Chapter Text
Serydia was always the one serving the dwarves who entered the tavern. To them, being greeted with a smile, a laugh, or a kind look was almost unfamiliar; not everyone in the Blue Mountains was made for warmth like that.
“Anyone else coming tonight, gentlemen?” the young woman asked, already knowing every order by heart. They all drank ale, except for Dori, who preferred red wine.
“Yes, pretty thing,” said Bofur, blowing the smoke from his Old Toby pipe into the air. “Ori and Dori should be here soon.”
“Perfect. One ale and one red wine.”
Serydia’s smile reached every corner of the tavern, and not only the dwarves noticed it. The humans did too. Nobody understood her closeness with the dwarves, much less respected it. She was twenty-six years old and still unmarried, with no children.
Most people even believed the rumors — that she shared beds with dwarves, and that was why no man had ever claimed her. Many envied the dwarves, not because Serydia was the most beautiful woman, but because they could not understand what those dwarves had that they did not.
And above all, it was something Elias could not tolerate.
He had tormented her ever since they were children, and she had always rejected him. Even when, at sixteen, he tried to kiss her after yanking her by the hair, she responded by cutting off her beautiful brown locks herself.
The dwarves saw the way humans treated her. Most men pushed boundaries with their touch or whispered obscene things into her ear, things she endured with a soft, uncomfortable smile.
“Alright then, twelve ales and one red wine,” Serydia said skillfully as she placed the heavy tray upon their table before handing each dwarf his drink. “So… when are you finally inviting me to one of your nightly talks?”
“They are not stories for young ladies like you, I’m afraid,” Balin answered before taking a sip.
“Oh? So you talk about women, then?” she teased.
Several dwarves nearly choked on their drinks while her laughter echoed through the tavern.
For some reason, that subject always seemed delicate to them.
“Sery!” the tavern keeper shouted.
The girl startled immediately, offering a quick bow before hurrying toward him. While she rushed away, Thorin’s eyes never left her.
“Again today?” Dwalin asked, dragging Thorin back to reality.
“Yes,” Thorin answered simply, watching as another drunken man grabbed at Serydia while she subtly tried to pull away from him.
“Come on, brother. Are you truly going to keep this up forever?”
“Do not annoy me,” Thorin growled, already knowing what Dwalin meant.
Balin preferred to stay out of it and merely observe. He knew Thorin too well to pressure him. Still, every dwarf in that tavern knew something was wrong with their king.
It was not simple protectiveness born of gratitude for her kindness. That much was obvious.
But none of them dared name whatever stood between a dwarf and a human woman.
After all, Thorin had not courted her.
Nor had he proposed any bond.
So none of them could interfere.
The night passed quickly, and before long it was one in the morning, when Serydia found the dwarf waiting outside the tavern.
Coincidentally, the blacksmith always finished drinking at the exact hour she ended her shift, and his home just happened to lie in the same direction as hers.
She never questioned it.
Nor did she ever reject his company.
Everyone knew the streets were dangerous for women at night.
Serydia always used those quiet walks to talk — telling stories about stars, smiling peacefully beneath the moonlight.
Thorin always remained silent.
He had nothing to say.
And yet, he always felt relief whenever she reached home safely.
Still… seeing her beneath the moon and stars held a strange sort of value to him. Her eyes shone there, and her smile looked so genuine that he could almost feel her happiness.
“Hey, Thorin,” she murmured once they reached the door to her home — a ruined apartment that did not even have a proper kitchen. “A little bird told me you barely sleep.”
“Kíli, I assume?” she bit the tip of her tongue, smiling.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Then she took his hand.
Such a simple gesture for her… yet enough to make the king’s heart race harder than when he had seen dragonfire consume Erebor.
“Come paint with me,” she whispered. “I promise you’ll have a lovely night.”
“You do not sleep either?” Thorin asked, trying to sound normal, especially when she released his hand to open the door. He refused to enter, waiting awkwardly outside while looking elsewhere.
“I’m not tired,” she excused herself before returning moments later with her sketchbook and charcoal. “Want one?” she asked, offering him an apple.
He shook his head, and together they walked toward the forest.
Thorin did not even know why he followed her anymore.
Or perhaps he did not wish to know.
“Here,” she whispered, crouching behind a bush. Thorin obeyed and settled beside her. Beyond them, a family of deer peacefully drank from the lake. “You can only see things like this at night. Isn’t it beautiful?”
The blacksmith said nothing.
He watched her memorize the scene before sketching delicate lines across the paper Ori had once gifted her in a failed attempt at courting — though she had never realized it.
When the deer wandered away, Serydia darted from hiding and sat where they had stood moments before, muddying her dress and boots completely.
Thorin smirked faintly.
She was worse than his nephews.
He approached with folded arms, watching as the rough sketch came alive beneath her hands without a single touch of color.
Truthfully, he found it fascinating that an orphan could create such beauty after living such a lonely life.
“I always see them when I come here to paint,” she murmured, gazing at the starlight reflected upon the water. “They’re a wonderful family. Someday I’ll introduce you.”
“Yes, of course,” Thorin answered dryly as he sat nearby — not too close, but close enough to hear her. “And I shall introduce you to some crows.”
“Thorin!” she gasped with a grin, lightly hitting his shoulder. He wondered when exactly she had become so comfortable touching him. “Do not be mean. I was serious.”
Then she settled beside him, resting her head upon his shoulder.
To her, those gestures were natural:
holding his hand,
leaning against him,
even kissing his cheek.
They were simple signs of affection.
But to a dwarf…
Especially to Thorin…
Such things were intimate.
Personal.
Even if he never said it aloud.
He knew she did not understand dwarven customs.
Nor realize that, to others, it looked dangerously close to courtship.
“Why can’t you sleep?” she asked softly after a long silence. “Actually… your sister told me.” She closed her eyes briefly when she felt his body tense. “I do not wish to meddle in family matters, but she worries about you.”
“She has no reason to,” he grunted. He would certainly need to speak with Dís later. “I simply enjoy work. Like you do, hm?”
“Ah-ah, Master Dwarf,” she whispered teasingly, earning the smallest smile from him. “I asked first. No counterattacks allowed.”
Both of them lied.
And both knew it.
But neither wanted to take the first step toward revealing their fears, dreams, or nightmares.
Thorin always dreamed of Erebor — a kingdom stolen from his people long before Serydia had even been born. He believed she could never understand such loss.
Serydia, meanwhile, always dreamed of the family she had lost.
Again and again she watched her father die in front of her, murdered before she could even say goodbye.
She always ran.
Always alone.
Always covered in blood.
Always unwanted…
until she met him.
Ered Luin, Third Age 2924.
“Do you like them?”
The masculine voice startled the little girl, making her hide in terror, convinced the bearded dwarf could not see her. He recognized immediately what she was — an orphan. Oversized clothes, a dirty face, and dark circles no healthy child should have carried beneath her eyes.
For days, Serydia had stood staring at that little wooden horse, remembering better times. Soon, tears slipped down her cheeks, staining her face. Yet she quickly wiped them away and turned to leave, unaware that Bombur was returning at that exact moment, colliding with her and tumbling heavily to the ground.
“Wait!” another dwarf exclaimed, hurrying over before crouching to her height. “I’ve seen you around my shop for days now. You like the horse, don’t you?”
The young girl nodded and slowly rose from the floor, wary, while the dwarf held the horse out toward her. Bombur and Bofur could not help but smile when her tiny hands grasped the wooden toy — trembling, uncertain.
“You can have it,” Bofur said warmly. “As compensation for crashing into my fat brother. What do you think?”
“B-But it was my fault, sir…” she whispered so softly the wind could have carried the words away.
“Take a good look at him!” Bofur laughed. “He’s a giant ball of grease standing in the middle of the road.”
The girl looked toward Bombur, who quickly understood what his brother was doing. He immediately began eating a carrot in the most ridiculous way imaginable, puffing out his cheeks until she burst into laughter.
“See?” Bofur grinned. “Told you. A giant meatball.”
The ten-year-old hugged the little horse tightly against her chest, happy for the first time since she had been left alone.
Ered Luin, Third Age 2940, present day.
“I’d love to be like those deer, you know?”
The young woman’s voice never reached the dwarf’s ears. When she turned to look at him, she found him deeply asleep, arms crossed over his chest. Serydia smiled softly before reopening her sketchbook, determined to preserve a memory that would never allow her to forget the blacksmith she treasured so dearly.
It was the next morning when Thorin awoke to find a flower beside him and a small note that read:
“Thank you for the company. I’ll see you in a little while.”
He could hardly believe he had fallen asleep beside her — much less that she would soon be preparing his breakfast as if nothing had happened.
Cursing under his breath, he kicked a stone along the path before making his way toward the tavern.
When he arrived, his sister was already waiting for him with an empty plate before her.
“So you didn’t sleep at home last night,” she remarked immediately.
“I slept in the forest. Is that a problem?”
“Alone?” she asked innocently, making the dwarf clear his throat awkwardly. “You sleep beside someone and still haven’t offered her a courting agreement? And you’re supposed to be our future king?”
“Oh, be quiet,” Thorin muttered dismissively.
“One six-egg breakfast with ham, fried — absolutely not poached — exactly how my favorite blacksmith likes it.”
The girl’s cheerful voice instantly betrayed him. Thorin felt his ears burn beneath the amused look on his sister’s face.
“Good morning, by the way.”
Serydia winked at him after giving his arm a gentle squeeze, causing Dís’ eyes to widen even further in astonishment.
“Silence,” Thorin warned before his sister could speak. “She’s human. We do not share customs. Humans are… wilder. More naive. More impulsive.”
“Yes, of course,” Dís replied as she rose from her seat, preparing to leave. “You’ll never convince me. Frerin never managed it either, and neither will you. You’re an open book, Thorin. I’m not the only one who notices.”
The dwarf simply began eating, ignoring her words.
He had no intention of repeating the same argument again and again.
Besides, the friendship between him and Serydia was nobody else’s concern.
Because that was all it was.
A beautiful friendship.