That's No Lass, That's My Brother!

Summary: "What is this? Your brother?" "That is my wife." - Glóin is thoroughly scandalised when that tree-loving Elf likens the image of his wife to his brother. Óin is not amused, either. The Company thinks it's hilarious.

Disclaimer: I do not own "The Hobbit", which belongs to JRR Tolkien and his estate.

Well, what a fine predicament we've gotten ourselves into.

Indeed it was. First the Company had to endure that disorientating trip as they tried (and failed miserably) to navigate the forest. Then, it was the dratted business with the spiders (thank Mahal for Bilbo). But if that wasn't enough, Elves had saved them before capturing them and rudely shoving them into these undignified small cells (might as well have killed us before throwin' us in these miserable holes). Now, they were imprisoned there forever. Basically.

Óin sighed. Well, at least those pointy-eared pixie imps had the decency to not separate him from his brother.

The grey-haired Dwarf turned to look at Glóin, who was sitting on the floor, looking at his locket and mumbling away to himself in a decidedly angry tone. That blonde Elf had attempted to confiscate it, but obviously he realised that a mere locket would not pose any harm.

Still, Óin was both mildly curious and annoyed as his younger brother sat there on the ground with a cross expression dominating his face as he mumbled to himself.

"What are you mumblin' about under your breath there, Glóin?" he asked, his voice booming so that even his fellow companions could hear him from their respective cells. With his ear-trumpet out of commission, Óin could not tell how loud his voice was.

Glóin looked up at his older brother, scowling. "That tree-lovin' blonde Elf saw fit to insult me," he said gruffly.

"What?"

"I said, that TREE-LOVIN' BLONDE ELF SAW FIT TO INSULT ME!"

"The bugger!"

"What did he say then, Glóin?" called Bofur from across the way in his cell. The others, hearing the fiery-haired Dwarf's loud voice, were also curious to know.

Glóin's cheeks reddened in anger as he continued to speak in a loud voice for his brother's benefit. "HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO TAKE MY LOCKET AND THEN REFER TO ME LAD, GIMLI, AS – AND I QUOTE – A "GOBLIN MUTANT"!"

Gasps all around. Comments like "Shocking!" and "Distasteful!" and "The pointy-eared git!" and "Wait til' I get my hands on him, I'll wring his neck …" issued forth from the other cells.

Óin was the most sympathetic, patting his brother's shoulder in a comforting manner whilst barking, "How dare he say such a thing! Especially when your lad Gimli is one of the best-lookin' youths around! Elves have no respect."

"INDEED THEY DON'T, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE DECIDED TO INSULT MY WIFE!"

"He did WHAT!"

"The bloody nerve!"

"Your wife! But she's such a beauty!"

"Akhrûbabâl zurm!"

"What did he say?"

"Yes, what he say?"

Affronted that the Elf had the cheek to badmouth his sister-in-law, Óin clasped his brother's shoulder. "Go on, Glóin. What did he say, that little fecker?"

Glóin's cheeks puffed up. "THAT BLONDE, IMPERTINENT ORC-SON LITERALLY ASKED ME IF THE WOMAN IN THE PICTURE WAS MY BROTHER!"

Silence.

Óin's mouth was wide open in shock. His face turned a fine shade of red. "You don't mean to say that he thought the woman in the picture was ME?!" he spluttered.

"THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT HE SAID!"

Silence.

And then …

A shriek of laughter burst forth from across the way, and a few more issued from the cells along the way as well. Fíli and Kíli and even little Ori were howling with laughter, but Bofur's laughter was the loudest. The hat-wearing Dwarf was positively in hysterics, lying on his cell-floor and clutching at his stomach. His face was fast turning a shade of red as he struggled to regain his breath, he was laughing so hard.

"He – he thought – ye – ye were a –!" Bofur spluttered, before dissolving into hysterics again, unable to complete the sentence. "By Mahal – that's the – that's the best thing I've ever heard – HA!"

"What?! What are you tryin' to say, boy?!" exclaimed Óin, glaring at Bofur with burning-red cheeks, although inwardly he knew full-well what the hat-wearing Dwarf was getting at …

"Trust an Elf to think that it was a picture of you!" managed Fíli after his laughing fit came to an end. "He outright called you a lady, Óin!"

"'Ere, Óin, somethin' yer not tellin' us?" sounded Nori's voice, teasingly.

Óin's cheeks burned brighter, especially when a few chuckles were heard from the other cells. And was his imagination being cruel, or did he actually see the hint of a smile gracing Glóin's lips? What utter cheek!

"The Elf was bein' a fool. I am not, and look nothin' like, a Dwarrowdam, thank you very much!" he barked.

"To be fair, Óin, not many folks know the difference b'tween a Dwarf-lad and a Dwarf-lass," said Bofur, rubbing his aching belly. "Sometimes I don't even know the difference m'self!"

"I wouldn't be surprised …" came a dry retort.

"But, in a strange kind o' way … ye do sort of look like a lass," said the hat-wearing Dwarf slowly, tilting his head to the side as he looked at a flabbergasted Óin with narrow eyes. "If ye think about it," he added, with a cheeky grin.

Am I really hearin' this?

"What d'ye think, Bombur?"

"Well, bless me thrice over, ye do strike me as a wee bit lady-like, Mister Óin," answered the big Dwarf, who was staring out of a cell next to Bofur's, squinting. "Ye just got to squint, is all, an' then ye'll get what I mean. Ye don't look half elegant, Mister Óin – my, oh my!" he squeaked, trying to hide his reddening cheeks with a giggle.

AM I REALLY HEARIN' THIS?!

"It's 'is beard," proclaimed Nori from his cell. "Not many ladies got a stunnin' beard like that, save for your wife, Glóin. I mean it, righ', 'ave a look at Óin's beard. Not so badly braided, wouldn't yer say, lads?"

"'Tis a beauty – I can't even braid my hair like that," remarked Dori, of all Dwarves, earning himself a badly-hidden guffaw from Ori.

"Amad's beard couldn't compare!" said Kíli.

"That's Óin's beard for you – every Dwarrowdam should have a gorgeous beard like that!" stated Fíli.

"I dunno, I wasn't lookin' at his beard," Bofur piped up. "I was too busy lookin' at his nice, shapely –"

"DON'T YOU EVEN DARE COMPLETE THAT SENTENCE, YOU LITTLE PIECE OF ORC-DUNG!" bellowed Óin, flustered beyond words at this point.

"Aye, you mind what you say, Bofur," rang Dwalin's stern voice. "I can't have you lads oglin' my lovely cousin's behind. One should not act crude in a lady's presence."

Everyone roared, practically falling over themselves laughing. Poor Óin's entire face glowed crimson in a combination of sheer embarrassment and anger. It only increased further when he noticed, in shock, that his brother lay curled on the floor, hugging himself as he laughed himself silly.

Unbe-BLOODY-lievable! Only minutes ago he was in a mood because of that bleedin' Elf insultin' his wife and son, and NOW look at him! Laughin' at ME, his brother! The little git!

Mercilessly, Óin aimed a small, swift kick at his brother's side; Glóin groaned, clutching at the spot where the healer's boot made contact.

"That was bloody sore, Óin!" he whined, glaring up at his older brother.

The healer growled. "You're lucky that I didn't have my staff with me, otherwise I would've hit some sense into that thick head of yours!"

"Listen to your mother, Glóin," warned Nori gleefully. "Yer not too old t'cop a hidin', especially wiv that staff."

"Ooh, but that staff is another story, though," crooned Kíli in a disgustingly, gushing tone.

"I've never seen a Dwarrowdam handle such a big staff so expertly before," chipped in little Ori, struggling to contain his giggles.

"Indeed, that staff's seen a lot of action in its day," said Balin. A chuckle sounded as he added, "And my cousin can still handle it."

Mahal, take me.

"Óin is certainly talented in that area, when it comes to handling staffs," said Thorin. "I dare say it makes me quite envious – of that staff, I mean."

Mahal, take me NOW!

"It's all in the hands, I reckon," stated Dori. "Those hands … so refined, like a lady's, yet incredibly lethal and skilful on that staff!"

"Phwoar, Óin can handle my staff any day!" exclaimed Bofur.

Everyone was dying once more. They did not even pause in their gaiety when Óin finally exploded.

"YOU ARE THE LOUSIEST, MOST IMMATURE BUNCH OF ORC-SONS I HAVE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO SET MY EYES ON! I SWEAR ON MAHAL'S NAME, IF YOU'RE THINKIN' ME A LASS NOW, THIS WILL BE THE CLOSEST YOU'LL EVER GET TO TALKIN' TO ONE, BECAUSE THOSE DWARROWDAMS WON'T EVEN DREAM OF TAKIN' UP WITH YOU LOT!"

Óin sat down with a hard thump on the ground, wishing for a second that he was completely deaf so that he would not have to contend with their bloody laughter.

When Bilbo appeared out of nowhere to free them, everyone was full of cheer. Their spirits had begun to decline as each day passed. Now, it was renewed with vigour at the sight of the Hobbit as he unlocked all their cell doors.

Stepping out of the miserable cells, the Dwarves paused as Bilbo cried, "Not that way! Down here – follow me!"

He indicated towards a staircase that descended downwards into goodness knows where.

Óin made a move forward, bumping into Bifur as he moved forward at the same time, too. Pausing, the healer stopped to mutter an apology.

Instead, he watched as Bifur stepped to the side and, with a slight bow, he signed:

"Ladies first."

Óin stared at Bifur for a few seconds, quite aware of his companions' silence behind him.

Then, without caring who heard him, the healer let out a stream of the most vilest, dirtiest and rudest words at the axe-embedded Dwarf – in Khuzdûl.

And with a huff, he strutted down the stairs, ignoring his companions' loud chortles as Bofur cried after him, "Here, Óin, that wasn't very lady-like!"

Bilbo glanced at Glóin, raising a confused eyebrow.

The fiery-haired Dwarf sighed. "I rather you didn't ask, lest you want my brother to kick you."

And that wouldn't be very lady-like, either, thought Bifur with a smug grin.

A/N: Akhrûbabâl zurm! - Tree-shagger!; Amad's- Mother's.

I've always wondered what would happen if anyone actually overheard Legolas calling Glóin's wife his brother when he took the locket (Óin would have kicked Legolas if he happened to hear THAT), and then the plot-bunny attacked me in the dead of night. *3*

Honestly, I think if the Dwarves had found out, they would have been laughing it up in those awful cells instead of moping (still, how dare they mess with my man - er, Dwarf). Who knew Thorin Oakenshield had a sense of humour? And bless Bifur for having the last word, er, thought. :)

Reviews are welcome!

*~AI07~* :)