Inevitable Chapter 9 sneak preview - Part 1 (repost) + Part 2
Hello, lovely denizens of the internet! Imma leave this thingamabob that I wrote here so that you may peruse to your pleasure. Have at thee.
(PS - I'm reposting Part 1 since I made some changes to it). As always, this is definitely NOT the full chapter...it's maybe like...one-fifth of it? :D :D :D
Lemme know what you guys are thinking! Thanks!
Bofur entered Balin’s brightly lit tent to the sight of what looked like a tense standoff between Dwalin and Dori, and he promptly fought the urge to turn right back around and leave. Some of the other Company members (read: Glóin, Óin and the princes) had already clustered themselves where the action was while watching the spectacle with sharp, keen eyes. Bofur, in comparison, could only sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose in quiet exasperation.
I guess today is going to be one of those days, Bofur’s resigned thoughts rang in his head. Just once, he would like to have a meeting with the Dwarves without having to tip-toe around the family drama surrounding Ori’s choice of partner and Dori’s intense disapproval of...pretty much Ori having a love life, actually. Clearly, his wish for a fruitful, peaceful meeting where they could have deep discussions about their completely fictional interpretation of Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship died a quick death, which was utterly ridiculous since the meeting hasn’t even started yet and Bofur had arrived early.
And damn it all, he had been so looking forward to sharing his Bagginshield story to the rest of the group too!
Bofur quickly glanced around the room and he felt some of his tension leaving when he spotted his brother and cousin sitting huddled in a corner, both sporting identical, grim expressions that could give Bard’s a run for his money. At least his family had arrived and he has people with which he could wallow in misery.
“So, what’s going on this time?” Bofur muttered after quietly navigating to the two Dwarves. He shifted around in place a bit until he was seated crossed-leg with his back propped against the smooth surface of a nearby cabinet. The Dwarf had a feeling that he was in for a long explanation so he might as well take the initiative to make himself more comfortable.
Bombur snorted, “Not sure. They’ve just been standing there…staring at each other for the past minute or so. Ori and Nori haven’t arrived yet so Dwalin is without his fighter to defend his honour and we are without our peacekeeper. Balin there doesn’t seem to care either way.” He waved his hand at the advisor some distance to his left, who was hunched over his desk and half buried in stacks of paperwork.
If Balin had heard them at all, he did not show any signs of it beyond the occasional twitch of his hand from wielding his pen and the odd muttering here and there. Bofur stared bug-eyed at the old Dwarf. “You would think that he’d be a bit worried if a fight breaks out, if not for his brother than for the state of his tent,” the miner mused out loud. Bombur shrugged nonchalantly, his movement jostled free a shower of biscuit crumbs from his braided beard and they tumbled down the curve of his stomach.
Bifur scowled, tapped both of his cousins on the shoulders and signalled in Iglishmêk when he had their attention. ‘If they fight, we will have to be the ones to restrain Dori. Bofur and I will hold his arms and Bombur, you will tackle his legs.’
“Why not go for Dwalin instead?” Bombur leaned in to whisper. “Dori is the strongest Dwarf out of the Company and I’m not sure the three of us could stop him –”
“So Master Dwalin,” Dori’s shrilled voice neatly cut through the light murmuring in the room. “Have you been defiling anyone else’s little brothers lately?”
The brothers Ur collectively winced.
Bifur’s frown deepened and he resumed signalling again with a renewed sense of urgency. ‘The three of us can take him. Also, if you look closely, you will see that the others have strategically positioned themselves to dive at Dwalin at the first sign of trouble.’
Bofur turned his attention back at the group in question for a second glance. Bifur had a point; some time during their talk to restrain Dori, Glóin and Óin had discreetly moved closer to Dwalin until they were flanking him on both sides. Fíli and Kíli had also shifted towards the tall Dwarf from their relaxed lounge against the tent wall. The brothers were exchanging more and more frequent looks of unease as they wait in anticipation for Dwalin to respond.
“Quite right,” Bofur agreed at the same time that Bombur let out an ‘oh!’ of understanding. “If that is the case, I think we should…” Bofur trailed off and tilted his head meaningfully towards Dori. Sharing a final, determined nod, the three Dwarves scrambled up and as one cohesive unit, they stepped out of their secured little corner. They shimmied around the tent quietly until they had situated themselves within grabbing distance of the eldest Ri brother. Óin gave the three a fleeting, knowing grin at their arrival but remained blessedly silent.
“Master Dori,” Dwalin finally deigned to reply after a lengthy stretch of awkward silence. “I don’t make it a habit of defiling any Dwarves.” Bofur secretly breathed a sigh of relief in his head at the lack of anger in the warrior’s reply, even if his posture was tense like a coiled up spring. Thank Durin that Dwalin has enough sense not to be so easily goaded into a fight. Maybe, just maybe, they could all get through this without devolving into utter chaos.
And he could get on to sharing his Bagginshield work of fiction like he had wanted. He wondered what Master Nori will think of it.
Bofur’s wishful thinking lasted a grand total of three seconds, which was the time it took for Dwalin’s serious expression to morph into a dark, reckless smirk. And then, as if Mahal was making it his personal mission to break Bofur’s optimistic spirit that evening, the warrior casually crossed his arms over his chest and added smugly, “The only thing I do is snog the adorable ones who call themselves Ori.”
In that moment, all the noise drained from the room except for the very audible gasp of shock that all the spectators in the room shared. Glóin doubled over and started to guffaw, his hands slapping over his knee. Bofur just closed his eyes in resignation. Here we go.
To say that Dori was none too please was a complete understatement. The Dwarf let loose a massive roar so full of rage, it shook the earth beneath everyone’s feet. He bodily launched himself at Dwalin with his arms stretched out to claw a fistful of the warrior’s beard, only to be roughly pinned down by the Ur brothers an arm’s length away from reaching the warrior. Fíli and Kíli jumped into the fray a second later with Fíli boldly stepping between the two to deter any further attacks while Kíli helped Bofur and Bifur to hold the violently thrashing Dori in place. Meanwhile, Óin and Glóin each placed a heavy hand over Dwalin’s shoulders, but their efforts to restrain the him were unnecessary; Dwalin had not moved from his spot except to raise his brows in surprise at the still snarling Dwarf on the ground.
“I will not let you touch him, not when I am still alive and breathing!” Dori bellowed out dramatically. His face turned an alarming shade of purple-red from his continuous attempt to dislodge the four Dwarves on top of him.
“Please do not antagonize him any further, Master Dwalin!” Bofur pleaded breathlessly as he strained to keep his grip on Dori’s right arm. He had already put his whole weight into immobilizing the Dwarf but even then, Dori was still strong enough to thrash around uselessly. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Bombur, Bifur and Kíli struggling just as much as he was.
Curse the wrathful old Dwarf and his unnatural strength!
“What…in Durin’s name is going on in this madhouse?” a deeply amused voice called out from the entrance, neatly interrupting the chaos of noise and flailing limbs.
Nine pairs of eyes whipped towards the newcomer. Even Dori stopped to watch in surprise.
“Nori!” Bofur cried out, his otherwise happy greeting tinged with a hint of hysteria. “Thank goodness you are here! A little help would be much appreciated!”
No sooner had he uttered that sentence, Dori wriggled his arm loose from Bofur’s hold and delivered a swift upper cut to the miner’s chin. Bofur’s head snapped back from the strength of the blow, his teeth clacking together loudly. A second blow quickly followed, this time to the stomach, (an elbow, Bofur realized belatedly), and he was sent sprawling backwards head first into the fur lined ground.
Dori did not waste any more time. He reached behind him and grabbed the closest Dwarf off his back – Kíli, Bofur concluded from the prince’s squeak of terror while trying to breathe through his own pain – and proceeded to throw the young Dwarf over his head with a simple flick of his wrist. Poor Kíli was launched screaming into the air into a very surprised Fíli, who instinctively backed into a panicked Glóin. Together, the three landed on the ground in a groaning, tangled mess.
With two of the four Dwarves off of him, Dori effortlessly twisted out of Bombur and Bifur’s hold, stopping briefly to punch Bifur in the eye to keep him down. He scrambled upright from the ground with his robes and his braided silver hair uncharacteristically dishevelled. Like a man possessed, he completely ignored the Dwarves who were littered by his feet and groaning in pain to search for his target. His eyes swivelled around the room until his gaze locked on to the flabbergasted Dwalin.
“You,” Dori snarled, shifting his body into a duelling stance, “will rue the day you were born!”
And then, he fell to the ground in an unconscious, loose-limbed pile.
The Dwarves, or at least those who were not still writhing on the floor, gaped at Dori.
When he did not respond, they focused instead on the set of feet that seemed to have materialized behind Dori’s crumpled form sometime amidst the fight. They trailed their eyes up the length of the finely made navy robes, skipping over the neatly groomed thick white beard until they came to rest on Balin’s face.
Balin stared back serenely, his right hand still raised in the same chopping motion that he had used to incapacitate the oldest Ri brother. “A swift blow to the back of the neck can render anyone unconscious,” he said, completely nonchalant at the sorcery that he had just performed. “Now then,” Balin continued lightly, “does anyone have any rope?”
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It was shortly after everyone had gathered enough supplies to tend to their wounds that Ori finally made his appearance.
“My apologies for being late, everyone!” he called out in a rush from the entrance, “I hope I haven’t kept you all – just what in Durin’s name is going on in this madhouse?”
Ori did a double take at the sight of his friends sitting about the tent in various states of injury. His eyes widened further when he spotted his oldest brother in the corner. “And why is Dori tied to a chair?!” he asked, his voice going high with panic.
“Funny you should say that, I pretty much used the exact phrasing when I came in.” Nori chuckled, his fingers spreading more cooling salve on Bofur’s chin. He grinned a little harder at the small sound of distress that Ori let out upon discovering that his oldest brother was well and truly unconscious. Unlike Nori, Ori had never seen their illustrious brother knocked off his pedestal so it did not surprise the thief that the youngest Ri would stand shock still presently at the sight.
“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Nori said dismissively. “We had to keep him calm before he murdered your beau.” There was a hint of steel in his voice as he said the last word of that sentence and it contrasted with the gentle way he tilted Bofur’s head to look for further bruising. “I’d like to add that for once, it was not my suggestion to tie him up. Also, he was already frothing at the mouth in rage when I arrived.”
Bofur muttered something impolite under his breath that made the thief snigger.
Ori paused his frenzied inspection on Dori to shoot a quizzical look at Nori. “Frothing at the mouth?” he repeated slowly. He blanched visibly once Nori’s words had fully registered. “Murder?!”
He spun around frantically just in time to see Dwalin trudging towards him and he all but ran the last few steps to close the distance between them. Ori automatically skimmed his fingers down the length of Dwalin’s arms to check for injuries, his eyebrows were furrowed in concern and his lips were pressed together into a thin line.
“I am fine, dear heart,” Dwalin said, voice low with the intention to sooth frazzled nerves, but he did not bother to stop Ori. Instead, he waited patiently until the scribe had seen for himself that all was well before reaching down and gently clasping both of the brunet’s hands in his. “See? I have escaped unscathed,” Dwalin insisted again. Slowly and without looking away from Ori, he brought the scribe’s hands close to his lips and laid a gentle kiss on each of his soft palms.
The attractive shade of pink that bloomed across Ori’s cheeks only made his growing smile all the more sweeter.
The Company members around the tent shifted awkwardly to avert their gaze from the couple’s public display of emotion – with the exception of Balin, that is. The advisor stood there, stunned, as if he could not decide between being disturbed or morbidly curious in seeing his brother’s softer side.
From his seat beside the newly bandaged Bofur, Nori coughed lightly twice. When his little brother and Dwalin made no move to let go of each other, the thief threw his hands in the air, muttered, “Not this again”, and coughed as if he was about to hack up a lung.
The couple finally jumped apart at the obvious distraction and glanced sheepishly around the room. Ori cleared his throat, “So, what actually happened?” He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves and did not look up from the ground, his embarrassment all too apparent.
“Dori went crazy, that’s what!” Kíli jumped at the first opportunity to complain. “He picked me up and threw me into Fíli!” The Dwarf animatedly mimed out the way he had flown in the air.
To his right, Fíli reached over and patted Kíli on the shoulder to calm him down. “If it makes you feel any better, at least you had something soft to land on,” the blond Dwarf said sagely.
“And the both of you fell on top of me, so if anything, I suffered the most here,” Glóin grumbled. He pushed away the bottle of salve that Óin was trying to press into his hands with a scowl. “I’m fine! I’m not the one who got punched!”
Across the room, Bifur, who was dutifully applying his salve on his rapidly swollen eye, looked up and threw a rude hand gesture at Glóin. Glóin, being used to all manners of insults, glibly ignored him.
“But I don’t understand,” Ori wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground, lost in his train of thoughts. He frowned in confusion, “What provoked Dori into such drastic actions?”
Dwalin grunted and rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. “I…lost my temper and may have goaded him into a fight,” he confessed, suddenly feeling deeply ashamed of his actions, especially in the face of Ori’s soft, sad eyes. He continued a little desperately, “I wanted to present this to Master Dori so that he may approve of it, but I got distracted.”
He swallowed heavily and reached into the inner pocket of his heavy jacket to pull out a flat, beautifully carved oak box that was the length of his hand.
“It is…it’s meant to be my first official courting gift to you. I made these with you in mind.”
Dwalin tentatively placed the box in Ori’s hands and said in a hush, “I hope you will accept this along with all of my affection.”
Not for the first time that evening, the room fell into a pregnant silent. All of the Dwarves stood still and watched in anticipation as Ori slowly popped open the lid.
“Oh Dwalin, these are beautiful,” Ori breathed out. He gingerly lifted a sleek, silver fountain pen out of the three that were cushioned in the velvet lining. In the light, he could truly appreciate the exquisiteness of the gift – the intricate details that decorated the barrel were etched with a different, lighter coloured metal, one that Ori could not immediately identify, and the same design continued on to the cap, which was also inlaid with two neat rows of tiny sapphires and diamonds. The graceful pointed nib was less extravagant, but nevertheless, it was adorned with thin carvings of traditional Dwarven patterns.
Before Ori could pick up a second pen, Nori stepped up and grasped his brother’s shoulder with one hand. “Master Dwalin,” he began coldly, “last I check, courting traditions have to be met and that present cannot be accepted until the head of the family has a chance to inspect and approve of it.” He let go of Ori and held his hand open. “Since Dori is currently incapacitated, I shall step in to act as the temporary head for now.”
Ori mulishly handed his packet over and promptly crossed his arms over his chest in a pout. “Thank you,” Nori said, completely blasé. Although rarely directed at him, he had seen Ori throw some spectacular tantrums in the past, including the massive spat where he had insisted on going on that Erebor quest and the current one with Dori. Needless to say, he was not at all afraid of his little brother being cross at him.
Nori brought the box closer to his eyes and squinted at the pens appraisingly. He noted each of its weight (and how surprisingly light they were), their unique design and in spite of himself, he could not help but be grudgingly impressed at the beautiful craftsmanship. Dwalin had obviously spent a lot of time and effort into making this present for Ori and more than that, it was a present that suited the scribe’s talent and profession. The pens were a perfect blend of practicality and beauty, and Nori was loathed to admit that he could not find any fault in them to reject them.
The only thing that bothered him was this mysterious, light metal that made up the lines of the design. He raised one of the pens up to shine it in the light, just as Ori had done previously, and sucked in his breath when he figured out what that material was –
“Dear Mahal, is that mithril?!” he blurted out.
At his exclamation, all of the Dwarves clamoured closer to see this near priceless gift. Ori’s jaw-dropped and he turned to look back and forth between his brother and Dwalin, unable to process the sheer value of what was given to him.
Dwalin, on the other hand, was the epitome of calm and composure even if he had every right to puff his chest out to boast. “Only the lines of the design are mithril. The rest of the pen casing is platinum. Stronger, more durable than gold,” he explained concisely. “I inherited a small ingot of mithril from my father, which I kept stored away in Erebor’s vaults along with a few items of value. Only recently was I granted access to them again.” He smiled a small, bashful smile at Ori and admitted, “I cannot think of a better way to use the ingot than as a gift to my intended.”
Nori was left without a retort. He did not like Dwalin (and he suspected that this feeling was very much reciprocated), but despite his own biases against the Dwarf from the dealings he had with him in the Blue Mountains, he could not find any legitimate grounds to reject his suit on behalf of Ori. He knew that logically, he should be rejoicing that a high bred Dwarf like Dwalin, son of Fundin would care to court below his station. After all, Dwarven matches were normally made so that both families benefited from the marriage, and this match between Dwalin and Ori would only serve to bring prestige to the Ri family…
Nori fought to contain his sly grin. He may have just figured out his point of attack and if he played his cards right, he could cast doubt on the purity of Dwalin’s intentions.
“Master Dwalin,” Nori purred and Dwalin stiffened from the sudden change in his tone of voice, “this is a very generous gift and you have most definitely outdone yourself with it.” The thief snapped the box shut and handed it back to his little brother, who was staring at him with open suspicion. “However, I must admit, I am a bit taken aback by both the gift and your desire to court our Ori.”
Nori clasped his hands behind his back and slowly circled Dwalin. “Let us not beat around the bush: a high ranking Dwarf who also happens to be rich in life experience such as yourself could find a suitably experienced Dwarf of equal status as his consort. Now,” he paused in his pacing to round on Dwalin, “why is it that you have chosen sweet, innocent Ori?”
He ignored Ori’s spluttering and ploughed forward with his argument, “I must say, I find the inequality of this match to be greatly distressing. Firstly, as I have mentioned before, you could have easily chosen a Dwarf of noble blood to bring prestige into your family and instead, you chose to join your family with ours. Not to say that our family is anything to be ashamed of, but we are no sons of Fundin.” Nori casually buffed his nails against his heavy wool tunic, looking bored. “And then you show up with a gift made of mithril of all things, and I cannot even begin to know how we can reciprocate such a grandiose, priceless offer, not even with our share of Erebor’s gold, but of course, you must have known all this beforehand.”
Dwalin’s eyes followed Nori’s, his posture and expression giving none of his nervousness away.
Nori narrowed his eyes and he dropped all pretences at playfulness. “Which brings me to question, just what is it that you seek to exploit when you have decided to buy your way into my little brother’s affection?”
“Now listen here, Master Nori,” Balin stepped forward and exclaimed in indignant fury, “just what exactly are you insinuating here? You have gone too far –”
Dwalin held his hand up to silence his incensed brother. “Master Nori, I do not see this situation the same way as you do,” he rumbled calmly and Nori was starting to hate his unbreakable composure a little. “To me, prestige in a Dwarf is gained through the brave deeds he commits. It is to my understanding that Ori was the one who insisted on undertaking the quest to reclaim Erebor despite knowing that he is not experienced in fighting.”
“And yet, he faced all of the journey’s challenges most admirably.” Dwalin shook his head in disbelief, and he continued more quietly with wonder colouring his words, “I cannot begin to imagine the bravery he must possess to stubbornly persevere through it all, to choose to fight knowing that the odds were constantly stacked against him, and to come out as a survivor.”
Even though Dwalin was speaking to Nori, it was Ori who continued to catch the warrior’s attention. The tenderness and warmth in Dwalin’s eyes were unmistaken. “So you see Master Nori, I hold Ori in the highest respect and it is he who will bring honour to me if he accepts my suit.”
“Now, as for the matter about the mithril,” he carried on, the roughness of his voice easily heard over the stillness of the room, “what is a piece of metal compared to all the time and effort Ori had spent into designing and crafting all those knitted items for me?”
Nori frowned, obviously confused. He spun around quickly so much so that his little brother stepped back with a nervous little squeak. “Wait a minute,” Nori asked, squinting his eyes at Ori in further suspicion, “just how many things did you knit for him?”
“Um…er…”
“Twenty nine items,” Dwalin interjected confidently. He began to list them out without missing a beat: “three pairs of socks, three pairs of gloves, two scarves, three jumpers, two woollen caps, one tea cosy with four matching mug warmers and four matching coasters, and finally, one blanket that is currently in the works.”
“And in return, I gave him three pens.” Dwalin raised an incredulous brow at a gobsmacked Nori. “Quite frankly Master Nori, the pens are really the least I could do.”
The Company Members simultaneously turned their attention towards Ori. Completely frozen, the scribe made the most peculiar, distressed sound from the back of his throat between closed lips, one that reminded the Dwarves of the pitiful cries of a wounded baby animal, and ever so slowly, Ori buried his face in his hands, leaving the flaming red tips of his ears visible.
“Oh, this is unbelievable!” Kíli whispered loudly to Fíli, undisturbed by Ori’s display of pitiful mortification in the brash, shameless way that was so characteristic of the young Dwarf, “I didn’t even get a single scarf while Dwalin gets to hoard a pile of knitted goods! How is this fair?”
Fíli rolled his eyes and did not bother to dignify that comment with a response.
“There there, laddie!” Balin cooed and he rubbed soothing circles on Ori’s hunched back. Let it be known that Balin did not keep his position as the king’s advisor for this many years without knowing when to step in to do damage control. “I thought your knitting was absolutely lovely. All those different patterns and colours, they are absolutely wonderful pieces and one can never have too many knitted things! Dwalin clearly appreciates all of them. Why, I never see him without at least two pieces of your knitwear on his body!”
“My apologies if I have embarrassed you, dear heart.” Dwalin seamlessly chimed in and sounding appropriately contrite. He did not need to take his brother’s cue of warning to fix this, now. “But a Dwarf can only be humble for so long when his beloved has gifted him with twenty nine, hand-made presents –”
“You memorized everything I made and you just…listed them all like you were doing inventory,” came Ori’s distressed words, muffled by his hand. “You made me sound like a crazy person! A crazy person with a thing for knitting!”
“– all of them so beautifully made as well! It is not my intention to imply that anything is wrong with you – ”
“I stress knit is all! There is nothing wrong with that!”
“ – and I am fully aware of your habit of stress knitting, love. You are right, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”
“You weren’t supposed to know about the blanket either.” Ori still refused to look up despite Balin’s futile attempts to cheer him up but at least, he sounded less miserable than just moments ago. “How did you even know about the blanket?”
“I may have discovered it by accident when I tripped over one of your large baskets of yarn,” and upon realizing how saying that would not help his case at all, Dwalin quickly amended, “because I am clumsy. Extremely, extremely clumsy. It was through no fault of your own!”
Bombur shuffled beside his brother and whistled lowly at what could only be described as Dwalin hovering nervously around Ori. “Funny how Master Dwalin had managed to maintain a perfectly cool head during Master Nori’s interrogation, but he had lost it the moment young Ori was displeased with him.”
“Love makes fools of us all,” Bofur agreed, his good cheer rapidly returning. It was not every day that one got to witness the unflappable Master Dwalin flounder.
“Alright, enough! If the both of you would stop this shameful display, I do not want to be caught up in your lovers’ tiff!” Nori shuddered a little in disgust and glared at the warrior. Sure, he had wanted to see Dwalin taken down a peg or two but to see him wrapped around his little brother’s finger was downright pathetic. However, he cannot help but feel a little sorry for the poor, panicked bastard in that brief moment; Ori could be a tad too sensitive to other people’s comments. Nori himself had had the unpleasant experience of having to calm a desperately wailing Ori many years ago from some off-handed remark he had accidently made.
He had never been so grateful to accept his older brother’s help that day.
From the corner of his eyes, he could see Ori slowly lowering his hands and thankfully, the embarrassed blush had died down a bit. His eyes were lit with hope as he asked timidly, “Nori? Does that mean…?” He shook the little box in his hand meaningfully.
Nori sighed. Master Dwalin’s retort was surprisingly eloquent, well thought out and before he made that terrible faux pas to list all twenty nine knitted gifts, surprisingly… sweet. The Dwarf had clearly thought that Ori hung the moon and the stars of Middle-Earth and likewise, anyone could see how enamoured Ori was with Master Dwalin. Dori had tried to separate the two to absolutely no effect and now, even Nori’s quick thinking had failed him in finding a legitimate excuse to refuse the tall Dwarf.
Nori may not like this but he could recognize when he was beat. Besides, what were his alternatives? If he chose to deny Master Dwalin now, it would be seen as an insult to the sons of Fundin and he would risk offending close members of that branch of the family, which may or may not include Glóin and Óin, he wasn’t too sure.
Worse still, he would have to deal with Ori’s hurt disappointment if he turned down Master Dwalin’s offer. Nori could not even begin to imagine the backlash he would receive from his own little brother, but he had a feeling that he would inadvertently end up alienating Ori from himself and Dori.
No, the hollow victory he would gain from winning against that self-righteous Dwarf was not worth losing his little brother.
Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists tightly, the thief gave Ori a single, stiff nod, and no sooner had he given his consent did he find himself with an armful of his little brother.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Ori said in a rush, his head buried under Nori’s chin on his right side, his arms wrapped firmly around his middle. Nori could not even remember when it was the last time he had held Ori like this and a warm wave of nostalgia washed over him. Slowly, he raised his arms to return the hug.
“I do not like him, Ori,” Nori muttered into his little brother’s soft hair, “but I hope you know what you are doing.” He reluctantly pulled back to smooth out Ori’s flyaway hair and to straighten his crooked braids. “Also, don’t think that Dori will make this easy for him either,” Nori warned. “You better tell lover-boy to smarten up around that old cog.”
The bright smile of utter jubilation that lit up Ori’s face helped soothe the lingering traces of bitterness in his heart. Nori supposed that granting his brother this one small moment of happiness wasn’t so bad after all.
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