#grumpy thorin

***

“Why don’t ye join us for supper?” asked Kjaran, one of the merchants Yrsa met just when she was about to search for a good place to stop for the night. He wasn’t a Firebeard and his clothes were plain and worn out, not what she would expect from a merchant, so it made her wary at first. The Dwarf looked and acted more like a hard-working miner than anything else, but then a warm smile on his face made her feel more at ease. The merchant caravan wasn’t large and it was clear that they weren’t transporting any luxury goods. On the contrary, Yrsa noticed two or three wagons filled with coal. Wherever they were going, they wouldn’t fetch a good price for it. Coal was a very common commodity in these parts. “I’ll be happy to,” she accepted his invitation with a nod as he helped her off her pony.

A large cast iron soup kettle hung over the bonfire placed in the middle of their camp and judging by the smells, the meal was going to be delicious. Yrsa’s empty stomach growled. With Ursarusê to care for, she didn’t have many opportunities to hunt. Meager traveling rations were her only source of food for a while now and she had almost run out of them. There was barely enough for a meal or two.

“And I’ll be happy to take care of yer little ‘un if ye need a moment for yerself,” said Dagr, Kjaran’s wife, with a smile.

***

“Hope you don’t mind me askin’,” Dagr turned to Yrsa as they were changing the baby’s diaper in relative privacy, using a makeshift table that stood beside one of the wagons. Ursarusê gave them both a toothless grin, clearly happy with the amount of attention she was receiving. “But how come are you traveling alone with such a wee babe? And a daughter, too!”

“She is not my daughter,” Yrsa admitted quietly, something stirring uncomfortably in her chest. “I found her several weeks ago, in a forest, away from any settlements. First, I heard her crying and then I found this little gem under a birch, with the milk goat tied to the tree trunk.”

“Mahal…” the woman whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. “Who would leave their little ‘un alone like that?”

Yrsa shrugged, still remembering the tiny girl’s pale cheeks and her shining eyes as she took her into her arms for the first time. The babe had weighed not much more than a little bird then.

“Whoever they were, they had to care for her at least a bit, even if they couldn’t keep her. There was a pouch full of coins and a talisman with a protection rune. I don’t even know if she had a name. I called her Ursarusê,” she finished swaddling the baby and placed her gently in a basket Dagr offered her. The girl gurgled happily, filling Yrsa’s heart with warmth.

“Aye, she’s tiny alright, but a fiery one too. Thank the Maker you found her,” Dagr agreed with a nod, making the cuffs in her blonde braids jingle. The sound was unusual and Yrsa quickly realized why: the woman’s cuffs weren’t made of silver nor any other metal, as it was customary. They were made of clay. She stopped herself from gasping in surprise; this was unheard of. Those dwarves had clearly fallen on hard times, not being able to procure any metal ores for this purpose.

“So, where ye’re headin’ now?” Dagr spoke after a few moments.

“To Khaglâ-dûm. I hope to find a good family for the babe there. Someone that can give her a proper home,” Yrsa looked into the girl’s innocent eyes and her heart clenched. She would miss Ursarusê, her Little Fire, but she didn’t have anything to offer her. Life on the road was not what a baby needed.

“Ye’re welcome to join us tomorrow, we’re goin’ the same way!” the woman offered, interrupting Yrsa’s gloomy thoughts.

“Are you sure I will not be a burden? I’m about to deprive you of some of your food!”

“Don’t ye worry!” Dagr shook her head. “We rarely go hungry on the trail. Our leader is a decent hunter… Speak of the warg!” Kjaran’s wife pointed with her head at the Dwarf who came out from the forest a moment before with a doe thrown over his shoulder. Several Dwarves surrounded him to take care of the kill. After a few exchanged remarks, the hunter turned his face towards the place where she and Dagr stood.

Yrsa glanced at the Dwarf.

Then at Dagr.

Then at the Dwarf again. At his broad shoulders, covered with a fur-lined tunic. At his long dark hair adorned with only two temple braids. At his furrowed brow and the noble line of his nose. At his short, but well-kempt beard.

Oh, no.

“T-this is your... leader?” she mumbled, blood draining from her face. This couldn’t be happening, not again!

“Aye, praise Mahal, he is,” the woman nodded with a fond smile.

“Ye’ll have to excuse me, lass, I need to take care of that doe before my husband ruins the hide.”

Yrsa had three options: one – run like the wind, two – pray to Mahal for the ground to open and swallow her whole, three – …

“You!” the Dwarf, Thorin, the blacksmith, His Haughtiness, exclaimed and started striding towards her, his eyes burning into her.

It was too late to escape. It had to be option three, then, Yrsa admitted to herself in defeat: she would stand there and act as if nothing had happened between them. Nothing whatsoever.

She swallowed and instinctively moved in front of the basket that stood on the table, shielding Ursarusê from his gaze.

“I have searched for you everywhere, woman!” His Majesticness rumbled. She forgot how deep that voice of his was (no, Yrsa’s knees, not a good moment to turn into jelly!). Also, she noticed one very obvious fact: there was an angry royal in front of her who didn’t even remember her name. Something stung in her chest.

Yrsa’s mother always taught her that politeness went a long way. Her father said that a sharp tongue could be as mighty as the sword. This was the first time in her life when she agreed with both of them.

“It is nice to see you too,” she offered, eliciting a grunt from the Dwarf in front of her.

“Don’t play games with me,” Thorin’s jaw clenched as he pierced her with his steel gaze. “Why did you leave?!”

“Me?” She asked very eloquently. Now it was time to play it cool, the less words, the better.

His frown deepened, “Who else? You disappeared into thin air, you witch! I woke up and you were gone without a word!”

Yrsa realized that he was dangerously close to the topic of honor, duty and marriage she wanted to avoid, and she wouldn’t have it. Even if his words stung. She didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his pity. One humiliation was enough.

“Maybe I didn’t feel like talking? Just like you: not informing me who you really are, Your Highness!” She retorted quickly. “Or whatever one calls a prince?!”

Thorin Oakenshield grunted, and a shadow passed his handsome face (yes, he was handsome, Yrsa couldn’t deny it any longer, even if he was a pompous grump). His jaw tightened.

“A king,” a reluctant murmur left his lips, his eyes never leaving her face.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

“A... what now?” Yrsa realized she needed to take slow, deep breaths; in and out; otherwise she was in danger of passing out. And if she passed out, she’d inevitably end up in his arms. In the blacksmith’s strong arms. No, the king’s arms. Just like she ended up that night over a year ago. She needed to breathe.

He stood there, not speaking a word. His face reminded her of statues of ancient dwarven rulers, solemn, cold and unmoving.

“A… king...” she finally managed to rasp that word out, erratic thoughts spinning in her head. Not a prince. A king. The King of Longbeards. This was much, much worse than she thought. Was she supposed to bow or curtsy now? Kiss his hand, demonstrating respect? Would she be punished for kissing his other body parts all those months ago without showing the proper reverence to His Kingliness? It was all cider’s fault, not hers! She barely remembered anything anyway! Mahal, have mercy, she had to pull herself together.

“It is but an empty title now,” the king in question spat in disdain, unaware of her inner turmoil.

“You are a king nevertheless! I don’t understand…,” Yrsa frowned.

“What were you doing in a village in the middle of nowhere, pretending to be a blacksmith?! Shouldn’t you be sitting on a throne and doing... kingly things?”

“There is no throne and I was not pretending,” he gritted out, the fire still blazing in his eyes. “I am a blacksmith by trade, and this is how I fend for my family, for my people. Does that satisfy your curiosity?!”

“I...” she looked away, her mind empty, her defiance suddenly deserting her under his intense gaze.

Thorin’s next words sounded hollow.

“Tell me, Yrsa, why did you leave? Have I done something… untoward?”

So she was mistaken. He remembered her name, after all. And he seemed concerned. Something fluttered in her chest. Probably anger. Yes, it had to be anger; anger at His Pompousness concealing who he truly was, keeping her unaware of that enormous social gap between them. Why did her throat decide to constrict at that very moment? It was not as if she had been harboring any silly hopes until now; she was a commoner, and he was a member of the royal family of Erebor. He simply spelled it out for her.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she bit her lip, cursing herself, while her mind chose that exact instant to recall all those moments during their time together when Thorin actually did all the right things. Plenty of them. But she needed to focus. Yrsa groaned and spoke again, a spark of courage igniting in her heart, “But I had the right to leave when I wanted to!”

“You spent the whole evening, nay, the whole night with me and then you snuck away like a thief in the night, denying me the courtesy of a short conversation afterwards!” He retorted.

Oh, dear. It looked like she was right. The famous Thorin Oakenshield of Erebor (yes, she might have casually asked around about him a bit, for no reason whatsoever) had truly wanted to flaunt his honor at her, meaning: benevolently offer to marry her out of some misconceived duty. Those noble born Dwarves and their ideas… It had definitely been the right decision to leave that night before it was too late.

“There was nothing to talk about!” Yrsa protested, taking a step towards him.

This was the moment when Ursarusê decided to wail, clearly upset by their exchange. Yrsa turned to the pebble in the basket, bowed over her and murmured, “Hush, my little girl, it is nothing.” Ursarusê needed her more than this demanding Dwarf in front of her, the hero of Azanulbizar. King or not, he could wait.

“A babe…?” She heard him speak after a pause, the tone of his voice suddenly muffled.

“A little blessing from Mahal,” she whispered with a small smile. When the baby’s cries turned into cooing, she lifted her gaze.

Yrsa expected to see even more anger on the king’s face, but instead she encountered his widened eyes, his half opened mouth, his skin paler than before, and she wondered whether he was breathing at all.

“A babe…” he repeated softly, moving his gaze from the little bundle wrapped in her thick shawl to her. “Yrsa… Mahal, Yrsa…”

“Yes, a babe. What about it?” she frowned, lifting the basket and holding it against her chest. His behaviour was very puzzling. He didn’t even look angry at that moment. Definitely not angry, but… Terrified? Surprised? It was difficult to say. Had she grown a pair of horns or wings?

Something rustled loudly in the bushes. A sharp, guttural shriek pierced the silence. Something whooshed in the air.

“Duck!” Thorin shouted.

To be continued...

* * *

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

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~~~

Not Thorin, obviously. Or at least not right now.  His tired eyes missed details others saw.

Details like the lines on her face that hadn’t used to be there, or how she would oftentimes doze off once Dís forced her into a chair to rest.  Everybody else saw how dealing with nine children while being heavily pregnant with a tenth all by herself was literally draining the life out of her.  

Even the Valar themselves were noticing.

Aulë watched as Thorin arrived back in his chambers well after the twelfth hour and literally fell into bed fully dressed.  

He was the only one, save Yavanna, who saw how the motion woke Estel up.  How the child-swollen dwarrowdame got up and carefully tucked her husband in before returning to her side of the bed.

How Thorin slept like a rock and never touched his wife, whether it be unconsciously reaching out in his sleep to hold her or with more romantic intentions.  How hard Estel worked to parent their children and how she shed tears that nobody else saw.

And it pissed him off.  

~~~~

At that point, when Thorin woke up in a garden, he should have been very scared.  An angry god is not one you want to meet.

He was only slightly confused though.  Until he came face-to-face with the burly man carrying a large hammer and a willowy lady dressed in what appeared to be flowers.

“Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain,” the man boomed and Thorin began to feel a little anxious. He felt as though he’d met the pair before, but he couldn’t put a finger on who they were.

“At your service,” he responded.  Nobody said anything, and Thorin got the feeling that the man was either quite angry or simply trying to find the right arrangement of words.

Then the woman spoke. “What my husband is trying to say is that we are very disappointed in you and your treatment of your wife.”

Suddenly it dawned on Thorin just who these people were.  

Aulë and Yavanna themselves.

Shit.

“You have immersed yourself in your work and forsaken her and your children.  You, who think that things are perfect between the both of you, are blind to what is really there.”  Yavanna spoke softly, but the words felt like they were slapping Thorin across the face.

Aulë pipped up, his voice like that of a thunderclap.  “So, to teach you a lesson, we are ensuring that you will know Estel more intimately than you ever would have dreamed.”

Now, this actually wasn’t sounding all that bad to Thorin, and he was about to ask why this was a punishment when he abruptly woke up.

The first thing he noticed was the unusual pressure on both his lungs and his bladder.  The second thing was that he was wearing a nightgown (dear Mahal, he hadn’t gotten drunk last night had he?) and the third was that his stomach looked like he’d swallowed Bombur whole.  

Wanting answers, he turned to wake Estel, only to find himself asleep in the bed.  Right before he started screaming, Aulë’s words echoed in his mind.

You will know Estel more intimately than you ever would have dreamed.

That really wasn’t what he’d envisioned when he’d heard that.

~~~~~

Time passed by after Thorin and Estel had swapped bodies.  Rumours flitted around Erebor during the last few weeks of Estel’s pregnancy about how Thorin suddenly wore a smug expression and nobody could figure out why.

Thorin learned in excruciating detail just how the female body worked while pregnant and decided that he was glad he didn’t have to deal with breasts.  Don’t get him wrong, he thought they were great, just not when he was the one with them.

Estel learned that while being a male had all sorts of fun advantages, there was one specific anatomical difference that made her life living hell.  At least being a woman meant nobody but yourself knew when somebody was turning you on.

But finally, the day Estel had been eagerly anticipating (while simultaneously worrying about how Thorin would take it) and Thorin had been dreading, arrived.

~~~

“Mahal’s beard…” Thorin groaned, running a hand across his swollen abdomen.  “You never talked about how painful false labour could be….oh….shiiiitt….”

Estel rolled over in the bed, blinking sleepily.  “Is everything alright?”  She asked, voice gruffer than normal from sleep.  Well, gruffer in general because she was inhabiting Thorin’s body.

“Yes?  No?  Oh, I don’t fucking know….”  Thorin’s voice trailed off into a moan and he squirmed uncomfortably.  “My whole body is one fucking ache!”

“Easy on the language.”  Estel said, giving him a look.  “I know it probably doesn’t feel good--” Thorin let out a snort, “but that doesn’t mean you can use my mouth to say such words.”

“Oh, fu—bugger off…” Thorin grumbled.  “You don’t know what I’m going through right now.”  

Estel sat up, looking down at Thorin with an unimpressed eye.  “Oh, I know exactly what you’re feeling right now.  I’ve already had nine kids, remember?  And I’ve carried this one for almost nine months too.  I’d say I should know better than you.”

“Just shut up.” Thorin ran a hand over the swell of his stomach, eyes closed in a grimace. “Mahal’s balls, this one almost seems worse.”

“Worse?”  

Thorin nodded mutely, letting out a soft groan.

“Maybe you’re going into labour…”  Estel said thoughtfully.

“WHAT?!”  Thorin screeched, looking at her with panic in his eyes.  “I can’t push a fucking baby out of myself!  I can’t do it!”

He promptly burst into tears, leaving Estel to try and soothe him.

“Thorin, love, you’ll do just fine.  I’ll be with you the whole time, Dis’ll be there…”

Thorin’s hand clamped down on her arm with an iron grip.  “No.  I don’t want Dis there.  Just you and Loka.”

“But both her and Lorelei have always been here for my labours.  What’s the big deal?”  Estel asked with raised eyebrows.

“That was you, not me. I’m not comfortable with everybody looking at my naked body.  Especially not my sister.”  Thorin shuddered.

“It isn’t even your body!”  Estel laughed, and Thorin scowled.

“Doesn’t matter.” He sniffed primly.  Something he could only manage when inhabiting a female body.  

“Anyways,” Estel sighed, sliding out of the bed, “I’m going to get Loka so she can look you over. It might be nothing though, so don’t worry.”  She flashed Thorin a smile.

“Too late.”

~~~

Estel strode quickly through the empty hallways of Erebor, marveling how quickly she could cover the distance with Thorin’s longer legs.  

It also helped that she wasn’t carrying an almost full-term baby anymore.  

Reaching the door to Fili and Loka’s chambers, she hesitated for a moment as she thought through how to respond if it was Fili answering the door.  Hopefully Loka would answer and not Fili.

She knocked lightly, conscious of the fact that she didn’t know her own strength.  And that the last time she’d knocked on a door, she’d busted her—Thorin’s—knuckles.

The seconds that passed by felt like minutes.  Estel shifted on her feet, all too conscious of the fact that she’d left Thorin by himself in what she was fairly certain was the beginning of active labour.

Footsteps sounded behind the door and she heard the click of the lock before the door was swung open by a curious dwarrowdame.

“Oh thank the Valar,” Estel breathed before the brunette could speak.  “Loka, I think Thorin’s gone into labour.”

Loka smothered a giggle, prompting Estel to raise an eyebrow.  “I’m sorry, it just sounds funny.  A dwarrow in labour, really.”  She shook her head, unable to erase the mirthful smile on her face.  “Excuse me, I’ll go fetch my things.”

“I agree with you on the absurdity of it all,” Estel chuckled, “but do hurry.  I’m worried about leaving him in that state for long. He didn’t seem to be handling things well…”

~~~~

Truth be told, he wasn’t.

Thorin regretted sending Estel out for Loka the moment the door had closed behind her.  In hindsight, he should have thought about having her call a guard or servant to fetch Loka.  Then he wouldn’t have been left by himself to try and cope with the intermittent pains.

The pain wasn’t bad, per se, but he would have preferred it if they were regular.  

Predictable.  

Whatever this—false labour, active labour, he didn’t have a clue—was, it came sporadically.  

Sometimes there were long gaps between the aches that blossomed in his back.  Gaps that convinced him that this wasn’t the real deal, and he was just paranoid.  

But then there were the contractions—if that’s what they were called—that hit one after the other. Pulses of pain that made him grit his teeth and feverishly rub his swollen abdomen in a futile attempt to relieve the aching pressure.  

He was starting to believe that Estel was right when she had told him that one time that he’d know when it was time.  And if the small voice in the back of his mind was any indication, then he was going to have to find his balls and act like a man….well, dwarrowdame.  He didn’t want to be a man for this.

~~~

“So, do you know how long he’s been having pains, and how intense they are?”  Loka asked breathlessly, trying to keep up with Estel’s long strides. “And, for Mahal’s sake, slow down!”

“Sorry,” Estel apologized sheepishly.  “I’m not used to being in Thorin’s body.  I forgot how fast I can walk with longer legs.  And I really don’t have answers for you.  He just woke me up with his fidgeting.  I think he’s being a bit dramatic about the whole thing honestly, but he could have a fast labour.  This is my ninth after all…”

Loka nodded.  “True…  I would expect your labours to go faster based on what I’ve learned from the women in Dale and your history…”  She trailed off as a thought hit her.  “Estel, how long was your labour with Eledhwen and the twins?”

Estel frowned, thinking.  “With Eledhwen, it wasn’t more than four hours from start to finish.  I remember the pains coming right in the middle of one of Thorin’s afternoon meetings, and she was born before supper.  The twins were a bit longer, but not by much.  Why do you ask?”

“I just think that this could be a fast labour, that’s all.  And we don’t know what stage he was at when you left him.”  

That’s when it dawned on Estel was Loka was getting to.  The very real possibility that Thorin literally could have a baby at any moment.

Loka and Estel took off at a run.

~~~~

Meanwhile, Thorin was still trying to figure out how Estel had stayed so calm during the beginnings of all her labours.  If this was what she had gone through each time….Mahal, his respect for the women of the world was increasing dramatically.  

As the pain subsided, he decided that maybe it would help to get out of the bed and walk around. Let gravity do whatever it did with babies.

The process of extracting himself from the bed was even more difficult than it usually was with his bowling ball of a stomach.  Presumably because he felt like a coiled spring of wire.  He was on edge waiting for the next wave of pain.

Finally, he levered himself out of the bed and walked, (not waddled.  He didn’t waddle, how dare you think that), to the sitting room, noting that it instinctively felt right to be walking around.  

The female body was odd, that was for sure.  All these instincts that both baffled him and made sense at the same time.  It explained why mothers appeared to have eyes on the backs of their heads.

“Amad?”

The soft voice woke Thorin from his thoughts.  Turning, his gaze fell upon the figure of his and Estel’s eldest child.  

Thorin III was almost a mirror image of his father, much to Thorin’s pride and vague worry. He worried that the boy would turn out just like him, and he didn’t want that.  He didn’t want the boy to know the same sufferings he had.

To be as stubborn and untrusting as he had been.

When he had voiced these worries, Estel had given him an understanding smile and a shake of her head. “He’ll only end up that way if he has those exact same experiences, Thorin.  He will grow up to be his own dwarf, just you watch, my love.”

“Is everything alright?  Is the baby bothering you?”  The lad asked, moving to stand beside his…father?  Mother? Thorin didn’t know.  Damn bodyswap was bloody confusing.

Another pain brewed in the muscles of his back, but Thorin refused to let his son see it show on his face.  “Everything’s fine, Thora.”  He reassured the boy, forcing a smile.  “Just a little backache, that’s all.”

His answer appeased Thora and Thorin hoped that meant the boy would go back to bed so he didn’t have to worry about hiding the pain.  

But Thora only moved closer to place a hand on Thorin’s child-swollen abdomen.  “It’s nighttime, shouldn’t they be asleep?”  He asked curiously as his touch elicited a kick from the baby.  

Of all the times for his son to be asking questions about babies….

“Babies never sleep when they’re supposed to, Thora.  And it doesn’t know there is such a thing as daytime and nighttime.”  

“Oh.”

“Now, shouldn’t you be in bed, hm?”  Thorin tried to imitate Estel’s ‘I-am-your-mother-listen-to-me’ expression.

Thora looked as though he would challenge his…damn it…challenge Thorin.  

Only for Thorin to be saved by the baby.  There was an incredibly well-timed and even better aimed kick to his bladder that caused him to clench his thighs and high-tail it for the bathroom.

He really didn’t want to clean up his own piss.

Thankfully, that didn’t happen.  He just got walked in on.

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