#tss22

You gave him no chance to fire it and showed him no mercy as you retaliated. Snowballs, some firmly packed, others leaving trails of powder in their wake, flew in all directions once more, with you and Amira taking on Frerin and Thorin. 

Then Frerin wound up and fired and hit Amira square in the face. She dropped to her knees, and both you and Thorin froze while Frerin said, “I’m sorry, Amira! I promise I wasn’t aiming for your face.”

Amira looked up, snow clinging to the hint of beard on her chin, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Then, she leaped, hit Frerin in the middle, wrapped her arms about him, and tackled him into the nearest snowdrift. 

Thorin went to pull her off her brother, but then laughter rang out and both Frerin and Amira turned on you and Thorin with near-deadly accuracy. 

“Get him!” Frerin yelled and both he and Amira changed direction with their snowballs, pelting Thorin without mercy. They worked together, with Amira crouched to scooping handfuls of snow into spheres to hand to her brother, who fired as fast as she could make the snowballs. Meanwhile Thorin seemed to move in slow motion, letting them splatter him with snow as he seemed to take great pains in finding the perfect snow, sculpting the perfect snowball, and firing it, only to find his aim to be far more inaccurate than usual.

Finally, Amira stood up, a snowball in each hand. One hit Thorin’s thigh, but the other? Squarely in the middle of his chest.

“Oh, no… You got me… argh… I’ve—I’ve been—I’ve been hit…” 

Thorin made a great show of grabbing his chest, staggering backwards until he simply crumpled into the snow. There, he went still, and you bit back a smile as Amira stared in wide-eyed horror. “But I didn't hit him that hard.”

“It looked pretty hard to me,” you told her as seriously as you could manage as you tried to fight off your smile at the same time. “You and Frerin should go check on him.”

“Frer, I didn’t hit him that hard!”

“I think you did.” 

The sparkle in Frerin’s eyes made holding back your smile even more difficult. Then, Frerin took Amira by the hand. “We should check on him, Mira.”

She nodded. “Very well.”

Frerin looked over at you, as if waiting for you to nod, so you did, and then you watched, lips pressed together, fighting back a chuckle as they crept up to him. Amira looked up at her brother, then down at her father, and hesitantly let go of Frerin’s hand to close the gap between her and her father.

“Gotcha!” Thorin roared as he shot up to grab Amira around the waist and pulled her down into the snow as she let out a shriek that went from fear to laughter in the blink of an eye. Powder flew in all directions as Frerin then pounced as well. Their laughter mingled to rise into the chilled evening air, their breath rising in silver clouds to float off into the darkness.

You let them play a few minutes more, brushing the snowy remnants from your sleeves and coat, and then your motherly instincts insisted you round them up. “Come now, all three of you. Before you catch a chill and spend Yule sick in bed.”

“’Amad, must we?” Frerin looked up, snow clinging to the thick black lashes around his brilliant blue Durin eyes. It clung to his wavy almost-black hair as well, and in the dark fuzz that would one day all too soon be beard. He was named for his uncle, but was a mirror image of his father, as was his sister, who was just as pink cheeked as Frerin.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“But we’re having fun!” Amira pouted.

“Listen to your mother, mimûna,” Thorin told her as he stood and brushed snow from his trousers. Then, he bent and scooped Amira into his arms and held out a hand to Frerin. “It’s getting late and you need to get to bed. Otherwise, no Yule for either of you.”

That was enough of a threat to make the complaints stop and you bit back a smile as you all crunched your way back toward Erebor’s front gate. Inside, fires still burned, to make up for the chill the heating system couldn’t quite chase away. Everywhere you looked, red ribbons and evergreen boughs added such a wonderful air of festiveness, the scent of pine taking you back to the Yules from your childhood, when you were about Frerin’s age and Yule held all of the magic in the world for you. 

You looked up at Thorin, his silver-streaked black hair also white from snow in spots, but they quickly vanished as it melted from the warmth. Your husband. You’d loved him from the time you were children, had thought you’d lost him forever when he left Ered Luin to begin his quest to retake Erebor. You’d not yet forgotten the fear that chilled your insides when you’d learned he’d been terribly wounded at Ravenhill, nor had you forgotten the long nights you’d spent at his bedside, when he hovered between life and death, and the long days that followed, as he pushed through pain and fury and guilt to become whole once more.

It was all behind you now, of course, but you hadn’t forgotten and as you reached your apartments deep within the mountain, you smiled as he set Amira down and said, “Into warm clothes, both of you, and into bed,” and patted their bottoms to get them to move.

As their energy seemed to never deplete, both Frerin and Amira raced off in different directions to their bedchambers and you looked up at him. “They should sleep like babies after all that fresh air.”

“They are not the only ones.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I, too, will sleep well.”

“They love romping about with you, you know.”

“I know it all too well, mesmel. And while I would not change it,” he winced and reached down to rub his lower back with one hand, “I am reminded I am not exactly a young dwarf any longer.”

“You are not an old dwarf, either, though.” You moved around behind him, gently knocking his hands away to press your thumbs firmly into the knotted muscle just above his hipbone.

“Ah, take care, mesmel! I am sensitive.”

“Hush. You are no such thing.” You kneaded that thick, solid muscle with expert pressure and precision and smiled as he let out a low, purring growl of satisfaction. “Feel better?”

“Aye, thank you. I can walk upright again.”

“Go put your children to bed, dwarf.”

He turned to you, his brilliant blue eyes dancing with more than a hint of mischief. “Then perhaps I might take you to bed?”

“If you think your back is up to it.”

“Oh, it will be.” He bent to sweep his lips against yours. “I promise you it will.”

“Go.”

While he went to round up your children, you made your way down the narrow corridor toward your own bedchambers. One of the servants had been in to tend the fire on hearth and turned down your bed, so the room was warm and cozy. 

After readying yourself for bed, you tugged on a warm, velvet robe, then padded back out to go and bid Amira and Frerin sweet dreams. Frerin was very nearly asleep, but smiled up at you as he said, “I had so much fun tonight, ’Amad. I wish ’Adad had more time to play with us like that.”

“I know you do, raklûn. And I know he wishes he did as well,” you sank onto the edge of his bed and reached down to smooth a dark curl away from his face, “but unfortunately, being king means less time for fun.”

“I know.”

“Go to sleep now, raklûn,” you told him, leaning over to brush his forehead with a kiss, “or else I know a wee dwarf who will have no Yule.”

He snuggled deeper into his pillow. “Good night, ’amad.”

“Good night, Frerin.”

You blew out the candle on his bedside table, patted him once more through the quilts, and left. As you approached Amira’s room, she said, “’Adad, tell me again how you and ’Amad met.”

“You know that story, uzbadnâtha.”

“I know, but I like it. Did she really save your life?”

You paused in the doorway, smiling at the sight of Thorin stretched out on Amira’s bed with her curled up against him. She was younger than her brother, but in some ways, such an old soul,  that it was easy to forget. 

“She did, indeed. You’ve heard tell of the battle that took place just beyond our walls, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I was gravely injured in it. And when ’Amad learned of it, she hurried here from Ered Luin and it’s because of her that I am here today.”

“But she’s not a healer, ’Adad.”

“No, she’s not, but my wounds went beyond just hurting physically. I was angry at the world for what had happened here, and took it out on everyone around me.”

“Like Frerin did that time he got hit with the arrow?”

“Exactly.” Thorin smiled. “And he knew Cam didn't mean to hit him, but he was still angry nonetheless.”

“They got into a fistfight over it.”

“I remember.” Thorin smoothed a hand along her long tangle of curls. “And I was even angrier than Frerin. I felt responsible for bringing war to our doorstep, to causing Uncles Fíli and Kíli to be hurt as well, along with a great many others.

“But, ‘Amad sat with me no matter how many times I told her to go away. She wouldn’t leave when I yelled at her to do so. The harder I tried to push her away, the more determined she became to not leave my side and her stubbornness won my heart in the end.”

Amira yawned and snuggled closer. “And now you aren’t angry any more.”

“And now I’m not angry any more.”

“And all because of ’Amad.”

“Yes, and because of you and your brother, as well. You’ve all three given me plenty to be happy about.”

You pressed your lips together as the soft emotion in Thorin’s normally deep, commanding voice brought tears to your eyes. He looked over then and smiled as he said, “How long have you been listening, mesmel?”

“Not long.” You came into the room. “You should be asleep by now, little miss.”

Amira looked a bit sheepish. “I was asking ‘Adad to tell me the story of how you met again.”

“Did he tell you what a grump he was? And how he told me to go away more than once?”

She nodded. “He did. But you refused.”

“I did, because he made me mad and I was going to stay just to spite him.”

Amira laughed. “Why?”

“Because your father is cute when he is mad.”

“Cute?” Amira stared up at him and you bit back a laugh at the disbelief in her voice. “Really?”

“I have my moments, raklûna. And now,” he gently untangled himself and stood, then tugged the quilts to her chin and smoothed them out, “you need to get to sleep, or else—”

“Or else no Yule,” she finished for him with a sleepy smile. “I know, ‘Adad. I know.”

“Good night, uzbadnâtha.”

“Good night.”

You bent over to brush her forehead with a kiss as well. “Sweet dreams, mimûna.”

“I will.”

Thorin blew out the candle and then slid an arm about your waist to steer you from the room. Out in the corridor, you looked up at him, his features softened by the flickering flames of candles behind frosted glass globes. “She should only know how close she came to not being here, because her father is a stubborn mule at times.”

“Oh, and her mother is not?” He bent to brush your lips with his. “You are every bit as stubborn.”

“And that is why you are here and they are there, dwarf.”

He smiled, tugging you closer still. “And I thank Mahal every day for that blasted stubborn streak.”

“Same.”

His eyes sparkled in the low light and he bent toward you. Your lips met in a slow, teasing, deep kiss, and when he drew back, Thorin pressed his forehead to yours and murmured, “Now, I do believe I said something about carrying you off to bed.”

He didn’t wait for you to reply, but swept you up into his arms and spirited you back to the cozy privacy of your chambers, where he pressed you down in to the soft bed and whispered, “I do love you, you know.”

“I know, and I love you back, dwarf.”

He kissed you again and as you lost yourself in him, somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed midnight. 

***

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warnings: nothing too serious but obviously discussion of Dagor Bragollach and its implications for the Bëorians as well as a mention of arranged marriage (arranged on both sides and not abusive or forced but still wanted to warn just in case)

also warning for my probably bad attempts at translating names to use. 

Emeldir was born in 399 of the First Age. She was swift and agile, spending her childhood exploring the steep slopes and pine forests of Dorthonion. She learned to use a bow and arrow to aid her father in hunting as a young teenager and later became adept in the use of a crossbow which she carried for the rest of her life. She also used a curved sword for closer range fighting. As most men of fighting age died or were captured during Dagor Bragollach, she was almost alone among those with fighting ability as she lead a group of children to Brethil, facing further losses along the way. 

She spent several months in Brethil where she accompanied their soldiers on scouting trips North towards Ered Wethrin to prepare to bring her group to Dor-lómin. 

Emeldir traveled to Hithlum with the other Bëorian refugees but did not remain there. Three months after her arrival, she set out with two others, going South towards Brethil and Dimbar again with the intention of searching for other survivors. She never found any of Barahir’s group but continued to fight against the forces of the enemy until her death in 468. 

Random HCs:

-Her father was also called Beren. Her mother was not named or mentioned but I named her Estafael. 

She has two unnamed siblings. I headcanon them as a brother and sister. Her brother was called Sadar though he died two years before the Bragollach while on patrol. Her sister was named Thônonen

(note: these are Sindarin translations of names that were likely originally in Taliska) 

-She usually has shoulder length hair pulled back in a scarf. It’s slightly lighter brown than Barahir’s and starts greying early. 

-Her marriage to Barahir was arranged on both sides though they knew each other for a long time before that. They work very well together as a team and are friends though I sometimes imagine both took other lovers (with the other’s full permission and understanding) after Beren was born and weaned. I think these kinds of arrangements were not uncommon among the Bëorians and perhaps the Edain in general. Marriages were often political and familial alliances and the ceremonies around them meant that taking other partners with the permission of one’s spouse wasn’t strictly law but it was common practice though often quiet. Anyways that’s mostly off topic but I have a lot of thoughts about this stuff :)

-She has a very good sense of humor though laughs rarely after the Bragollach. She’s very good at deadpan and sarcasm but can find humor in more purely joyous things too.

-Her image is that of someone stern and stoic because that’s how she’s remembered by some of the only survivors of the Bragollach among her people, especially the children. I think young Morwen took after her a lot and mimicked her, intentionally and not, along the horrific journey. Prior to this though Emeldir was a lively, generally cheerful although brisk person. 

-Emeldir and Barahir would carry baby Beren in a pack on their backs and take him for long walks. 

-She has very good eyes and is very observant, helpful for shooting enemies. 

-Her and Barahir used to make strong alcohol together. She learned the recipe from her mother