I know a goodly number of you have stuck with this series and are still reading. Thank you so much for your efforts! Hope you enjoy this next story and its twists where the stiff-necked Dain arrives in Erebor and Thranduil is obliged to leave. Thorin has a hard time of it without his lover in his bed but has to tolerate the difficult dwarf, at least for a week. But the good news is, we are moving steadily towards a double wedding, LOL!
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The Kings and the Contract
Chp I
Encounters
"What's happened , Brangwyn?" asked Thranduil, the king of Mirkwood, as the dwarf woman marched into Thorin's apartment. She looked up into a pair of limpid blue eyes and thought, as she often did, that the ethereal beauty of the elf lord surpassed anything she had ever seen…unless it were the earthy beauty of the king of Erebor. And she glanced hesitantly across at Thorin who was seated in the window, the very epitome of the best that his kingdom could offer.
"They've had another fight," she said.
The two kings sighed in resignation. "I knew this harmony between them wouldn't last," muttered Thorin. "What's wrong now?"
"Nothing," she replied. "It is as it always has been: Legolas is an elf and Young Thorin is a dwarf. They're just not compatible. The peace lasted only a day after all our problems were sorted out and now we're back to square one."
"Well," snapped Thranduil, "you see before you a dwarf and an elf who not only get along but love each other. Surely it's not beyond these two to be friends?"
"I think it may be," was the dwarf woman's opinion. "They started off on the wrong foot and that's the default position they've returned to. They just rub each other up the wrong way, I'm afraid."
"So, what now?" asked Thorin anxiously because he guessed what Brangwyn was about to say.
"I think that everyone needs a break from each other," she said firmly. "Thranduil should take Legolas back to Mirkwood and spend some time with him there, as we all agreed should happen, whilst you, Thorin, spend time with Dain's son here in Erebor. After seven days, Thorin can visit Mirkwood for a week and then Thranduil can come back with him to Erebor for a similar period. Subsequently, the three week cycle can start all over again."
"A whole week apart," groaned Thorin.
"You agreed," said Brangwyn sharply.
"We know," said Thranduil. "But that doesn't stop any separation from being a hardship." And he and the dwarven king exchanged glances.
Thorin held up his hand. "All right, Brangwyn, don't look at us like that. We know that we have to divide our time between each other, our kingdoms and our heirs. We know what we must do, so you mustn't worry that we shall break our word on the matter."
"Good," she said briskly, "because I think that you ought to set out this afternoon, Thranduil, before Dain arrives. It will only cause further problems if he finds you here."
The two kings looked reluctant for a moment and then they slowly nodded their heads. "Of course, you are right," Thranduil replied. "I'll collect my son and then we'll be off." He glanced across at Thorin and then back to the dwarf woman. "Five minutes?" Their friend nodded and gave them an understanding smile before making her exit from the room.
Thranduil locked the door and then took Thorin in his arms. The dwarf relaxed against his chest and kissed his white throat. "Have we got time?" he murmured.
"No," said the elven king, pulling him tightly into his embrace. "Dain will be here soon and I must find Legolas and ride out before his arrival."
"He should be pleased with your presence," Thorin grumbled. "It is only my love for you that has led to me making Young Thorin my heir because I shall never take a wife and produce one of my own."
"He likes the idea in theory because of its advantageous outcome," laughed Thranduil sourly, "but he is reactionary and uncompromising in his attitudes to life and, at heart, he just finds it difficult to accept our relationship. It is best if we don't thrust anything in his face."
The two kissed and sighed and kissed again. And then, their hands lingering upon each other's bodies, they reluctantly slipped away and parted one from the other, Thranduil giving his lover one last, hungry look before leaving the room.
Thorin shut the door and leaned against it, his eyes closed. One whole week; 168 hours; thousands of minutes. And every second would weigh heavily upon him. Then he shook himself and went to change his casual clothes into something more regal and more suitable in which to entertain Dain.
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Some hours later, a loud knock echoed through his apartment and the door was flung unceremoniously open. Thorin rolled his eyes. He must remember to turn the key more often. Then, not to his surprise, the imposing figure of Dain of the Iron Hills strode into the room with his son walking sullenly at his heels.
He was older than Thorin but shorter and twice as wide. It was difficult to mistake him for anything other than a dwarven warlord, with his fierce glare, aggressive stance and heavily bearded features. But, there was something about him that also said 'king': not such a king as Thorin with his elegance and quiet air of majesty but a king who knew his will and would force it upon others no matter what. Rough, tough and stiff-necked, he was not a dwarf that one would want to face either on a battlefield or across a council table because he always played to win.
"Thorin!" he grunted.
"Dain!" replied Thorin, rising politely to his feet.
Dain's eyes flicked over the king of Erebor briefly and didn't much approve of what he saw. Thorin was dressed in beautiful silks and velvets and his hands and ears were hung with gold. Well, if the Iron Hills had only a fraction of Erebor's wealth, then perhaps he could afford to dress in a similar style, thought Dain…..except that he wouldn't, because he saw such clothing and such frippery geegaws as a sign of something less than manly and unbecoming in a dwarf. And he glanced sideways at his son who was similarly attired: already too heavily influenced by his new adoptive father, he thought.
"Not grown the beard yet, I see," he snorted in greeting, running a heavy hand down over his own.
"No," said Thorin politely, "I like it this way." Actually, it was Thranduil who liked his elegantly clipped beard and he had decided to keep it short for his lover's pleasure.
Dain shook his head and snorted but Thorin quickly moved on to civilities. "Was the journey uneventful?" he asked, bowing the two of them towards some chairs.
"Pretty much," muttered Dain. "A few orcs are still holding out in the hills and we did rout one band of them – but, mostly, they keep out of our way. They're a pitiful, starving lot and easily put to the sword." He sat down in a chair and poured himself a goblet of wine but Thorin noticed that his son remained standing. Like a servant, he thought. He poured the prince a goblet of wine too but his heir shook his head. Thorin didn't force it upon him or invite him to sit. If this was the way that father and son played things, then he wouldn't interfere. But, the prince looked anxious and Thorin felt rather annoyed that his father was treating him this way: after all, he was now the Heir of Durin and one who would eventually inherit all the power and wealth of Erebor. But, for the moment, the king held back on his opinion.
They discussed the political scene for a time and Thorin noticed that, if he tried to involve the prince, then he made only brief, stumbling responses which his father ignored anyway. And he also noticed that Dain usually addressed him as 'boy' and that Young Thorin stood awkwardly with his shoulders hunched and head bowed for much of the time, quite unlike his usual, arrogant and confident bearing. He's been badly bullied, concluded the king, and felt surprised that the prince had turned out as well as he had done. Perhaps the vast, marble halls of Erebor and the congeniality of its inhabitants had enabled his heir to fly a little.
Thorin rang for a servant and Dain was led away to his allotted apartment. His son went with him and Thorin flung him an understanding look as he left the room. But, the prince refused to meet his eye and held his head a bit higher. Too proud to accept any sympathy, then, thought Thorin. But Dain was only here for the week and they would both have to stomach him for the time being.
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Thorin got bathed and dressed for dinner. It seemed odd not to share his bath with Thranduil, not to have the elven king there, sitting athwart his lap to sponge him and kiss him and wash his hair. He felt lonely and he missed the elf's laughter – but at least, with no distractions, he would be downstairs to the Great Hall on time for a change and would not have to face any disapproving glances.
He sat on his throne-like chair at the head of the table and nodded graciously to those who were already seated. And, when Dain and his son entered the hall, he gestured them to seats on either hand. Thorin smiled to himself: Dain hadn't exactly made an effort but was still dressed in the dusty riding gear that he had arrived in earlier that day. Not a dandy, then.
Dain reluctantly made polite comments about the beauties of the Great Hall whilst the prince sat in silence. Then Brangwyn arrived and Thorin invited her to join them. She was looking very fine in a pretty silken dress. She had, at least, made an effort and she had made it for the prince's sake, not wanting Dain to think that his son was mixing with any scruffy hoi-polloi. Her honey-coloured hair bobbed in delightful curls about her shoulders; her bright and lively brown eyes twinkled merrily as they swept around the assembled company and her neckline, although modest, exposed an attractive area of plump, creamy skin.
Thorin stood and, bowing over Brangwyn's hand, led her to a seat next to Dain. There were so few dwarf women that, to have one sitting at one's side, was considered a great pleasure. But, although Dain should have been pleased, he eyed Brangwyn suspiciously and wondered what she was to Thorin.
However, Brangwyn smiled and laughed and twinkled up at him from under long, golden lashes, making him feel young and virile again; and he found himself enjoying her company. Young Thorin sat in silence still and glowered at them from across the table. He didn't like the friendly way that Brangwyn interacted with his father; nor did he like it when his father lifted her white hand to his lips and kissed it. His father appeared to be flirting – if that were possible – with a woman a fraction of his age and he found it very distasteful, especially when the object of interest was someone he wanted for himself.
Partway through the meal, when Thorin had escorted Dain a bit further down the table to talk with Balin and some others of his distant kin, the prince was left to chat with Brangwyn.
"You seem to find my father delightful company," muttered Young Thorin.
"Indeed," said Brangwyn cautiously, hearing the edge to his voice, "he is a fine man." But, in all honesty, she had found him rather overwhelming – even intimidating - and his flirtatious manner had made her flesh crawl a little.
"You must be enjoying having your father here," she said. "You haven't seen him for some time." She was curious as to the prince's relationship with Dain because, from where she had been sitting, it appeared to be an uneasy one.
"No," he said bluntly. "I don't like my father – never have done – and, if I had to choose, I'd take Thorin any day. I was never so glad in all my life when I was invited to Erebor – and not just because I was going to be the Heir of Durin."
"He seems like a stern, hard man," she pressed gently. "And I can imagine there was not much gentleness after your mother died."
"Not a lot," said Young Thorin tersely. And, at that moment, Thorin returned with his father to their part of the table. Brangwyn didn't hear the prince say much more for the rest of the evening.
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Second and final chapter: Proposition. Thranduil rides through the night to be with Thorin and Dain makes an interesting suggestion. We're building up to that double wedding, LOL!