Saving Durin {Hobbit/Thorin}

Chapter 63: Let there be light

Chapter 63:

Let there be light

    On days like these, where I am in a jogging fit in search of my one and only husband, Thorin Oakenshield, I sincerely hold the belief that the tunnels of Erebor are trying to mess me up.  Their darkened stones and musty smells all appear the same, and I am often left wondering, "is it this right, or that right?"  It is a confusing notion to say the least, and none the more illuminated now that I have spent eighteen months in the Lonely Mountain.  Oftentimes, Bilbo has to go out on a search party to find me in the forges or mines, but Thorin will not give me a map of his homeland.  That will be my next birthday gift to ask for.

    Why am I running again?  Oh yes, to find Thorin, which just happens to be the main objective on all my quests through the Mountain.  This time, however, I have an even greater reason to find him, seeing as Frerin just uttered his first coherent word, now at nine months since his birth.  Surely, my dwarf king will find as much humor in the word as I do, even as it pertains to him.

    With every second and minute passing, I become more and more lost in my strides, taking turns at every junction in an attempt just to find a notable landmark.  I am certain, given my repetitive wandering of the last few weeks, that this is all derived from pregnancy hormones now blazing through my body.  I am in later term, a full seven months along and one month until full term, and thus it is harder to clear my mind and keep focus. 

Balin's previous expression of knowledge has fallen to lies, seeing as he claimed the "honeymoon period" of dwarves only lasts for a few months.  Well, Thorin's "honeymoon period" is going on seventeen months with no end in sight.  Surely, I can not be that attractive with a swollen abdomen.

    The next corridor, in all my wandering, is one of remarkable beauty and well known to my mind as well, even in this state.  It is the corridor leading to the throne room where I spend hours on end, daily, ruling over the kingdom.  While Thorin and I sit upon our thrones (which I made Thorin get me), Frerin plays with his wooden toys upon the floor, at our feet.  In despite of Thorin's protests, I have taken to the main guardian and caretaker of our child, seeing as I despise the notion of nannies.  There is, of course, Dis and Lyn who take Frerin for hours at a time, but the majority of my day is spent with my lovely and rambunctious child and Thorin's heir.

    As expected, the corridor runs into the throne room where I see the dwarf king upon his throne.  His hair is knotted back in a ponytail, one that I did this morning, and he is dressed in a pair of his travel pants and tunic.  My favorite part of the whole outfit, one that Frerin took to picking out, is the fur coat lining his arms and chest, keeping out the cold.  If it wasn't blatantly obvious before, Frerin is my child...we have a fur coat infatuation.

    "Thorin!" I yell out to him, under the assumption that he is alone.  Frerin sits on my hip, now kicking around his legs as he recognizes his father.  The whole wiggling around and seven months pregnant thing adds up to a pain in my back as I grimace in evident ache.  By now, I am standing closer to the throne, now seeing Bard and Thranduil conversing with Thorin on the other pathway.

    "Oh! Hello Rapunzel, Gaston!" I exclaim in joy, having not seen them in two weeks.  Their heads whip around at my voice, sending me immediate smiles but not closing in on a hug.  If they were to, Frerin would surely kick one of them in his madness.

    "Lovely to see you, Cinder!" the elf king exclaims in his smile.  I roll my eyes at the nickname, like the hypocrite I am, as Rapunzel references some elvish fairy tale unknown to my ear.  Both him and Bard have fallen into the habit of calling me "Cinderella," as I apparently look the same as she is described.