Orcrist is not the first elvish blade that Thorin has ever wielded. Many years ago, in Erebor, he was gifted with another one.
All the elves in Thranduil’s diplomatic delegation wore long curved blades at their sides. Thorin had argued with his grandfather Thror, saying that elves should not be allowed to come armed before the Raven Throne. The King Under the Mountain replied that while elves were tricksy and deceitful they were not dishonorable. Besides, my fellow guards and I would never have permitted anyone to injure our King.
But word had gotten back to the elves of what Thorin had said, and they were angry. It irritated them, it chafed at their pride, to be made to bow before the superior power of the dwarves.
So one of them, N'vanima, came to Thorin, all smiles and flirtation. She told him how much she admired the dwarf prince – his brilliant blue eyes, his majestic demeanor, the way his every glance and gesture revealed his powerful, passionate nature. (Oh, I was so looking forward to ribbing him about his elvish admirer!)
And then she presented Thorin with an elvish blade. “Please accept this token of my feelings for you,” she said solemnly.
Thorin took the sword. It was ridiculously big. Taller than Thorin, who is tall for a dwarf.
The elf woman widened her eyes in mock-dismay. “Oh, dear, it’s a little big, isn’t it? I guess we elves have bigger…weapons.”
Thorin looked at me, and I looked at him. So that was her game, was it? I crossed my arms and settled back to enjoy the show. If she was looking for a little fun at a dwarf’s expense, this elf had clearly misjudged her prey.
Thorin smiled at N'vanima and easily twirled the over-sized sword in a figure eight pattern in front of him. The sharp blade cut the air in front of the elf’s face. She backed away as a few of her golden hairs floated to the ground, sliced by the spinning sword.
“Thank you, my lady. I shall be sure to put it to good use,” Thorin said.
And he did. He wore the giant elvish blade to the diplomatic reception that night. Thorin kept his hand on the hilt so the sword stuck out behind him the whole time.
Thorin has excellent peripheral vision. One might even think that he has eyes in the back of his head, because he knows exactly what’s going on around him.
As luck would have it, N'vanima was facing the other way when Thorin presented himself to Thranduil and bowed deeply. The oversized sword went up, up, up until it struck the elf lady right on the bottom. She leaped in the air with a yelp.
A few dwarves coughed and hid their mouths with their hands. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing.
Thorin turned and looked very, very surprised. “My apologies, my lady.” He bowed again. Funnily enough, this time the big sword didn’t hit anyone.
Sad to say, Lady N'vanima always ended up in the wrong spot at the wrong time. All that night, she was repeatedly poked, prodded, and slapped by that sword. Must have been hard for her to sit down after that.
The next day, Lady N'vanima was absent. And the next.
As the elven delegation left, Thranduil gave Thorin a long, cold look. “I understand that you were gifted with an elven blade. May it serve you well.”
Thorin bowed. “It already has.”