Chapter One
AN: This Chapter and the next are the only two with minor changes. The rest of the tale is vastly different as you will see taking place at the end of Chapter two. Please review and blessings.
The gathering of the seven clans was over and with it Beryl's fate sealed. There was no turning back now, not even if she fought her father tooth and nail to change the outcome. Besides, Dain was never one to uproot his conscience once something had been planted firmly in his head. And as the gods would have it, Dain had decided on a very high match for his daughter. A match he said, so auspicious it could bring nothing but furthermost favor with the King of the Mountain. This in plain speech meant more titles, wealth, and everything that came with it; thrust upon them in the most gracious of handfuls. As long as Beryl did her honorable part in obeying her superiors that is. And why wouldn't she? All of her life the dwarven princess had been reared to obey her father, and consent to whatever match he saw fit. What she wasn't prepared for though, was a match neither quite like this: to have her dowry given to her lord husband's uncle in the form of an army. Beryl it seemed was nothing but a bargaining chip in a high stake gamble to reclaim a lost kingdom. It would be a cousin to marry a cousin, to gain an army. (Though Thorin had politely refused Beryl's hand on account of age, he was quick to offer his sister's son Fíli.) Dain had seen this as safe enough if just second best—after all, the boy was heir presumptive—not a bad match at all. So for the life of him, Dain Ironfoot could not grasp the hesitance in his meek daughter's disposition to the news.
"You should thank me for what I've done for you, ungrateful child." He spat, standing from his great chair of estate. "Many a young dwarrowdam would fight for the chance to wed and bed an heir of Durin!" Such a comment made Beryl blush and raise her eyes from her feet to challenge her father's gaze.
"Am I not an heir of Durin myself, my lord?" A bold and saucy thing to say make no mistake, but Beryl's belly burned with the same tenacity that flared in all Durin's folk. "And as an heir of Durin myself, I hardly see it fair to use me because of my sex, to meet a greater end: a benefit only made to bring glory to you." She ended her words with eyes on Thorin, who consequently was in the hearing room. He did not seem so quick to anger at her hesitance as Beryl's father had. In fact, Thorin Oakenshield tried to reason with the youngling by basing her uneasiness and stubbornness on age and fear of the marriage bed.
"Little cousin," He spoke softly, letting his bottom slip into a lavish chair next to a grand fire, while adjusting a large ring on his hand. "We will forgive such outbursts. It isn't your fault that with your young age comes rebellious thinking and speech. It happens to us all at one point or another in our lives." Thorin paused just then, to see if Beryl would meet his gaze and hold it- she hadn't. "But you must remember, as you yourself said, we are heirs of Durin. That means as a princess of the blood you must do your part in seeing our clan thrive once again in our homelands."
Oakenshield could see his little speech was having no effect on the young girl, which meant this business between Dain and him was treading on the thinnest of ice. He would have to come up with something to persuade this young fire-start to yield and fast. Without Dain's army to back him once his party reached Erebor, there would be no hope. He'd be damned if he'd let Beryl ruin this for him. "You will be treated well I promise; Fíli is a good lad who will make you a fine husband. Does the thought of becoming queen consort one day displease you?" He saw her eyes shift with anticipation. Thorin had her there.
"No sir, it does not displease me." Beryl's voice was shaking. It was slowly becoming harder to control the anger that swelled inside of her. How dare she be treated like a pawn! Thorin had even had the nerve to tell her point blank the marriage was based on political advancement and nothing more. And if these two could be so heartless as to care less for her thoughts and feelings on the marriage, how could Fíli differ? Still to fight was pointless, they would reel her in somehow. Tenacity though, would give her the last word. Both her father and Thorin could bear that much for what they are forcing upon her, and seeing the smug grins of victory upon each of their faces, Beryl stood straight and commanded a voice that held the air of Durin. "The prospect of becoming queen does not displease me, sirs; though I am wounded you would seek your own means through me without regard for thought or feeling. It is a pity that in this world to have any authority you must be born with a cock between your legs." She paused, "Alas I was not and now if you would excuse me, I must ready myself for the days to come."
Clearly her father did not seem amused, though Thorin's thoughts were not well read upon his face. Never would she have thought he had found her spark encouraging, yet there he was, finding himself envying this young girl's bridegroom. She reminded him of her mother.
It wasn't long after the confrontation with her father that Beryl was informed on the details of her engagement. Another blow was dealt to her as she was told without remorse; it was not to be a formal affair befitting a lady of her rank and of Fíli's, due to the timing of things. In fact her betrothed would not be attending the wedding at all, though she read in the letter—written in Fíli's own hand—that his humblest apologies were given and were he there, he was sure they would find each other to their likings. Clearly this letter was written in advance. No one could deliver regrets to ones own wedding hours after the news was broken to the bride. Did they all think her stupid? She went on to read that arrangements had been made to see her safely to the Shire to commence her life as a wife to her husband.
Beryl shuttered. Not only would she leave behind the four corners and safety of her room to travel side by side with her vagabond husband—such a noble match!—it would also be expected of her to perform the marriage debt. A prospect she at the present would rather not think about. The idea of becoming one flesh by letting a male break your most sacred place was beyond molestation to Beryl. And if they thought she'd do so under such circumstances they were delusional. It was simply out of the question and she desired no part of it. Although it stated plainly in the letter that Fíli seemed eager enough. That could cause tension with him then. Beryl would be living in an altered reality if she expected a marriage between two people whom had never met before—one not even attending the nuptials—to go smoothly. In all honesty, nothing could be expected save little more than public appearances together if all went well and one day she truly was queen. Beryl could do well keeping her own court and company and it would not bother her conscience in the least if her lord husband took as many mistresses as it pleased him to do. It would sure enough allow her to escape the marriage bed. Let someone else fill that gap. He could father bastards and she could keep her virginity. Beryl let a laugh escape her then. Now that would be an altered reality!
Placing the letters, forms, and documents down on her desk within her chambers, Beryl pulled a fur shawl over her shoulders and gazed about her chambers. She was standing in the outer compartment of her royal apartments, where she entertained and took company. It was a large space rectangular in construction and held up by four great stone pillars, carved into the etched ceiling. Tapestries adorned the walls in her colors of blue and ivory, while her own coat of arms or a crest hung handsomely above the hearth. It was a white falcon on a blue field. A symbol of her chastity, youth, and cleverness which she adopted on her own. She could help but wonder if she would ever see that falcon tied with Fíli's crest over the canopy of estate one day. That falcon, her falcon next to the king of Erebor's sigil... the very thought sent shivers down her spine. She could one day rule the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth and demand homage from all four corners of it. Her rooms now would be meager to the ones she would inhabit as queen. She may yet look back one day on these apartments and feel slandered by her father for giving her such accommodations. What lavish she would divulge in day by day.
A loud rapping on her door ended her daydreaming and placed her back into her own shoes and the vile reality she faced.
It had only been Maude, Beryl's childhood nurse and waiting lady. She had come to help pack her mistress's belongings and reminisce on a time much less complicated than what was before them. Custom would have it that Maude would have accompanied her to her new estate with her husband, once the marriage had taken place; in the light of the bitter situation Maude would be staying behind.
"Can you believe the conditions I'm forced to endure?" Beryl handed clean linens to her nurse to pack away into one of the few satchels permitted her. "I am commanded to travel as far as Laketown, to ensure the promise of my dowry delivered. I'm a pawn in control of bigger players I'm afraid."
Maude shook her head and sighed deeply wishing there was something she could say to comfort her young charge, yet nothing came forth. The nurse too had been given her orders. She reached out and placed her withered hand over the princess' "You know then too that your bridegroom will not be attending the ceremony?" The old woman banked on the possibility that Beryl in all of her cleverness had already found this piece of information out.
"Do not remind me." ...
The nuptials were a quiet affair and more like those which would take place among the common folk. There was no music, no grand entrance, and Thorin stood in place of his nephew who conveniently couldn't attend. Unbelieving that her father could be as cruel as to subject her to her new life willingly, Beryl found her voice little above a whisper while she gave her vows without feeling. The sounds she spoke tumbled out of her mouth in perfect precision; void of any emotion or sincerity to love and obey her husband until taken from this world. What a bleak and sad little wedding it was, with only a few lords from her father's council to witness and sign the contract, after which was given to Beryl to do the same. Lifting the quill to the parchment was difficult, seeing as her hand felt as if it were lead. Finding the strength to sign the document was just as daunting and the only way Beryl could bring herself to it was by breathing as deeply as she could, forcing herself far away from where she was. Then she closed her eyes and scribed away her life. Afterward, once the paper had been sprinkled with sand and stamped by both Thorin and Dain, Beryl let her hand fall to her side. The ink from her quill had splattered her gown. She was no longer Beryl, daughter of Dain. She was now Beryl, wife of Fíli. And that was the bitterest of blows to her heart.
On the morning of her departure from her father's lands, Beryl had barely been able to rise from bed. The night before had been sleepless and it wasn't until dawn threatened the outside world that she was finally able to close her eyes for the briefest of moments. For not long after did the knock on the door stir her and bring her back to the truth that she must make ready to leave her home forever. And although she knew herself lucky to be allowed the privilege to view the outside world, Beryl knew she would face it as a married Dwarrowdam. She hardly knew what life would entail, being connected to an exiled royal prince of the blood. Though some things were obvious.
They would not hold their own household for her to run, nor would there be parties to plan or ambassadors to entertain. All of her life she had been brought up as a princess, which in short meant she had no skill for the wild beyond the sanctuary of her hilly homeland. Beryl never cooked, cleaned or wielded an ax in all of her life, but if her husband ever needed jewelry crafted, doilies embroidered, or music played she would excel beyond expectations. With all of that said, Beryl knew she would have to lie on her ambitious intuition to keep her alive and in her husband's good graces.
With diminutive enthusiasm for traveling with her cousin, Beryl offered him little in the way of pleasantries and extended only a morning greeting that was expected. In truthfulness, she had hoped he would sense her displeasure with the whole situation and that it would be a thorn in his side their entire way to the Shire.
She failed to see the childishness in behaving in such a way; Thorin had anticipated she would do as much. Yet he had also hoped he would get the opportunity to discuss Fíli with her. The way he had hoped he could have prepared his nephew for his wife…the brazen little thing she was. Already this morning she had made it clear there would be little conversation, unless it was concerning their progress in reaching the Shire, and Thorin began to wonder if it had been such a wise decision to have her brought along. Dain had seemed compliant with the notion and in truth Oakenshield needed that army to back him at the gates. Taking back the mountain was going to be no walk in a spring meadow. He silently hoped Beryl would prove to be equipped to handle the hardships of life on the road and adapt quickly to the dangers they might encounter. Admitting not much thought had been taken into this plan, Thorin felt a sickened panic rise in his belly. He had taken a princess—whom had not been born into exile like the rest of his younger kin—whom had more than likely never set foot outside of the mountains of the Iron Hills, and tossed her into a spiraling and unexpected adventure on her part. He cracked a silent worried grin. Beryl was the polar opposite of her husband. Seeing her then with Fíli would prove interesting.
Fíli knew by now he was married; it was an odd feeling. It was also terrifying that he had no inclination as to her look, personality or even sensibility. For all he knew Beryl could be the most god awful looking creature the gods ever sought to create. Yet the worst of it was that now he would be expected to play the part of dutiful husband and sever from his life all fun and play. There would be no more late nights finding happiness at the bottom of pint nor in the arms of a serving girl he was guaranteed to coax into his bed. No, that life was all over-at least in public. So one might think he would be getting as much tomfoolery in as he could the last few nights he had to himself, but for the life of him...he just couldn't. Fíli had been staring at the same pint for hours now, his appetite for mischief nowhere to be found. The others observed it too, though they were well enough off not to poke at a sleeping bear. He could see it in their faces though. They wanted to taunt him for his lack of vigor tonight; for three times in the last hour a pretty little blonde had espied him and under any other circumstance he would have been in bed with her at first hint. He just couldn't bring himself to it, for every time he tried to see this girl in his bed, guilt rose in his stomach for his wife whom he had never seen. Fíli couldn't explain why that sick feeling gripped his gut like a vice, yet every time it did he oddly enough thought of his mother. Maybe she was the reason her son's conscience refused to taint his wife's name.
Dís's own marriage had been much like her son's. She had never met her husband before their wedding night and hardly knew what to expect. Fíli's father had been a piece of work and from the beginning he never took any part of their life together seriously. The boy knew little of his parents' time together before both their children came into the world, but there was enough to see growing up to guess Dís's marriage to her husband was less than perfect. For public appearances they were the very picture of how a family of the line of Durin should be. They were clean, put together, and all around well-to-do. Outside the eyes of the public however, was another story entirely. Fíli's father never made it secret he had many mistresses. In fact it wouldn't have surprised him had someone told Fíli he had bastard siblings. Often, he would find his father giving away tokens of affection to a lady here or there, but none of his rendezvous ever lasted long. It became especially hard during his mother's pregnancy with Kíli, that much Fíli could remember well. He was extremely young but he recalled his mother crying every night in her empty bed while his father was out. He didn't realize it then yet as he grew older he grasped what had really been going on those months his baby brother grew in his mother's belly. There was never a doubt in Fíli's mind that his father had slandered his mother's name; knowing that he had stepped out on them all during a time that should have been filled with happiness, Fíli just couldn't forgive. For years he watched his mother suffer at the hands of an inattentive chauvinistic pig. And for all the pain Dís had suffered, Fíli loved her. He loved her more fiercely than anyone in Arda and for that reason he couldn't betray Beryl. He couldn't see his sons grow to hate their father for his unfaithfulness, as he had done with his own. Only Fíli could understand that.
"Stop looking so damn put out!" Kíli shouted at his brother from across the table. He had always been the optimistic one, always finding the silver lining in every situation. Sometimes the optimism was annoying. Now was one of those times.
"If I'm put out the only reason is because of you." His brother narrowed his eyes and spoke gravely.
"Don't blame me for your troubles. It wasn't me who married you off." Kíli snapped back, slightly irked at his brother's annoyance with him.
There was only a split second of silence between them before Fíli slammed his fist against his mug sending it across the table and on to the floor in a fit of rage. Everything in the inn grew quiet then and the other members of the company, who until then had been minding to their own affairs, gazed quietly upon the brothers. The inn master had muttered something about not tolerating troublemakers in his establishment, before encouraging the other patrons to continue buying their drink and attending to their own goings-on. It took more encouraging than he would have liked—for people loved to see a good pub brawling and gossip—but he eventually drew most of his patrons attention away from the two dwarves. It wasn't until the atmosphere had returned to its previous volume that Fíli spoke again. Taking a deep breath and running his hands through his hair and down his face, he stood stiffly. "If Thorin wanted an army, he should have married her himself." And on that note the heir to all of Erebor sulked away to his room for the night.
By the time Fíli rose in the morning half the company had already been on their way again, which suited him just fine. He preferred traveling alone or with Kíli and felt rather awkward in larger groups. His entire world revolved around a stealthy and quiet approach to everything and if you ever traveled with dwarves like Dwalin or Bombur you would understand perfectly Fíli's hesitation. That wasn't to say he didn't like his comrades though. They were some of the best dwarves he had ever the pleasure to call brothers. It had all worked itself out however; Fíli needed this time alone with his brother. It was probably going to be one of the last times at that. Knowing this, he didn't waste his last morning of freedom in bed.
Sluggishly, he pulled himself from beneath the warmth of his covers and pulled on his breeches and then one by one adorned each piece of his clothing. Once he finished he gathered all of his weaponry and tucked each special handmade piece into its place on his body. Without those daggers hidden safely away on his person, he felt naked. This was the most important part of his morning routine. Once He had finished, Fíli left his room of the inn and found his brother at the same table he had been at the night before.
Kíli had been helping himself to breakfast and had just washed it down with a large gulp of ale. His demeanor was cheery, much the same as it always was. He hardly let anything get to him for very long. So when Fíli sat down to break his fast, he wasn't all that surprised that his brother hadn't mentioned the night before, he was in all ways brotherly. Kíli had asked how he slept and then they spoke of the weather, of their journey and other safe topics, straying far away from Fíli's situation. And Fíli had to admit he appreciated his brother's discretion. He knew he could always count on his sibling for that if not for anything else; other than having his back. What were brothers for if not that? At least that could never change. Thorin could do whatever he wanted to Fíli—make him lick his boot even—as long as Kíli was there to pick him up after. In more ways than one, the younger did more for the elder than Kíli would ever know. Sometimes Fíli often felt he was the second born, though he would never admit it out loud.
When Fíli's food had finally arrived in front of him, he was dismayed to see it had been served by the blonde from the night before. She was much curter than she had been, acting almost as if he had wounded her pride. "Thank you." Fíli managed to whisper up at her. The young woman simply nodded and flung her hair over her shoulder before strutting away.
"You don't think she would have spit in your food for last night, do you?" Kíli's words were barely audible from behind his full mouth.
Looking down at his plate of fish, bacon, and toast, Fíli sighed. And with a growling stomach he placed the food on the floor for the hounds, laid his money on the table and made his way to door, securing the pack on his back.
Kíli slammed the rest of his food down his gullet before following suit.