HI Nonnie! Yes, Balinith has Aspergers Syndrome, an autism spectrum condition. It’s mentioned both in the fic, and in the notes at the end of Chapter 30. Here’s the relevant section:
Orla Longaxe paced, her great tail of wiry black hair sweeping behind her, as the booms and shudders rocked the Mountain. The noise was deafening, and though every door in the room was closed and packed tightly with cloths, it still echoed in the walls and under her feet. In her arms, her second-born son shivered and shook. His eyes were unfocused, and he was frowning and pressing close to her chest. His ears were covered with a dark woollen hat, pulled down low nearly to cover his eyes as well.
In the corner, a little puff of steam came from a great iron pot which bubbled away softly, the vaguely soothing sound meant to combat the rattling thunder of the boulders striking the mountainside over and over again.
Balin could not bear loud noises for long.
Orla tucked her son’s head closer to hers, protectively wrapping her hand over his wool-smothered ears. Balin sucked in a breath, his hands clenching and unclenching rapidly and spasmodically, and pressed his face against his mother’s neck to hide his eyes from even the very modest light that came from the fire. Her boy was cut from a different stone, as they called it: his thoughts worked in a special and singular way. Many of the greatest works of their people had been made by Dwarrows born with minds like Balin’s, their focus as determined and passionate and as single-minded as a blade. She was prouder of him than she could possibly say. Balin was fascinated by the way things worked, by nature and first causes and the pressures under the earth and the creatures that crawled upon it. He would be a great Dwarf, his mother knew.
However, there were difficulties that came hand-in-hand with these unique gifts. Balin was clumsy at times, he occasionally lost his words, he did not enjoy company other than his parents or his friends, and he could not tolerate loud noises or bright lights. The overstimulation was uncomfortable, and sometimes painful.
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Thank you, Nonnie! I am so happy you like the story – I wish you a wonderful week as well!
Hey Nonnie! No, Custard is Thrain’s cat, as I’ve said before. It appears that I might have to make that clearer, as there seems to have been some misunderstanding. Custard is very much Thrain’s cat, and fulfils the duties of a service animal for a person with PTSD and dissociation issues for him. She knows how to ground him back in the moment with her big fluffy presence and her V6 purr.
It also happens that in the fic itself, Thrain knows Custard’s behaviour cues, but Frerin does not: “Frerin’s breath had begun to come faster, and Thráin made a clicking noise with his tongue. Custard immediately stood, bushy tail waving like a pine caught in a breeze, and then butted her head up against Frerin’s chin. Her purr was like a thunderstorm.” (ch37)
Ahhh, okay – bear in mind that this is how I see ‘em. Even though I came up with ‘em, others might see them differently, and that’s awesome 🙂
Wee Thorin Dwalinul
He is tall and stout-legged and blocky, as children go. His skin is dark, though not as dark as his mother’s, and he has a short shock of tufty hair in the centre of his hairline that is forever threatening to turn into a mohawk. (I love the idea of his hair being braided into rows at the sides of his head: as in lacefedora‘s awesome pic of him!) His beard and moustache have already started to grow in, and he has thick, expressive eyebrows. His eyes are large and a deep, warm brown (all the better to roll at Gimizh’s antics). He is very eager to get tattoos like both his parents, and draws on practice-tattoos in both red and blue ink whenever he can. He has very big hands… sliiiiiightly too big for his frame, like the paws of a puppy that will grow up to be a massive dog. Wee Thorin will not end up the tallest of his brothers – but he will end up absolutely enormous. Basically, he is going to be built like a fridge 🙂
He is also quite stocky, with a round-cheeked little face. He has his hair in dreadlocks, which he likes the texture of, and are a great physical stimulus. Now and then he wears glasses, though on many days he doesn’t want to, because the feel of them on his face really irritates. His skin is nearly the same shade as his older brother’s, though it has a slightly reddish tinge in the right light (a very attractive sort of colour). His sideburns are filling a little, and he is just about as tall as Gimizh already (who is in despair, because he is four years older than Balin, it’s not fair!). Balinith will one day be the shortest of the three brothers – but he will be the strongest, even stronger than massive Thorin or gangly Frerin.
Frerin is darker-skinned than either of his brothers, and is the most recognisably non-Longbeard. His hair is tightly curled against his head, with little wayward cowlicks at crown and hairline. His eyes are thick-lashed and impossibly huge, and he has a wide and ready grin. He always seems to be missing a tooth. Frerinith is, at this stage, a chubby-cheeked youngster with short little legs and a round toddler-tummy. Eventually he will be the tallest of them all, though he won’t have the bullish build of Wee Thorin. Instead, he will be a bit of a lanky stringbean, as Dwarves go!
dwarrow dets! my mom says i should make everyone in our family into dwarves for a pic,,,itd be cool,,DETS UR AWESOME
OMG lookit mee I am a dwarrowdam!!!!! THAT HAIR IS SO SIMILAR TO HOW I WORE IT WHEN I GOT MARRIED, I STG WHOA FISHY…! minus the beard, of course… But awwwwww yiss, what a fab beard WITH MOUSTACHE BRAIDS YESSSSSS, and I got the Singer’s stud WOOHOOOOOOO, and agglksjdgflahsdf my eyebrows are never that on-point in real life, hahahaha, and I cannot actually point out all the amazingness that is this pic so I am just gonna wave at ALL OF IT AND FLAIL UNCONTROLLABLY OKAY
*hugs and hugs* You are amazing, Fishy! You are so amazing – thank you so, so much!!!
They hadn’t been courting? If courting was the right word… well, whatever it was, they hadn’t been doing it for long.
Bomfris didn’t know what to make of him. If she had thought of him at all, before (and wasn’t it odd, that the war had turned everything into ‘before’ and ‘after’) she had assumed that he’d be rather like his father. Dangerously smart, assured, irreverent and humorous. But above all – confident.
He wasn’t. Not at all.
He stammered when he lost his train of thought. He sought her approval (a new sensation – nobody had ever wanted her approval so badly before) continually. He wasn’t confident at all, though he tried hard to don the mannerisms of a Dwarf who was. It was as though he had some impossible ideal in his mind, one that he could never live up to. He would bite at his lip. He fidgeted.
Oh, but he was clever, and brave, and ridiculously handsome. He was a tremendous warrior and a loyal, kind soul, and a good person. She wanted to shake him sometimes, to tell him that he was enough, just as he was. That even though he stood in the shadow of giants, he still cast such a wonderful bright light of his own.
Thorin was carefully sorting through the mess on her head, his fingers gentle and fumbling as he carded the comb through her wind-snarled hair. “Can I,” he began, and stopped.
She glanced back at him. It’s unfair that he’s so pretty, sniped her mind, and she smacked the thought away. “Mmmm?”
“Can I, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I’d like to give you our braid…?”
She frowned at him as the words rearranged themselves into garbled nonsense, and tried to force them to make sense. “What?”
His gaze dropped. Oh, she supposed that was… rather abrupt. “No, wait. I’m sorry – I didn’t quite – can you say it again? I think I misheard.”
He bit his lip. Again. He should stop that, her mind whispered. He’s got me to do that for him, now. She smacked her inner voice rather more firmly, and tried to concentrate as he managed to mumble, “Can I. Would you like, that is… uh. Our braid? My braid?”
The word ‘braid’ came out sounding a lot more like ‘brund’.
She stared a bit uselessly at him. So, so pretty, her mind cooed. Then she blurted, “yes! I mean, yes please. All right? But not where Tuac can peck at it; she’s always ruining my hair, and…”
She trailed off at the look of awed gladness that stole over his face, and knew that her own face was probably ridiculously sappy. “Thank you,” he said, and bent to kiss her on the cheek.
He missed, and got her in the eye.
“Unngh!”
“Bomfris, sorry, sorry – I am so sorry, I didn’t think you’d move just then, I am so-”
And he REALLY needs to stop apologising for everything! Cross now, she grabbed him by the plait in his beard and yanked him down for a further, more thorough kiss. She liked this part. The kissing part, that was.
The noise that escaped him was something along the lines of: “Ummf!” His arms hovered, outstretched awkwardly at his sides like a hopping raven’s, the fingers widespread in his surprise. Bomfris pulled back and gave him a pointed look.
“You can touch me,” she said, eyebrows raised.
He gingerly settled his hands on her waist, and then his gaze flickered up to her face. As if for her approval.
She rolled her eyes. “Better. And that’s a yes. To the braid.”
He blinked at her.
She realised she was still holding onto his beard, and hastily let go as though her hand was burning. “Oh! Oh, I am s-”
“No,” he said,
oh so gently, and lifted her hand again to his face. Her fingers felt strange and clumsy settling there, and she watched them thread through the thick rusty hair on his cheeks as though they weren’t connected to her. His eyes then glittered with a spark of humour. “No, you can touch me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Ha, ha.”
He grinned at her, and she used her hand on his (far, far too pretty) face to yank him back down for a better kiss.
This is a commission for lemonpeasy. She asked me to draw her as a Dwarrowdam, and let me tell you…I love her hair so much. It’s so curly and her eyes are so blue! I don’t even think I’ve done them half the justice they deserve.
Aw Yiss 