I'm slowly recovering flexibility in my fingers; and this is where my mind went :D I think I just wanted to write something easy and fluffy - to balance out all the serious editing and writing I'm doing for my Kindle books.
I hope you have a laugh or two :)
That is, I hope there are still people who read Hobbit fanfiction ha ha :D
Love you all!
Thorin opened his eyes. The room around him was unfamiliar - dark and warm. He was on a bed, and there was a heavy canopy above him, velvet, green. The next thing he noticed was that the sheets he lay on were silky and bore some sweet smell, of some flowers of sorts. He shortly wondered whether he was in an infirmary - otherwise, why would he be lazing? - but the room surely looked like a bedchamber in a prosperous dwelling. He also didn't feel ill, or wounded - except for a throbbing pain on the right side of his head, but it was dull, and more of a nuisance. He sat up and looked around.
"He is awake, my lord!" A sudden loud voice made him whip his head to his right.
A Dwarven maiden stood in front of him, the face beaming with a relieved smile. A second later Balin was near him, leaning to his face, with the same relief spilling onto his features.
"Welcome back, laddie!" Balin turned to the maiden. "Quickly, call the healers."
The girl, as Thorin now noticed, was dressed in some odd attire: a long dress of sorts, fern green, and an apron. She nodded and rushed out of the room.
"How are you faring, laddie?" Balin asked.
Thorin lifted his hand to rub his head, and his fingers bumped into bandages.
"The head hurts. What happened?" Thorin asked. "And where am I?"
"We thought we'd put you in your bedchamber instead of the infirmary. The healers said you just needed to be observed until you woke up. The bleeding stopped quickly. And your slumber was of the healthy nature, not the lethargy."
"What happened?" Thorin repeated his question, feeling his temper rising.
He then cringed. There was ache in the right shoulder as well.
"You were in the Lower Passages, in the renovations area, and a box of tools slid off the scaffolding. One of the hammers struck your head," the white-haired Dwarf explained. Thorin suddenly noticed the unfamiliar beads in Balin's much longer beard. "Another hit your shoulder." Balin softly patted Thorin's healthy upper arm. "Do not worry, laddie. The Queen has been sent for. It is the third day of the month, of course. So it'll be a few hours."
None of what Balin said made sense.
"What are you about?" Thorin sat up higher with a groan. "What… Queen?"
Before he received an answer, the door opened; and two Khazad came in. One was older, white haired and stern looking. He had a large bag in his hand. The second was younger, and was respectfully walking half a step behind the old Dwarf. The Dwarven maiden Thorin had seen before followed them and closed the door.
The healer - at least Thorin assumed the older Dwarf was one - gave Thorin a low bow.
"My lord, I am overjoyed to see you awake." He approached the bed and opened the bag on the edge. "How are you faring?"
The younger one meanwhile left through a side door to the next room.
"I am… What is happening here? Where am I?" Thorin decided to demand some answers at least. He turned to Balin. "Balin?"
"Do you not remember, my lord?" the healer asked carefully; and then his apprentice showed up carrying a basin of water.
"Do I not remember what?" Thorin's patience was running thin.
"Your water, master," the younger Dwarf said; and the healer started rolling up his sleeves, clearly planning to start washing his hands.
"Laddie, what do you remember?" Balin asked slowly, in a cautious tone; and Thorin saw red.
"I remember that I so far haven't received a single answer to my question. Where. Am. I?!"
"You are in your bedchambers, in Erebor, my lord," the healer answered, his voice just as calm as before.
The man had the nerve to continue washing his hands! And then the meaning of his words reached Thorin's understanding!
"In… Erebor?" His voice broke, and he sharply turned his head to look around. His ears rang. "What… what year is it?"
"It is year 2955 of the Sun," the healer answered; and stepped to Thorin. "I need to examine you, my lord, if you don't mind."
"I do mind, damn it!" Thorin barked, and pushed the man slightly aside to look at Balin. "What does he mean by 2955? Last I remember it was 2937, and we were in the Blue Mountains! And your beard was three inches shorter!"
Balin unconsciously ran his hand down his white forked beard. Thorin's hand of course flew up to his. It was longer too, and ended in a large opal bead. He looked down at himself. There was a white tunic on him, embroidered around the collar and down the placket, three top buttons opened.
And then some noise came from outside the door, and everyone in the room turned their heads to look. The door flew open, and a small figure dashed in. Thorin only managed to notice that the person was short and gaunt - and then the woman ran through the room, plopped on the bed near him, and leaned close to his face. The little claw like fingers sank into his shoulders. Thorin winced away from the pair of two giant green eyes.
"Thorin!' the lass hollered. "What happened?" She then whipped her head and looked at Balin. "Balin?! I was on my way to Dale, we got delayed in Esgaroth. And the messenger caught up with us." She then looked at Thorin again. He tried to free the wounded shoulder out of her grip. "Are you in pain, my heart?" she asked.
In Khuzdul! The girl - Thorin was never good at guessing the age of the Long Ones - spoke the language! How was this possible?!
"I'm afraid the King's injuries are the least of our problems," muttered the old healer, and Thorin glared at him.
"What? What is the matter?"
The lass blanched, and her eyes searched Thorin's face. He shifted away from her on the bed.
"I am afraid, though physically the King is hardly affected, the blow to the head might have..."
Thorin decided the man needed to cease his irksome monotonous lecturing.
"Who is this woman?! Why is she allowed here?" Thorin barked, and the girl winced away. "Balin!" Thorin had no other choice but to turn to his old comrade.
"Oh, it is worse than we thought," the healer muttered.
The girl turned to Balin as well, as if seeking explanation. The old Dwarf sighed.
"My King Thorin thinks that it is year 2937 presently, and that he is the King-in-Exile, the King of the Longbeards of the Blue Mountains."
The words hung in the silent room heavily.
"Mahal help me," the woman - Thorin had noticed a few strands of silver in her hair - gasped.
Thorin looked her over more attentively. She was so small and bony that at the first glance she seemed a youngling. He could see now she was approaching the second half of her life, whatever lifespan the Long Ones had. The eyes were like a cat's, and everything was angular. Thorin had never paid much attention to the Men's women, but this one would surely look odd and unappealing even to them. Or not. Again Thorin knew - and cared - very little when it came to the Long Ones.
"He doesn't remember anything..." she whispered.
Thorin's temper rose. He was right here. He was not used to be talked about in front of him!
"What is there to remember?" he growled, but then corrected himself. "Besides us having reclaimed Erebor."
"Aye, Erebor has been reclaimed," Balin spoke in a calming voice. "You have won it over in year 2941. The wyrm was slain by the Men of Esgaroth, and our Orc enemy was defeated with the help of our Elven friends from Mirkwood."
Thorin felt his jaw slack. Surely, this was an illusion of sorts! He could accept that the dragon was dead, and that the Mountain was theirs again - but having sided with the pointy eared bastards?! Impossible!
And then, as if it weren't shocking enough, Balin had placed his final blow.
"And this is your wife, Lady Wren of Erebor," the old Dwarf said and respectfully pointed at the woman.
Thorin made a choked throat in his throat.
A woman of Men? The small, spare creature, with the hair of carrot colour?! She looked like a frog, with that wide mouth of hers, and long skinny limbs!
The pause stretched, and then the clear calm voice of the woman made all of them once again turn as if by a command.
"Something tells me, my dear Balin," she said, and Thorin saw her jerk her chin up, "that the King is wondering whether it was you, and not him, who had received a blow to the head. Clearly, to him your words sound like rambling of a madman - and judging by the firm set of the regal jaw, the ramblings of the offensive and insulting sort."