#youngdwarfori

The halls of Erebor were impressive. Walking between those enormous columns, Tauriel admired the dwarves for being able to build those rooms and corridors inside the mountain. It was a lot different from what the Elvenking’s Halls: more massive and more rectangular, but it still amazed her. She could have spent hours just walking around the halls of Erebor expolring dwarrow architecture and artwork; at least it would serve as a distraction for her after the battle. However, she often found herself wondering what Kíli and Fíli had said when they set foot in Erebor for the first time. The thought wrenched her heart and filled her eyes with tears, making her stop for a moment. She would never know that and they would never set foot in Erebor again. Or well - they wouldn’t leave it again, as they were now buried deep inside the mountain, alongside their uncle, Thorin Oakenshield.

youngdwarfori

Thorin had barely been up from his sickbed, and was still healing from his near deadly wounds after the battle of the five armies. He was thankful to Mahal he and his nephews, and all those in his company, including Bilbo, their, his hobbit, had survived.

Now, it was nearly a month later, and though he still had trouble walking, and staying upright for too long, Oin kept up his treatment with the special Elvish balm, which was a gift from King Thranduil himself. He still did not believe it when Balin told him it was the elves, and their Oin, who had saved himself, and his nephews from dying with the wounds they all received.

He would have never forgiven himself if he had lost his sister’s sons, nor would Dis for that matter, so he was once again grateful to the Elves of Mirkwood for saving him and his kin. Now, he was faced with being crowned the rightful King of Erebor, and had been stooped over his desk in the royal study.

He poured over countless scrolls, written the Bard, and the Men of Dale, and survivors of Lake-town, and to the Elvenking himself, promising all of them their fair share of the treasure. Thranduil only wished for one precious thing. The white gems of Lasgalen, and Thorin had been the one to give it to him, only a few days after he had risen from his sickbed, still limping and in pain. He had met the Elvenking by the front gate, flanked by Dwalin, Balin, and Bilbo and Gandalf, to make certain Thorin would make good on his word.

Thorin had completed all the tasks Balin, the elders, and his sister Dis set to him, and now he wished to spend time in the one place he never thought he would. Balin had spoken of Ori, their scribe, and how he had been working in the library, to get things back in order.

Thorin had taken an interest, when the older dwarf had told him the young dwarf, the youngest of his company, had been in there alone. Thorin had sent word to the young scribe that he would be joining him that very morning, to help him with the work there. He figured it would not be too jarring for all of his injuries, as he was still wrapped in the bandages, with the Elven balm, and the Dwarvish healing ointments all over his body.

"Ori!" Parisa giggled as she stepped into the clearing, spotting the dwarf who she had dubbed her friend. It was rare for a faërie to been seen, even rarer for the same faërie to be seen twice, and yet here was Parisa, happy to be right were Ori could spot her.

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