Chapter Text
Thorin was not attending to the stall when she arrived, but Briar was reassured by smoke rising from the chimney, carried upwards by the breeze before disappearing completely.
A merchant recognised her when she ordered two glasses of elderflower cordial. “Back again?” he asked conversationally. “Often see you wandering around.”
She decided against knocking on the door and possibly interrupting Thorin’s work. Instead, Briar sat on a wooden crate where she would not be noticed from the marketplace.
Bricks had been removed from the upper wall, a crude method of ventilating the forge. Sometimes wisps of steam escaped from these gaps and there was a loud hissing sound. Curious, she reached out to touch a fingertip against the wall, expecting that it might emanate heat. When she found that it was no warmer than any other surface that had been exposed to the midday sun, Briar rested against it and took out her pipe, watching the smoke she exhaled mingle with the steam.
The door opened when she was beginning to drowse. Without realising that she was there, Thorin spoke several sentences in a language that she did not recognise, his voice sounding unusually harsh. He walked around the building, clutching a piece of metal which had been mangled nearly beyond recognition, his expression thunderous until the very moment that he saw Briar sitting on the crate.
“Hello,” she greeted, hopping up and reaching out to loosen his grasp on the warped metal. It was a pair of tongs, resembling a pair of scissors with a hollow circle at the end for grasping; where the two arms were joined had shattered, and exposure to heat had rendered it completely unusable. “Oh, I didn’t realise that you were using Mannish tools.”
Thorin scowled with frustration. “The forge was not intended for use by dwarven blacksmiths. These tools are inferior to anything that we would use, even in the poorest mountain settlement.”
“And much too large for your grip, I suppose,” she agreed. “You should consider writing a letter to the mayor, asking for the funds to transport your own set of tools from the Blue Mountains. I’m sure that would be vastly preferable to ordering replacements each year from Bree. In the meantime, come and sit with me for a while. I have brought elderflower cordial and some light snacks.”
For a moment, Thorin seemed to wind himself even tighter. Then he sighed and placed the tool aside so that it could be discarded, sitting down beside her without any further complaint.
He remarked that the elderflower cordial was pleasant, though nothing moved him as deeply as those blackberry muffins had several days earlier. Eventually, his brow furrowed and he pressed against the bridge of his nose, before rolling his shoulders in a well-practised movement.
It was not long before he noticed that she was watching. “I have a bad temper,” Thorin admitted wryly. “My sister tells me that it is my greatest flaw.”
“Yet, nothing has been destroyed, no one overheard you who would understand what was said, and we are conversing quite peacefully,” she pointed out, taking another sip from her glass.
“You seem to have a calming influence, Miss Baggins.”
Briar snorted, almost spilling cordial across her skirts. “Absurd,” she said dismissively. “There are many hobbits who find my existence quite exasperating, you know.”
“I have a high opinion of you, and it will not be lowered by the misjudgements of other hobbits.” Thorin stood up and offered his hand. “Would you like to see inside the forge?”
That he had lifted the replacement axle without assistance was evidence of his strength. However, Thorin held her hand very gently, as though he was concerned about accidentally hurting her. His fingers were calloused from years of handling metallurgical tools. Briar noticed faint scar lines and wondered what had caused them, but resolved not to ask without Thorin himself broaching the topic.
The repurposed watch post had a high ceiling, which had likely been a second level before stairs were removed, allowing for the installation of a working furnace. Bricks acted as a barrier against the flame and could be moved by the blacksmith depending on how much space was needed. A set of bellows, similar to those which might be used to stoke a cooking fire, were waiting near the furnace.
There was an anvil with blunted corners, which she suspected might be decades old. Metal sheets protected a makeshift worktable and a variety of tools had been placed on shelves along the wall.
He briefly explained that the crates outside contained ingots, which could be reshaped after exposure to heat and pressure. A finished item would then be cooled rapidly in water. Apparently, it was more common for apprentices to receive burns from the steam, rather than mishandling tools.
“These tools seem too large for delicate work.”
“A skilled blacksmith can work with the most rudimentary tools,” Thorin told her. “Provided that they do not shatter or become twisted from exposure to heat. Here, I can show you…”
The building was almost too small for them both. To reach the shelf behind her, Thorin stood close, with the barest touch to her waist so that she would know not to move.
Briar became breathless, knowing that it would not take much for his fingers to find her dress laces. She could feel the rough fabric of his shirtsleeve brushing against her exposed collarbone. Without meaning to, her face turned towards him, and she became quite intoxicated by his unique scent.
He pulled back with the item that he had reached for, but kept standing close. His fingers pressed against her waist and she shivered at the sensation of his thumb tracing along the seam. It seemed that neither of them wanted to move away. Briar looked up to see those intense blue eyes—and Thorin leaned down to kiss her, slowly enough that she could refuse.
It was unlike anything that she had ever felt before. Their lips pressed together for a moment, then she made an odd attempt to step forward so that they could be even closer. Thorin responded by tightening his grip at her waist and smiling against her mouth, before kissing her more deeply. His other hand, which was still loosely holding whatever he had reached for, touched her jaw.
Acting on instinct, Briar tilted her head and pushed up in the same moment. Thorin gasped, which was quite unexpected and thoroughly satisfying. She moved her hand along his shoulder, then wound fingers into his hair, learning that it was even softer than it looked.
Thorin drew back to kiss the corner of her mouth, then her cheek. “Briar,” he whispered.
This was foolish, she knew. There could be nothing more than mutually assured heartbreak.
Briar leaned back slightly and would not have been able to stop herself from smiling. “What did you want to show me?” she asked, ignoring that her heart was pounding wildly.
Thorin blinked, and she liked to imagine that he was resisting the urge to kiss her again.
He opened his hand so that she could see chain links resting on a scrap of fabric. They were so small that many would be needed to complete a necklace, but it would be incredibly fine.
“I have ruined three pairs of tongs working on these,” he said solemnly.
At once, she was struck by a powerful emotion that was perhaps too complicated to name. Standing in the forge with a dwarven blacksmith that she might have been unintentionally courting, and quite overcome with the certainty that this could not end happily, Briar began to laugh.