Chapter Text
A Flame to Burn
Chapter One
Summary:
Following the dwarven exile from Erebor, Thorin is having trouble finding a job where his skills are appreciated. He also discovers the menfolk of Middle Earth aren’t necessarily trustworthy. As his kin settle in the Blue Mountains far from Erebor, Thorin wanders further south to find work. He is forced to swallow his pride and take a job that is as foreign to him as his new surroundings.
Our love was born with our first embrace,
And a page was torn out of time and space.
Our love affair, may it always be,
A flame to burn through eternity.
So, take my hand with a fervent prayer
That we may live and we may share
A love affair to remember.
“Our Love Affair” Songwriters: Harold Adamson / Harry Warren / Leo McCarey
1
He was the first to see them. The midday sun gleamed on their massive hulls, golden and bright. Like great winged birds, they effortlessly moved across the sea, massive ivory sails billowing in the cool ocean breeze. Once they’d noticed, the rest of the crew talked about them reverently, though the vast ships never approached close enough to make out their details nor reveal the faces of the men who sailed them.
The boat Thorin was aboard was a pale comparison to the grand ships that sailed from the ports of Gondor. Those were merchant vessels seeking trade in other ports across the coastal borders of Middle Earth. The boat he had been hired to work on was a rather dilapidated but large fishing vessel.
As soon as he stepped onto the deck, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps his death was imminent after all. He had fought orcs in epic battles and escaped dragon fire. Surely, he wasn’t destined to die from drowning. Yet, as the ship set sail, he strongly believed there was no possible way such shoddy craftsmanship would be seaworthy.
After two days of moving across the ocean, he was pleased to be wrong in his assumptions. He knew nothing about boats, but the thing managed to stay above the water, which seemed important.
At the end of his tiring day he would collapse in his hammock, the gentle rhythmic swaying of the ship against the waves trying its best to lull him to sleep. Before he drifted, he would wonder about his recent choices in life. The captain of the vessel hadn’t asked for much. All he needed was a strong back and a durable disposition. Thorin had both, and he was hired immediately.
The man didn’t seem to mind that he was a Dwarf. As long as he did his job and didn’t cause any trouble, he’d be paid a fair wage for one season of work. A season’s worth of pulling nets from the sea lasted from late Âfmuhudtuzakh to mid Âfizhu according to the Dwarven calendar, and if Mahal was with him, he would be able to rejoin his family before Durin’s Day. Along with his durable disposition, he would bring home a reasonable amount of pay that would allow his sister and her two young sons to survive the coming winter.
This was his life. He tried not to mourn what he had lost and look forward to his future, such as it was. The work was demanding and difficult. As long as the sun shone overhead, he pulled heavy nets teeming with fish into the boat and emptied them into tanks in the ship’s hold, only to cast the weighted nets back out and do it all over again. He would continue this routine every day, all day for the next five months.
It could be worse. At least he wasn’t one of the ones having to clean the slimy things. Down below deck were men who processed the fish, salted them, and stored them in barrels for future trade. Next to the processing area were the sleep cabins with their multiple cloth hammocks. Whoever had designed and built the craft hadn’t thought it through in his opinion. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to the smell that permeated even his dreams.
It wasn’t completely monotonous work. On rare occasions, he would see a spray emerge from the water out in the open sea, followed by the appearance of a mighty whale that would fly up over the waves. For a few seconds, he would have some respite from the toil of his hands as the entire crew would stand idle and watch the enormous beast breach the surface before crashing back below with a terrific splash.
The sight never failed to daze him and most of the crew. That is until the captain ordered them all to get back to work.
Captain Widmer was a serious sort whom Thorin had vowed never to cross. He was a capable leader and demanded a hard day’s work. He spent his evenings playing cards and getting drunk but was always up at the crack of dawn to rush the crew through their morning meal of black coffee and porridge to set out the first cast of the day.
He was the only man on board who Thorin didn’t mind being around. The rest of them, he didn’t trust. Not a single one of them. He’d had dealings with men before and he’d found most of them to be liars or thieves. They would stab a Dwarf in the back before they offered one a hand. Too many men had slammed their doors in his face regardless of his skills as a smith. He was a master craftsman, but that mattered very little in the world of men. They only saw him as most did: A filthy, homeless Dwarf, desperate and despised. Dwarves were greedy and cruel, boorish and gullible. Or so he’d heard men murmur amongst themselves whenever they thought he wasn’t around.
He wasn’t any of those things. He was not his grandfather. He would not allow greed to guide him and would do what he must to support his family back in Ered Luin. Pride was a thing of the past. He could no longer afford it.
On the third day aboard The Ancalagon (named after a damn dragon no less), Thorin and the ship’s crew discovered there was something else on board other than hard work, cheap ale, whale watching, and card games.
There was a Hobbit on this ship. Supposedly, he had been seasick for the first two days of the voyage and had been spending most of the time below deck in private quarters.
He emerged on the third day still a little pale, but eager to see what was going on around him. He was dressed as if he was going to a formal dinner instead of being on a fishing boat, with his pressed trousers, burgundy jacket, golden waistcoat, and olive ascot. (It was a combination of colors Thorin realized should not compliment the others, but on the Hobbit, they somehow did.)
Captain Widmer introduced the halfling to the crew as a friend who had paid him handsomely for a bit of adventure.
Thorin ridiculed the halfling beneath his breath and he wasn’t the only one. There was a good deal of snickering heard from the crew as well.
What manner of being would pay to board a stinking fishing vessel? It made no sense to Thorin and yet, the halfling was all smiles as he walked about the deck asking questions and making odd, witty comments.
Thorin did his best to avoid him at all costs. He had never been fond of small talk, and that’s all the halfling seemed interested in. With him, he always carried a book of some sort, along with a quill and ink. Once in a while, the halfling would busy himself by plopping down on the deck to scribble notes into it. Thorin had no idea what he was writing or what he could find interesting enough to write about.
They cast nets, pulled them in, and cast them out again. Nothing more to it. Somehow, the halfling seemed fascinated not only with the process but the boat and the crew themselves.
It was impossible to ignore his curiosity or his eyes which were as gray as a storm-tossed sea and yet shone as bright as the midday sun.
After a day’s observations, Thorin had come to a conclusion: He was mad. He had to be. Why else would a halfling spend his days on board a stinking fishing boat with equally smelly men and one angry and wet Dwarf?
The addition to the crew did not improve Thorin’s outlook on his current condition. Instead, the halfling’s presence annoyed him. He had no place here. Even though he stayed out of the way, he was being a nuisance asking everyone so many personal questions. So far, Thorin had avoided him, which was probably due to the thunderous glares he sent his way. He had nothing to say and didn’t wish to be bothered. Thorin had been successful in delivering that message without having to say a word.
That is, until the fourth day. On the fourth day, as he turned to secure the knots of the net he’d just cast, he came face to face with him. The halfling’s smile was as bright as it always was, his eyes glittering with curiosity and glee. The sight of him irked Thorin, and he sidestepped him to continue his work.
“Pardon me, Master Dwarf, if I may have a word?” he said, and Thorin was immediately annoyed by the richness of the halfling’s voice. He hadn’t heard it before as clearly as he was hearing it now, his words previously having been drowned out by the sounds of the ocean. Undeterred, the halfling was in pursuit and was again standing right next to him. There was no escape. He was a persistent little thing, Thorin thought with some agitation.
“I see you’re a Dwarf,” the halfling said next, which lifted a single skeptical brow on Thorin’s head. He didn’t think the halfling was ignorant. He could read and write after all.
Thorin silently checked ropes running through the pulley and tested their tautness while waiting for the call to haul the net back in. He intentionally avoided eye contact with the halfling, although that did very little to deter him.
“I pride myself on being quite knowledgeable regarding the races of Middle Earth, so I do know a little about Dwarves,” the halfling was saying while Thorin checked the other lines for signs of fraying.
“And I know for a fact that Dwarves such as yourself do not tend to work on board fishing vessels. Or be on the water in any capacity for that matter. This leads me to ask what brought you here, Master Dwarf? Why have you chosen to consider such a position?”
Thorin didn’t answer. The call had sounded, and he and the men began pulling the ropes to bring the net back up toward the surface. The closer it got to the boat, the heavier it became, and his arms strained with the effort. That didn’t seem to matter to the halfling.
“I am a friend of the Captain,” he continued confidently. “And so, I am well aware that you are neither deaf nor mute. I will assume at this point that you are just rude.”
Thorin did shoot him a leveling glare at that point, but the halfling simply smiled sweetly back at him.
“I’m finally glad to see I’ve gotten your attention,” he said. “You see, I’m keeping a journal of my experiences on board and would like to hear everyone’s stories of what brought them here as well as some information about their past. It’s nothing for sale, mind you. I’m not a published author by any means. This is purely for my amusement.”
That did it. Thorin was now convinced. The halfling was completely insane. These men might think he was adorable (which he was, physically) and choose to humor him and answer his probing questions, but Thorin was far more private than that. The only reply the halfling would draw from him on his best day might be a grunt.
“I see how it is,” the halfling said as the net came crashing onto the deck, fish spilling out all over the planked floor.
The halfling sidestepped to avoid them as best he could with feet that big. He was barefoot as well, Thorin noted. He’d seen halflings before and couldn’t imagine traveling to the places he’d been without boots to protect his feet.
“For your information, Thorin,” the halfling said, which startled him slightly. He wasn’t expecting to hear his name spoken with such dulcet tones. “I am known to be rather relentless.”
He had shared that bit of information as if it were an honorable trait to have. In some situations perhaps it would be, but not in this particular one.
“I’ll be here for the season. You can’t avoid me the entire time. We’ll speak again. I can promise you that.”
“We shall see,” Thorin muttered beneath his breath. He was determined not to say a thing. For all he knew, the halfling was a spy and was looking for information Thorin could not risk sharing. Who knew who he was working for? Perhaps usurpers were trying to eliminate the line of Durin once and for all!
He couldn’t and wouldn’t trust anyone. Not outside of his kin anyway. During his travels outside of Erebor, he’d at least learned that much.
By Mordelle