Erebor was the last thing on Astrid's mind the day the letter arrived. She had spent the better part of the afternoon at the mercy of her older sister, a position she didn't relish. Heidrun could be a bit of a martyr even under the best of circumstances, but now that she had a valid excuse, she let that inclination have free rein.
"If you're done preparing dinner, I need more of those biscuits from the market," Heidrun said from the settee, where she lay propped with one hand draped across her eyes. "The ones with the lavender and mint."
Astrid searched the pantry to no avail. "They're gone? I just brought you a dozen yesterday."
"They're the only thing that helps," Heidrun wailed, already on the knife-edge of a tantrum.
"Mother said you would feel better if you would just eat regular food instead of all these sweets."
"You don't know." Heidrun glared at Astrid and hugged her swollen belly as a blatant reminder that she was with child. As though Astrid could forget. "You aren't miserable."
"The midwife said-"
"You want me to be unwell."
Astrid took a deep breath, determined not to let her sister utterly shatter her patience. "I do not want you to be unwell, I want you to eat more than just cakes and sweetbreads."
"You want my child to be weak and sickly." Heidrun turned her face away from Astrid. "That would make you happy."
"You know it wouldn't."
"Then get me those biscuits!"
Unwilling to risk a further show of Heidrun's temper, Astrid trudged out to the Iron Hills' market stalls for another dozen of the sugary biscuits. It couldn't be healthy, the way Heidrun worked herself into fits over the slightest inconvenience, but there was no winning arguments with her in such a state. By the time Astrid returned to her sister's chambers, Heidrun had fallen asleep. Leaving the box of biscuits on a side table where she would see them as soon as she woke, Astrid let herself back out of the quarters. Her spirits improved the moment she closed the door.
Heidrun's antics since the announcement that she was with child had led two maids to quit their posts, leaving a space their mother had insisted that Astrid help fill. She hadn't had a day completely to herself in weeks, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her own rooms to savor a few moments where no one demanded anything of her.
As soon as she walked into her family's chambers, she saw that was not to be. Her cousin, Idunn, paced before the hearth, scuffing a pattern of worry into the sitting room rug as her skirts whirled around her feet. Her mouth was set into a hard line, her hands clasped together until her knuckles stood out white. She barely glanced up when Astrid walked into the sitting room.
"What's the matter?" Astrid asked.
"I hardly know." Idunn gestured to the closed door of the study. Muffled sounds of discussion came from behind the door, but Astrid could make nothing of it. "Your father was summoned to Lord Dáin's chambers an hour ago. When he returned, he called your mother to him and shut them both up in there."
Astrid stepped closer to her cousin, who finally stopped her frantic pacing. Her stomach twisted in a knot to see Idunn worry so-if she, who always had such a cool head, were so upset, the situation must be serious. "Do you think it's the trade renewals?"
"If it is, it can't be a very good deal or Destin would have already said so."
"You fear the worst? Could Erebor have cut us loose?" Astrid had never quite allowed herself to think that might truly happen, but the possibility of their strongest trade ties being severed could account for Father seeking out Mother's counsel. Mahal knew, it was only under extreme duress that he ever did so.
"If Erebor has refused to renegotiate, it's final proof that they care nothing for us in the Hills," Idunn said. She turned from Astrid and took up her pacing again. "King Thorin thinks only of his own, as everyone says."
"It could be something else," Astrid said, yet clinging to a shred of hope. "Something happy."
Idunn cut her a scathing look. "Oh yes, happy news from Dáin."
From the other side of the study door the high pitch of Mother's voice broke into the silence. Her words were no more discernible than before, but they sounded excited, almost eager. Astrid was tempted to press an ear to the door, but had just enough sense to refrain. It was a good thing, too, because at that moment the study door opened and Father emerged, with Mother close behind.
Idunn stopped her pacing and suddenly all was quiet save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Astrid had hoped to divine what had sent her parents into such seclusion by their faces, but their disparity only deepened her confusion. Father was grave and solemn, while Mother looked like she might burst into song. The thin, brown whiskers that skimmed her jaw bounced as her cheeks twitched, as though she were trying to contain a grin that desperately wanted to break free and splash itself across her face.
"Astrid, good, you've returned." Father joined the girls by the fireplace, a letter held firm in one hand. She could just make out the ornate sigil pressed into the blood red wax of the torn seal. The House of Durin. Her heart sank at the confirmation. "We have a matter of importance to discuss that concerns you both."
There was a pause in which Father leveled her a significant look. Astrid braced herself for news that the trade agreement had been abandoned, as Idunn had supposed. What they would do then, she couldn't guess.
"You can have no idea what this letter means for us," Father said, shaking the parchment slightly in the air. "It is from the King himself."
He let that information sink in before placing a hand on Astrid's shoulder. "King Thorin has requested a betrothal between you and the Crown Prince."
She had heard but not heard, understood and yet couldn't possibly have. Her knees went weak beneath her and she sat hard on the settee. Marry the Crown Prince? That couldn't be right. Idunn sat down beside her and took up her hand, but that seemed as numb as her legs. Astrid stared up at her father. She didn't have the faculties yet to think of a question, much less ask one.
"He gives many fine accolades for Crown Prince Fíli." Father opened the letter as though he would read the compliments out loud.
"I'm sure we can trust King Thorin's unbiased opinion of his nephew's merits," Idunn said.
"Our family is indeed one of the oldest and most revered in the Iron Hills," Father went on, ignoring Idunn. "There are few to rival us, save Dáin himself. I had expected you to marry well, Astrid, but this surpasses all my hopes."
Astrid's thoughts were too confused to consider her own hopes. Her stomach curled in on itself at the idea of entering into marriage with a total stranger. No, not quite total. The princes Fíli and Kíli had visited the Iron Hills a year or so after Erebor had been reclaimed. Astrid's family had been introduced to them by Lord Dáin at their reception feast. A glance, a smile, a nod of the head were all that had passed between them. It was so little interaction as to be nothing.
Father paced before the hearth as though it were a requirement that someone should do so. "Now, Idunn, you are the eldest maiden in the family, but the letter states that your advanced age makes you unsuited to the Crown Prince. King Thorin asks specifically for Astrid."
Though Father seemed unaware of the slight, Astrid could not be. Idunn was barely over one hundred thirty, not some shriveled old dwarrowdam showing her age. But if his thoughtless comments stung at all, Idunn didn't show it. She looked almost amused.
"Astrid, King Thorin asks that you remove to Erebor for your betrothal. You will live among them, become acquainted with the Crown Prince, learn his ways." He sounded as though he were proposing a leisure trip to observe some rare creature, not outlining the details of an arranged marriage for his daughter. "You will decide if you wish to marry him by the end of the betrothal year."
"She won't possibly choose anything else." Mother finally spoke up. Her unusually prolonged silence had set her to twitching. "Of course you'll marry him, and the quicker the better. Think of it - Crown Prince of Erebor, and one day King."
"Long live King Thorin," Idunn said dryly.
"Of course, of course, but practically speaking, Astrid, you will be Queen." Mother squealed the tiniest bit as she said the word queen. "I'm so happy for you, my darling."
Queen? Astrid couldn't think of such a thing yet when the word betrothed was still ringing in her head. How had this happened?
"Now," Father said, undaunted by Astrid's continued silence, "you cannot go alone, you will need a chaperone." Here he turned to Idunn. "Given Heidrun's condition, it would be best if you accompany Astrid to Erebor."
"I, go to Erebor?" The expression Idunn turned on Father was all innocence. "I fear my advanced age makes me too frail for such a journey."
"Don't be difficult." Mother never had much patience for Idunn's impertinence, and her annoyance was on full display now. "I would be only too glad to go with Astrid, but considering Heidrun's state, I cannot think of going for many months. Their timing could have been better, but there's nothing to be done about it now."
For a moment Astrid wondered how Heidrun would react when she heard the news that she had missed the opportunity of being betrothed to the Crown Prince. It wouldn't be pretty.
"I would go with you, myself," Father said, "but business won't allow a lengthy removal, nor, I admit, would I be entirely the best choice. Idunn will do. I will visit you if I am able, to see how you fare."
"My decision is already made, then." Astrid's voice was smaller than she would have liked, but then, she had never felt quite so small before. Despite the pretenses that she was free to choose, she knew there was no possibility of refusing such a request. Who would dare deny anything the King Under the Mountain might ask?
"It is yours to go or stay," Father said somewhat more gently than before. "Though I agree with your mother on this. I cannot see why you should refuse the betrothal. You will have up to a year to decide whether you wish to marry the Prince or not."
He sounded as though love could have nothing to do with the decision. Maybe it didn't.
"What about the trade agreement?" Idunn asked.
Father pressed his lips together. "The letter makes no mention of it."
Her gaze darkened. "So it's to be blackmail."
"And if they had accepted the trade deal as part of the betrothal you would have called it blood money." Father's voice rose in his impatience. "Mentioning it at all could only complicate the offer."
"But if she refuses there's no guarantee the deal will still be on the table."
"If she refuses?" Mother snapped. "Don't be ridiculous. If you think Astrid will get a better offer, you'd best take a closer look around the Iron Hills. Heidrun snapped up the last truly respectable dwarf when she married Bruni."
Astrid and Idunn exchanged a glance. They both knew Mother's definition of respectable in this case meant rich. Bruni ate like a rabid orc and had the manners of one to boot, but his family's wealth overrode everything else.
"I had wondered who would come along for you," Mother continued, "and now look! Crown Prince." She said the words like he was the answer to all her prayers. Astrid supposed he probably was.
"This union would affect more than just you, Astrid," Father said. "The offer itself is a sign of King Thorin's good will towards the Iron Hills and a wish to strengthen the bonds between us. Lord Dáin himself recommended you to King Thorin. Think how this marriage could benefit your people."
"To say nothing of your family," Mother said. "Think of Heidrun and Bruni - think of us. This isn't something to be refused on a whim." She cast a dark look at Idunn, as though Astrid's hesitation were all her fault.
Astrid had little choice. Idunn was right - if she refused, there was no knowing how the King might take such a rejection, and all hopes for the trade deal could vanish in an instant. More than just her own happiness and comfort were at stake.
And then too, Prince Fíli, if she remembered him properly, had at the very least not appeared or behaved like a brute. The same could not be said for many dwarves of her acquaintance in the Hills. Even so, Not a brute seemed a feeble recommendation for a husband.
But how could she refuse and stay on to watch the Hills dwindle all around her, knowing she might have changed the course?
"Do you agree?" Father asked, his eagerness plain.
She nodded her acceptance. Mother clapped her hands for joy and whispered, "Thank Mahal."
Father kissed Astrid on top of her head and placed one hand briefly on her cheek. "Make ready. Your caravan arrives in a week."
She looked up at him, her mouth dropping open at his casual revelation. There had never been a possibility of refusing.
Late in the evening, Idunn quietly pushed Astrid's bedroom door open. Astrid sat on her bed, bundled up in her nightgown and blankets, reading a book by the light of a lantern's flame. Her brow was furrowed the way it used to do when she was a dwarfling worrying over Khûzdul translations, but her eyes stared right through the page.
"You're awfully quiet for one so recently betrothed," Idunn said as she shut the door behind her. She crept to the bed and sat at Astrid's feet, pulling her own beneath her woolen nightdress. Even in the lantern-light, Astrid looked pale and uneasy. Idunn would, too, if a betrothal to a stranger had been foisted upon her. "How are you holding up?"
Astrid placed a ribbon in her book and clutched it to her chest. Her brow relaxed, but she looked no more at ease. "I don't know how I feel, and I'm not sure it would matter if I did."
"No," Idunn conceded, "it might not. That's the whole purpose, I suppose."
"But why have they chosen us?"
"They have chosen us for our family's good name and long history in the Iron Hills. They have chosen you because Lord Dáin carried word of your beauty and goodness to the mighty halls of Erebor."
"I'm not so good as all that." Astrid picked at an errant thread in her blanket, not meeting Idunn's eyes. "I half-considered packing my things and running away tonight."
"If I had been chosen there would have been no halves about it." They laughed, but Astrid's merriment was short-lived and her countenance fell again.
"Oh, Idunn, an arranged marriage? I never thought of such a thing."
"I suppose few do." Although arranged marriages had once been common among royals, the royal line had been in exile so long the concept had all but died out. Idunn had enough trouble trying to imagine herself married to any of the dwarves she actually knew, let alone one she had never spoken to. It was lucky her advanced age had put her out of consideration. She had to subdue a smile; those two barbed words would keep her pride in check for years to come.
"We know so little of him," Astrid said.
"You will come to know him very well soon enough." Idunn regretted the light tone of her words as soon as they were spoken. Astrid paled as though she had been jesting about the marriage bed. Idunn rushed to soothe her. "I only mean you will have a year to get to know him. I'm sure you'll be confident of your decision by the time it is final."
"I'm not at all sure I understand their terms."
Idunn had wondered at the letter's stipulation that the betrothal remain a private matter until formally agreed upon by both parties. A secret betrothal wasn't in keeping with what she would have expected from a royal wedding, had she ever bothered to think about such a thing. She would rather have expected fanfare, banners, and public proclamations than secrecy and silence. Her confusion was nothing to Aunt Groa's utter disgust at such a request, when the proper thing to do was visit every acquaintance she had in the Hills to boast about her daughter's exceptional match. As it was, Uncle Destin would have a time of it keeping her exuberance and quick tongue in check. What that secrecy would mean for the girls once they were in Erebor, Idunn couldn't say.
"I think it simply means they want both of you to be sure of your choice before it is announced. That means you can still say no."
Astrid didn't look relieved. If it seemed impossible for her to refuse the betrothal request, how much more so would it be to refuse the marriage?
"Do you mind very much coming with me?" she asked. "I'll understand if you'd rather stay here, but I don't know what I would do without you."
"Your remarks are a bit at odds with each other." Idunn smiled fondly at Astrid. "Do you think I would send you off to Erebor with a stranger for a companion? What sort of cousin would I be then? And besides, I wouldn't mind seeing the Lonely Mountain for myself."
Though born and raised in the Iron Hills, Idunn's father had visited Erebor in his youth and had always spoken of his days there with reverence and awe. She longed to see this place of legends and walk its halls, now they were reclaimed for dwarves. A visit to Erebor was a thing she wouldn't miss, even under such unusual circumstances.
"Anyone else would think more of her own wishes than you do, Idunn."
"Anyone else would be dancing in the corridors right now, knowing she is betrothed to the Crown Prince."
Astrid's cheeks flushed pink in the candlelight. There was all the confession Idunn needed-she was delighted by the idea, at least in some small part.
"It's exciting and flattering, but..." Astrid hesitated, and in that moment her delight vanished. "I thought I would marry for love."
The quiet confession made Idunn's heart ache for her cousin. She took both Astrid's hands in hers and held them tight. "You may yet."
Outside the front gate of Erebor, a great bonfire had been lit, as it had been each night since the kingdom was retaken four years past. The fires were a warning to all that Erebor no longer slumbered, but was alive again with dwarves eager to defend it. Guards stood on duty at intervals, keeping watch in the night. Fíli stared into the flames, listening absently to the soldiers stationed there. Conversation turned where it always did with dwarves tasked on such a lonely outpost: women and food.
It wasn't noble, this hiding out, but Fíli needed a break from the Mountain, and the front gate was as good a place as any. The long journey to Erebor had given him a taste for being out in the fresh open air that he couldn't quite shake. This was one of those times he would have gladly traded his luxurious bed in the royal halls for the simplicity of a bedroll under the shimmering stars, if only it meant peace and quiet.
Astrid. He had no memory of her from his visit to the Iron Hills. Back then his focus had been on securing a portion of the Hills' military might, not on making eyes at available young dwarf-maids. Not that he hadn't noticed them, but he certainly hadn't paid enough attention to tell one from another three years on. How could he have guessed he would ever be called on to marry one of them?
He took a long pull on his pipe. Thorin's letter would have arrived by now, with the caravan of guards following soon after. Fíli had argued with him over that decision, since sending an escort for Astrid before she had time to consider her response was strong-arming her into an agreement. As usual, Thorin hadn't wavered.
"She'll not say no," he had said against Fíli's protests. "I won't have us waste time in waiting." Fíli hadn't quite had the heart to point out that if Thorin were so set on securing his line, the quickest course of action would be to take a wife himself.
Fíli had tried to get Mother on his side, but she had been as unshakeable on this matter as Uncle. "If I hadn't accepted an arranged marriage, you wouldn't exist." He had no reasonable argument to that, and so she had carried on. "What of everything we fought and bled and died for in taking back the Mountain? You are heir to the throne of Erebor, not some miner whose choice in wife has no effect on anything but the warmth of his own bed."
Fíli was eighty-five years old but he still shuddered when his mother mentioned the bed warmth. He only counted himself lucky she didn't go into greater detail.
"Here he is." Kíli's voice drifted up behind him, breaking into his thoughts. Fíli's shoulders sagged with the knowledge he had been found out. "My Prince." Kíli bowed deeply in mock adoration.
"Mahal, but some days I miss the anonymity of exile."
Balin walked up beside Fíli and gave him a measured look. "Best not let Thorin hear you say such things. He'll put you to work in the mines, quick as a wink."
Kíli, Balin, and Dwalin made themselves comfortable among the night's guards as though the bonfire were one of their long-ago campsites. Fíli could almost smell Bombur's sausages on the air, could almost hear the racket of snoring dwarves. All that was missing was a pack of orcs dogging their trail.
On second thought, Fíli didn't miss everything about those days.
"You left too soon, Thorin was really on a roll." Kíli stretched his legs out in front of him, just as at ease in the dirt around the bonfire as he would have been on a velvet chaise in his own rooms. "I'd never even heard some of the words he used to describe Bard. I had to write a few of them down for later."
"Thorin's none too pleased with Dale's leader just now." Dwalin lingered on the epithet as though delivering a damning curse. "He's considering suspending trade." He grunted his disgust. "Dwarves may have come from stone, but we sure cannot live on them."
"Thorin's no fool. Let him simmer a day or two, he'll come to his senses." Balin seemed entirely unperturbed by his King's threats. At least someone could take them in stride.
Thorin had no great issue with the Men of Dale, or so Fíli believed. The problem was that Bard often didn't see eye to eye with Thorin on how he should lead Dale, nor was he always receptive to Thorin's thinly-veiled advice. In truth, Thorin was still bitter at the fact Dale had recently become a kingdom of Men.
On top of all this, word had come to Erebor that Dale had reached a trade arrangement with the Woodland Realm. There weren't enough curses in Khûzdul for Thorin to rain down on such a betrayal of the good will between Erebor and Dale. He'd forgiven Bard his perceived past offenses, but nothing could compel him to reach a similar truce with King Thranduil. Thorin would sooner eat his own braids than strike a bargain with the elven king.
"Thorin cannot be angry with Bard for doing what is best for his own realm," Fíli said to no one in particular. "Thorin is king of Erebor, not of Dale."
"Aye, lad, you're right, there, he is king of Erebor." Balin's sly eyes found him out and Fíli regretted speaking up. "Are you not a dwarf of Erebor? Sometimes the one must bend their will for the good of all."
"If it's food we need, I don't mind going into Dale," Kíli said. "In fact, I'll do the trading, if you like. I'm quite good at negotiating."
"Last time you paid more than the going rate for flour." Dwalin's voice rumbled into the night as he checked the mechanisms on his wrist gauntlets.
"Yes, but I've since learned the error of my ways." Kíli seemed almost contrite-almost. "Which is why I should be the one to go again, for I would hate to allow anyone else to be taken in as I was."
"That's quite the offer," Fíli said, "but we've all seen the girl who sells the flour. It's obvious how you came to be taken in."
Kíli looked as innocent as if that were the first slight he'd received in his life. "I don't know what you're implying. She asked me to recount my part in the battle and I obliged. Is it my fault that the story got her so excited she was fit to bounce right out of her bodice? Is it my fault she leaned forward ever so tenderly to caress my poor, valiant brow, almost spilling from said bodice in the process? Is it then my fault that I could no longer tally properly and gave her more gold than I should have? I say, no."
Even in the firelight, Dwalin's eye roll was unmistakable. "There's no need for Thorin to set guards over the gold when we can just have this fool march it right over to every buxom girl in Dale."
Kíli pouted. "You make it sound cheap."
"It wasn't cheap, lad, you overpaid. Anyone who pays for a look deserves a knock to the head." The dwarves' laughter rang through the mountainside, echoing back to them in the darkness.
Untouched by the merriment, Fíli smoked and stared into the fire, well aware that if his mother had been present she would have scolded him for brooding. He had some small right to brood just now.
As Balin had said in his gentle rebuke, Fíli well understood that Thorin's wishes were for the good of all. Almost as soon as the Mountain was retaken and Thorin's throne established, Dáin had pressed for a marriage between the royal house and a dwarf-maid of high rank from the Hills. A union between Erebor and the Iron Hills would strengthen the dwarves, tying them firmly together against enemies to the South and East, and uniting them yet again in blood. The logic of it wasn't lost on Fíli, he would simply have preferred to get to know the girl before becoming betrothed, rather than the reverse.