AU: Tolkien-lite. This story uses characters and concepts from the Hobbit and relies on Tolkien's maps, but the events portrayed in the Hobbit do not occur. The characters are Men, not dwarves, but orcs do play a part. If you want a slow burn, Pride & Prejudice & Thorin Oakenshield style romance, then come on in!

Éiwyn rushed through the castle's halls, bumping into one servant after another in her haste. It was her father's turn to host the annual Tournament, but despite months of planning, the preparations were not yet complete. Even as guests marched through the front gate the very beds they would sleep in were being made.

"Sheets!" Éiwyn shouted down a long corridor. "I have fresh sheets!" Maids burst from three different bedchambers at the same time, each in a hurry to secure the proffered linens. Now empty handed, Éiwyn walked quickly through the halls to find what else remained unfinished.

"My lady." A breathless young maid ran up to Éiwyn, her hand clutching her chest. "This suite of rooms is still unmade." The girl's hands shook as she confessed this great sin to Éiwyn, who could only laugh softly.

"Peace, May," she said as she followed the maid into the room. "It will go faster if I help." May's eyes flew open at the impropriety, but Éiwyn was already shaking out a fresh set of sheets. Working together, the task was done in no time, but even that was not fast enough.

The young women had just smoothed the top blanket when the room's occupant arrived. A man dressed in a deep blue tunic stood in the doorway. His dark hair ranged past his broad shoulders and a braid dangled from either side of his wide brow. The surprised look on his face was quickly replaced with one of amused interest.

"My Lord Thorin," came a man's voice in the hallway, "these rooms will be-Éiwyn!"

She looked past Thorin at the second man, who was dressed elegantly in silver and black. His own look of surprise changed to a dreadful scowl aimed directly at her.

Éiwyn bowed her head to the two men. "My lord," she said to the first. "Father," to the second. May bowed as well, clutching the folds of her skirt in trembling hands.

King Éisten of Annúminas straightened his tunic and regained his composure. "My Lord Thorin, do you remember my daughter, Éiwyn, who I am sure has someplace better to be?"

"I remember." Thorin's deep voice and keen blue eyes revealed nothing that indicated he did, in fact, remember Éiwyn. She nodded again all the same.

Her father stepped aside as Éiwyn and the young maid swept out of the room. As they rushed down the hallway, she could hear her father clear his throat before he wished Thorin to take his ease.

"Oh, Miss." May was all in a flurry at Éiwyn's side. "You shouldn't have been helping me. Your father will put me out for sure."

"He will do no such thing." Éiwyn squeezed the girl's hand. "Come, let's see what else there is to do." She gave May a warm smile, which seemed to cheer her. "Shall we try the kitchens?"

The kitchens turned out to be a veritable steam bath. The heat from so many ovens baking up so many delights was positively wilting. Thora, the head baker, gave Éiwyn a skeptical look when she offered to help, but set a bowl of dough before her all the same.

The "Precocious Princess", as she had been known in her youth, was no stranger to the older servants, who had often tired of tending her. Now that she was a grown woman, some of them felt it improper to accept Éiwyn's help. Fortunately, Thora wasn't one of them.

"This'll need to be colored." Thora put a few drops of red something on the dough, and Éiwyn set to work kneading. Several women stood in a line at the long counter, rhythmically kneading balls of dough into various colors.

"Seen anybody yet?" one of the baker's girls asked.

"We just did," May said shyly.

"Who?" the others all wanted to know, their eager eyes all trained on May.

"It was...oh, I can't remember his name!" May burst into giggles. "Thor?"

"Thorin," Éiwyn corrected.

One of the older girls frowned at the name. "I was hoping for Prince Thengel."

The baker girls fell into a bout of laughter. Talk went down the line of which king or prince was the most handsome, the most brave, the most worthy of honor. Focused on kneading her dough, Éiwyn lost track of the conversation.

Her mind drifted back to Thorin, the gruff figure she'd met in the guest chamber. Of course he didn't remember her. Why would he? Thorin was a man who seemed to never have a kind word or a smile for anyone. She had met him several times over the last few years, and each time it seemed a completely new experience for the man. She might have been offended had she cared for his opinion at all.

He and his company traveled a great deal, she knew that much about him. They were always passing through on the way to somewhere, never settled in their own lands. This alone was a black mark against him to Éiwyn's way of thinking, for Éiwyn loved her home. The thought of leaving it for months on end was a heartbreak to her. Home and hearth were enough for her. She had no wish for the nomadic life.

Her mouth turned down into a frown and her brows drew together. There was something else she didn't like about this Thorin. For all his lack of memory of ever having seen her before, he seemed to always watch her with his scowling, steely eyes.

Last autumn, his company passed though Annúminas just after a series of orc-raids in the outlands. Thorin and his men stayed with her father for nearly a week. She often met him in the corridors and had several meals with him, but she could think of no words spoken between them. His scowling eyes were ever present but never conversation. Thorin was not the first guest she would have hoped to greet, herself.

#

Once she was certain her bowl of sweetbread dough was sufficiently dyed, Éiwyn scurried to her chambers to prepare for the evening. The Tournaments were nebulous things, encompassing competitions between men as well as times of passing on skills, lasting anywhere from one week to more than two months (so Éiwyn had heard). They generally had no set events of any kind-save that they were always begun and ended with a feast.

With the aid of her handmaiden Betsy, Éiwyn had just slipped off her outer dress when a sharp rap sounded at her door. "Éiwyn! Are you there?"

She sighed and pulled on a robe. "Yes, Father." Éiwyn opened the door to find her father glowering at her. He strode into her chamber and shut the door behind him. Betsy skittered away to the windows under the pretense of smoothing Éiwyn's evening dress.

"I gave you one instruction this morning, did I not?" Her father stood before her imperiously. He raised his eyebrows as though to repeat the question, so she nodded. "I told you to make a good impression. I did not tell you to help the maids make the beds!"

"Father-" Éiwyn raised her hands to soothe him but her father was in no mood for it.

"Once a year I ask this of you, Éiwyn, just once." He put his hands on her shoulders, and his kingly sternness melted into simple fatherhood. "I ask you to at least pretend to obey me during Tournament."

"I'm sorry, Father. I thought I should help..." Éiwyn trailed off, all explanations unnecessary.

"I know." King Éisten's shoulders sank in a sigh. "But instead, you were discovered doing servant's work by Thorin Oakenshield. I cannot stress enough that you are not to show the slightest inclination to work or worry during the rest of Tournament."

Éiwyn quickly laced her fingers behind her back. "I understand, Father."

Éisten sighed again theatrically, and shook his head. He reached behind her back to grab one of her wrists, pulling her hand in front of her face. Her palm and fingers were stained red from the food dye. "Do you?"

He strode the few steps back to her door. "Betsy, see to it that her hands are entirely her natural color before the feast begins."

#

The opening of the Tournament at Annúminas was a rousing success as far as King Éisten was concerned. Éiwyn watched as her father strode through his halls warmly greeting his guests. When she caught his eye, she gave him a small wave to indicate Betsy's furious scrubbing had done the trick. He nodded and smiled before continuing through the crowd.

Left to her own devices, Éiwyn would have watched the goings-on from the balcony level, where servants and children could see the festivities without having to experience them first hand. However, it had been made abundantly clear that, this night, trading the role of princess for commoner would not be tolerated.

Royals, lords, and ladies-all must be welcomed into the great hall. By the time she was permitted to sit at table, Éiwyn's cheeks were sore from smiling and she longed for the meal she had smelled in the kitchens earlier in the afternoon.

Éiwyn wove through the crowds to find her place at her father's table. She recognized a few others seated with them, but the rest were strangers to her. Conversation filled the great hall as the supper courses were served. The young man sitting to Éiwyn's left greeted her over the chorus of voices. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Princess Éiwyn. I am Hemming, of Dunland."

Éiwyn nodded in greeting. Although conversations went around their table, Hemming took full advantage of having the princess's ear for the evening. She listened with polite interest as he regaled her with stories of Dunland, his status there, and of his travels to Annúminas. With one ear constantly filled with Hemming's chatter, Éiwyn had a difficult time following the rest of the talk at table. She caught snippets but was none the wiser for them.

The meal over, guests began to mill through the hall again, searching for old friends or seeking out new ones. Still Éiwyn sat, listening to the charming drone of Hemming's stories, when Thorin Oakenshield approached their table. He greeted King Éisten and commended him on the feast. Thorin turned his attention to Éiwyn, acknowledged her with a slight nod, then strode away again.

Éiwyn quietly sighed in exasperation as she watched Thorin return to his company. Hemming caught her watching. "Do you know Thorin Oakenshield well?" he asked.

"About as well as I ever hope to." Éiwyn took a sip of wine and returned her attention to Hemming.

He glanced at Thorin's table. "You're not alone in that opinion. He's not an easy man to like."

Éiwyn shook her head. "I should not have said that. I merely meant that he is not an easy man to get to know."

"I would say you already have." Hemming smiled at Éiwyn. "What you see is what you get with Thorin Oakenshield."

"What do you know of him? I can make nothing of him."

"He's most well known for losing his kingdom, of course." A grim smile came over Hemming's face as Éiwyn's eyes went wide in surprise. "It wasn't entirely his fault." Hemming lightly put a reassuring hand over Éiwyn's own. "Dragons aren't easy to kill. But when you refuse to even try, well, they are impossible to kill."

Éiwyn shifted her hand out from under Hemming's as she reached for her wineglass. She did not want to encourage any affection on his part. For her side, she suddenly felt inclined to know more about Thorin's history. That a dragon was involved in it was entirely novel to her. "Why did they not try to kill the dragon?"

"Who can say? Perhaps they were too few fighters. Perhaps they didn't know how. Perhaps it was fear."

Éiwyn looked across the hall to where Thorin sat with his company. He spoke with a fierce bald man who had arms strong enough to snap a small tree. She didn't have to see the rest of their company to know courage was not something they lacked. She shook her head dismissively at Hemming. "I don't think it could have been fear."

"Oh no?" Hemming looked surprised at her confidence. "Consider this." He leaned closer to speak conspiratorially in Éiwyn's ear. "Their little company of nomads are always on the move. Always away from where orcs or goblin raids have been. They're always found in the safest of harbors. If a town is secure, you can bet the company of Thorin Oakenshield will be there."

Éiwyn thought back to the company's visit the previous autumn. She frowned as she realized that it did actually follow the end of an orc-raid. The company arrived several days after the lands were secured, but surely that had been coincidence.

"Would you care to take a stroll with me?" Hemming was once again smiling at Éiwyn, reminding her that she was at table with him, not Thorin Oakenshield.

For the first time, Éiwyn took a good look at Hemming. He was handsome, with loose auburn hair in the style of Dunland, and bright green eyes. She was sure any number of young women at the feast would have been happy to receive such an invitation.

"Thank you, but no," Éiwyn demurred. "It's time I find my father." King Éisten had left the table shortly before their conversation about Thorin. Éiwyn wondered whether she would have encouraged such gossip had her father been present.

She knew, of course, the answer was no.

After taking her leave of the table, she wove through the crowds to stand at her father's side. He was laughing heartily with a man of Fornost. At Éiwyn's approach, the king gave her a generous smile but quickly returned to his talk. Éiwyn didn't mind; she did not want to join her father's conversation, she merely wanted to avoid further conversation with Hemming.

At twenty-four, Éiwyn had little interest in idle flirtation with strangers. She was lucky that her father indulged her. Where some fathers might arrange a marriage without the young woman's knowledge or consent, her father granted her complete discretion when it came to choosing a husband. As such, Éiwyn was content to have none at all. She loved her father and her home, and had no wish to leave them. Now and then she was vaguely aware that her heart was untouched, but it never troubled her. She kept herself too busy in her own kingdom to worry over whether she might one day rule another.

As she scanned the room, her eyes were suddenly caught by Thorin's. He was still seated at table, apparently listening to the bald man, but his gaze locked on her as though he had been watching her all the while. He could not possibly have heard her gossiping about him, but she quickly averted her eyes all the same. Her stomach twisted into pangs of guilt.

Listening absently to her father's conversation, Éiwyn stared blankly at the edging of her father's tunic. A dark shape approached her right side and she turned to see Thorin Oakenshield standing next to her.

"Oh." Éiwyn barely concealed her start of surprise. Thorin nodded deeply to her, and, belatedly, she did the same.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?" Thorin's voice was deep and melodious, yet strangely distant and unreadable.

Éiwyn's guilty thoughts returned to the slander of his character she had heard just moments before. "No!" She felt like the Precocious Princess all over again, getting caught with her hand in the sweets. "I mean, yes, it's been a lovely evening."

He did not respond, merely looked at her in a way that made her feel he was dissatisfied with what he saw. "Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked, trying for politeness.

"Yes. It's been a lovely evening." His steady gaze was betrayed by the slightest smile that played at his lips.

Involuntarily, Éiwyn's head snapped an inch to the side. Mockery? His disinterest didn't bother her, but for him to laugh at her was irksome.

"Where have your travels taken you lately, my lord?" Éiwyn's stomach blazed with fear at her boldness.

Now it was Thorin's turn to be taken by surprise. "My lady, we were most recently in the Far Downs."

"I understand there have been orc raids in that region." Éiwyn had heard no such thing. Why was she asking this? What could she possibly gain?

"Yes, there had been some orc raids." His eyes never moved from hers.

"Was your visit before or after the orc raids?"

"After." She could see that Thorin had caught on to her interrogation, although apparently neither quite knew what she was hoping to discover.

"That was lucky." Éiwyn smiled in affected relief.

"Indeed." Thorin was composed as he watched her with those eyes that seemed to both judge and pity her at the same time. She had to pull her own gaze away from his and found herself staring at the silver bead on one of his braids.

Thorin leaned closer to Éiwyn and dropped his voice low. "Do you often assist the chambermaids?" She saw that tiny tug of a smile at his lips again. Was this more mockery, or did he think he was making a joke? Éiwyn refused to let herself be affected by his scorn.

"Yes, often," she said, holding her head a little higher as though challenging him to judge her. "And the bakers, and the gardeners, and anyone else who needs it."

Thorin nodded slowly. "I am sure you do." An inscrutable response, to Éiwyn's mind. She could only look at him in confusion. She wasn't sure what to think of their conversation, and she certainly had no idea what Thorin Oakenshield was thinking.

"I am probably needed in the kitchens as we speak." Éiwyn nodded to Thorin and did not even wait for his return bow before she swept away from him towards the outer hall.

That did not go well.