#taalthefiresmith

For the first time in a long time, Echoron felt uncomfortable, unsafe. The reason? His chakram was no longer by his side. Instead, it was tucked carefully into his pack, for although it had been quite a formidable weapon, the metal circle broke during his last fight. 

If he didn't get it fixed, he wouldn't feel safe again.

Spring had come to Bree, and everything from the green buds on the trees to the bustling markets declared it with enthusiasm after a long, cold winter. Erikur was thoroughly enjoying it, blue eyes lit with amusement as he strode through the crowded market, admiring the sight of full stands filled with baked goods and late spring harvest. It was as fragrant as it was colourful - the rich scents of fresh soil, apples, pies of various types as well as fresh breads nearly drowning out the lingering scent of humanity and animals. A few times he heard his name called, and the hunter would turn with a wide grin and wave to whomever it was who greeted him - offering a playful wink to the women which earned him several glares. Erikur simply shrugged them off, continuing onwards with the pile of leather slung across his back that he was planning on trading with a company of mercenaries that had made camp just beyond the walls near the lake. It was good income, in addition to the meat he sold from his hunts, and after not being able to find hardly anything and working at the mill all winter he was in an exceptional mood from having left on a three day hunt just prior.

The Stoneheart Mercenaries came typically to spend the winter, but rumour had it they instead had travelled to Harad where it was warm and dry and were only just returning. He was envious, having always wondered what it would be like to travel to such far away places and see things that he had only ever read about with a company of good friends but Erikur also loved his home - loved the woods that provided him with life and a means - and as much as he may fantasize about it, he was not so sure simply seeing these places was enough incentive to leave.

"Your majesty?" The boy gave Fili a shy grin, stepping nervously from one foot on the other. "Master Dwalin wishes to speak to you."

"Send him in."

Fili bit his lip immediately after he had spoken.

Your majesty.

He would never get used to that.

You will, in time.

Because he had to. Because Thorin was gone.

~*~

"We deeply regret your loss, thanu men."

Fili gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to throttle the other dwarf - one of Dains ambassadors.

I'll make you regret that you did not protect my uncle!

He had only been gone for a few days - leaving Fili in charge ("Practice, nidoyith" - with an unusual smile on his face) - they had just passed Yule, all had been well... until they had brought home a charred corpse clinging to what was left of Orcrist, his uncle's weapon.

Thorin had prepared him for this for all his life. Fili had barely been able to walk when he had taken him along, watching his uncle handling foreign ambassadors and common solicitors, administering justice and dealing with criminals. He had shown him which advisors to trust and how to identify those who merely seeked their own fortune, taught him to ride and fight, to hunt and to skin animals, how to forge weapons and jewelry alike. He had shown him how to pretend bravery when he internally was shaking with fear, how to care for his people and at the same time make them respect oneself; he had made him learn the family trees of all seven kingdoms by heart, until the boy's eyelids fell shut with exhaustion, and no evening had passed without Thorin explaining the legends and songs of their people to his nephews, eagerly watched by children's eyes gleaming with pride.

One day you'll be king, and you will understand.

Of course, Fili had known in the back of his head what him to be king would mean. However, there had been this very small part of him, the dwarfling still left somewhere deep inside who was convinced that his uncle was immortal and once he'd be king, Thorin would still be there to guide him.

Now, he was alone.

~*~

When Dwalin returned, he brought along a female dwarf. She was about Dís' age - Fili could see his mother frown slightly, but not saying a word - , having dark brown hair and light eyes, even though these seemed tired and reddened by tears. Cradling to her chest, she held what turned out to be a dwarfling, maybe one or two years old, sound asleep, the tiny face surrounded by dark and curly hair.

She froze for the blink of an eye when she saw Fili, before making a quick courtesy.

"Your majesty", she said quietly.

"What about her?" Fili asked and he could not entirely suppress the tiredness in his voice.

Dwalin pursued his lips to a thin line.

Hey everyone! I'm headed home tomorrow, so I'll be back to regular rp-ing on Saturday.

Miss you all.

-Ora/Flora/Vek/Erikur Mun