he would become irritated, and eventually leave her presence. However, there were days, moments where he would be attentive, tender. In those rare moments she saw glimpses of who he was before everything changed. Those moments carried her forward through the months and the years.

***

Almost two years after the destruction of Erebor Frin and Thorin sat at a small table within the Prancing Pony. He was hunched over the now well worn map, which had been redrawn a year prior. There were prominent creases, showing where it had been folded and unfolded.

"We've searched everywhere." Frin sighed, leaning towards him.

He let out an absentminded grunt.

"What is it?" She pleaded with him trying to gain entry into his thoughts.

"We can reclaim it." He muttered.

"Moria?"

"No." His fingers traced the lines of the map over a lone mountain. "Erebor."

"And what of the dragon?" She asked slightly exasperated. If he went after Erebor everyone who went with him would surely die.

"A dragon can be killed."

"Not easily." Her head fell into her hands as the images of the dragon, who was now known as Smaug, flooded her mind.

"Do you doubt me?" He cocked an eyebrow at her, a hint of a younger Thorin peaking through. She knew it was just the ale.

"Yes." She wasn't going to lie to spare his feelings. Enough people had died already to the dragon.

"What!?" He spat at her. His playfulness was immediately gone. "What happened to your loyalty?"

"I am loyally telling you not to be foolish." She kept her voice level and calm. "Balin would tell you the same thing."

"Balin isn't here. He's back in the Iron Hills aiding my Father." Thorin leaned back in his seat. "All I hear is treacherous doubt coming from your mouth."

She couldn't take his antagonistic attitude any more and stood up. "I'm going home, come if you want."

"Our home is Erebor." His voice was a deep snarl.

She knew her mistake. His heart was still in the Mountain. If anyone ever tried to openly move on or forget the home they once had, Thorin would take it personally. "You know what I mean. I am going to bed in the house we've been living in." She couldn't hide the exasperation in her voice any longer. "Good night Thorin," she said before leaving.