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Fandom: The Hobbit
Word Count: 783
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: Healing is one of the last things anyone expected Oin to go into, but he never regrets learning the craft.
It had seemed like a very out of character profession.
“Healing?” Gloin had repeated, one eyebrow raised.
“Aye, healing,” Oin repeated, setting the whetstone down and nodding with satisfaction at the curve of the axe.
Gloin came further into the smithy, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”
Gloin was very young – a late blessing from Mahal, to Oin’s aging parents – and still had not yet reached maturity, while Oin already had multiple braids lauding his exploits. He was a fierce fighter, one of the prince’s own guards, in fact, and only Dori, that sly youngster, could wrestle Oin to a standstill. Oin, of course, didn’t claim any outstanding skill in weapons, but when it came to wrestling…
And drinking, of course. The prince’s guard were rowdy young men, not yet dignified like the king’s guard, but fearsome fighters all the same. It was a way for all of them to grow into responsibilities, and it made them closer to their future king, more likely to put their lives on the line for his, if they grew with him and joined in on his revelry.
Not, of course, that Thorin was all that partial to parties. He was a bookish and thoughtful young dwarrow, trying too hard to act adult. Frerin, on the other hand…
Ah, and Dis. Beautiful Dis, with her voice of song and steel, her lightning-quick sword and her sun-bright smile.
Dis, who would be married to a noble within the year.
“I don’t understand,” Gloin repeated, voice a bit petulant, and he came closer and sat down across from Oin, frowning at the axe, at the bulging pack lying against the wall.
Oin didn’t know how to explain it himself. He had no wish to settle down, no desire to fight over the dams in the noble circles for all that he came from a long and established noble line himself. He only wished to see more of the world, to learn and to fight. Being a part of the prince’s guard, and eventually – may Mahal make it a long time before it became necessary – part of the king’s guard, when Thorin sat upon the throne in Erebor.
Healing had been… a surprise. To him, and to those around him. Thorin hadn’t made any obvious noises, though Oin could tell he was baffled, but Frerin loudly asked, over and over, what made Oin pick such a profession. Dwalin and Jifur both looked at him strangely, unable to comprehend such a profession.
But his mother was getting old in the years, getting ready to return to stone, and his father was only a little younger than she. Dori’s mother had a young child, a whirlwind of a dwarrow who was bright-eyed and bright-haired, always getting in trouble, and always, it seemed, sick. And Dis…
Dis, who Oin had come upon not ten days ago, sobbing silently in an out-of-the-way corner. Dis, who only knew very little about her own mother… because her mother had always been sickly, and each new birth had stolen more and more of her health, until Dis’s birth had ended her life entirely.
Everyone knew the story of the queen, of Thrain’s wife, a beauty unmatched and a force to be reckoned with. Everyone had mourned her, and mourned the cost dwarven children so often carried.
Oin had sworn to Dis he would do everything within his power to see her safely through any births she may go through.
So it was out of character. Certainly there had been no indication that Oin had the patience for the craft, let alone the interest. But he knew, deep in his bones, that healing would be needed eventually. Everyone got hurt at some point, everyone got sick, and he had already helped Balin splint a broken arm, had helped Dwalin stitch up a bloody gash, had aided Dori’s mother with an ill dwarrow named Nori.
He would do this, and instead of feeling as if this was a burden, something he took on because it was needed, not because it was wanted… He was actually excited. Interested.
And it would be a new adventure, and a new way to serve his king.
He never regretted that choice, not when he helped Dis bring forth a healthy male not once but twice, not when he helped Nori regain enough health to be a reckless hellion, not when he aided Dori with Ori’s many illnesses, not when he was indispensable for his wide range of knowledge. He couldn’t say for sure if he would have picked this path, had he not stumbled upon Dis that day…
But he thanked Mahal that he had turned his heart down this tunnel, every day.
Word Count: 783
Pairing: none
Rating: G
Summary: Healing is one of the last things anyone expected Oin to go into, but he never regrets learning the craft.
It had seemed like a very out of character profession.
“Healing?” Gloin had repeated, one eyebrow raised.
“Aye, healing,” Oin repeated, setting the whetstone down and nodding with satisfaction at the curve of the axe.
Gloin came further into the smithy, shaking his head. “I don’t understand.”
Gloin was very young – a late blessing from Mahal, to Oin’s aging parents – and still had not yet reached maturity, while Oin already had multiple braids lauding his exploits. He was a fierce fighter, one of the prince’s own guards, in fact, and only Dori, that sly youngster, could wrestle Oin to a standstill. Oin, of course, didn’t claim any outstanding skill in weapons, but when it came to wrestling…
And drinking, of course. The prince’s guard were rowdy young men, not yet dignified like the king’s guard, but fearsome fighters all the same. It was a way for all of them to grow into responsibilities, and it made them closer to their future king, more likely to put their lives on the line for his, if they grew with him and joined in on his revelry.
Not, of course, that Thorin was all that partial to parties. He was a bookish and thoughtful young dwarrow, trying too hard to act adult. Frerin, on the other hand…
Ah, and Dis. Beautiful Dis, with her voice of song and steel, her lightning-quick sword and her sun-bright smile.
Dis, who would be married to a noble within the year.
“I don’t understand,” Gloin repeated, voice a bit petulant, and he came closer and sat down across from Oin, frowning at the axe, at the bulging pack lying against the wall.
Oin didn’t know how to explain it himself. He had no wish to settle down, no desire to fight over the dams in the noble circles for all that he came from a long and established noble line himself. He only wished to see more of the world, to learn and to fight. Being a part of the prince’s guard, and eventually – may Mahal make it a long time before it became necessary – part of the king’s guard, when Thorin sat upon the throne in Erebor.
Healing had been… a surprise. To him, and to those around him. Thorin hadn’t made any obvious noises, though Oin could tell he was baffled, but Frerin loudly asked, over and over, what made Oin pick such a profession. Dwalin and Jifur both looked at him strangely, unable to comprehend such a profession.
But his mother was getting old in the years, getting ready to return to stone, and his father was only a little younger than she. Dori’s mother had a young child, a whirlwind of a dwarrow who was bright-eyed and bright-haired, always getting in trouble, and always, it seemed, sick. And Dis…
Dis, who Oin had come upon not ten days ago, sobbing silently in an out-of-the-way corner. Dis, who only knew very little about her own mother… because her mother had always been sickly, and each new birth had stolen more and more of her health, until Dis’s birth had ended her life entirely.
Everyone knew the story of the queen, of Thrain’s wife, a beauty unmatched and a force to be reckoned with. Everyone had mourned her, and mourned the cost dwarven children so often carried.
Oin had sworn to Dis he would do everything within his power to see her safely through any births she may go through.
So it was out of character. Certainly there had been no indication that Oin had the patience for the craft, let alone the interest. But he knew, deep in his bones, that healing would be needed eventually. Everyone got hurt at some point, everyone got sick, and he had already helped Balin splint a broken arm, had helped Dwalin stitch up a bloody gash, had aided Dori’s mother with an ill dwarrow named Nori.
He would do this, and instead of feeling as if this was a burden, something he took on because it was needed, not because it was wanted… He was actually excited. Interested.
And it would be a new adventure, and a new way to serve his king.
He never regretted that choice, not when he helped Dis bring forth a healthy male not once but twice, not when he helped Nori regain enough health to be a reckless hellion, not when he aided Dori with Ori’s many illnesses, not when he was indispensable for his wide range of knowledge. He couldn’t say for sure if he would have picked this path, had he not stumbled upon Dis that day…
But he thanked Mahal that he had turned his heart down this tunnel, every day.
