Thaen, daughter of Dain looked south from her balcony in the Iron Hills and wished Mahal had given the dwarrows eyes that could see as well above ground as below it. She could see the gleam of iron ore in the deepest mine with no light to speak of but she could not make out the solitary peak of Erebor across the Wilderland that separated her home from that desolate place, no matter how she strained her eyes.

She had heard the whispers.

Thorin Oakenshield had called her father and all the other clan leaders to Ered Luin for urgent business, and secret as well. She snorted. Secret, indeed. She knew what kind of "urgent business" he was seeking. Some way of ridding his homeland from the dread that lay claim to it still.

What folly.

Oh, aye, she felt the humiliation and sorrow of the loss of the Great Kingdom of the North, as all dwarrows were raised to feel. But it had never been her home, and she was born after its fall.

And it had never been her father's either. She hoped he would not accept to join this suicide quest.

If Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror wanted to die a fool's death, she thought petulantly, that was his own business.

"M'lady?"

Thaen turned from her musings and smiled at the servant girl. "Good morning, Mil."

Mil dropped a quick curtsy, then held up the fine pearl comb she wielded. "Shall I do your hair, m'lady?"

Thaen grimaced. She had court duties today, so the braiding and beading of her long black hair was sure to take longer than usual. She liked the look of it once it was finished, for Mil's hands were skilled, but the process she could do without. Leaving the stone balcony that jutted into the open air from her chambers below the hill, she took a seat at her intricately carved vanity. As Mil set the bowls of fine combs and etched iron beads on it, Thaen traced the runes that spelled out her name that her brother had hewn there. It had been a gift from him on her 50th nameday.

She smiled fondly at how he had laughed at her delight when she appraised his incredible workmanship.

"Not such a shiramund now, am I, oh sister?" Thorin Stonehelm had boomed, for she had teased him and called him 'beardless' ever since they were dwarflings.

It was rather silly that she called him it still; his beard was most impressive now, but it was a reminder of their childhood, and a dear one at that.

And now her beloved brother was at the beck and call of another so-named Thorin.

Thaen sighed, and Mil who was now tugging the comb deftly through her lady's hair, looked down curiously. "What ails you, lady?"

Thaen frowned. She would not burden the girl with her ill thoughts of the King in Exile. Instead, she said, "I can expect the court to be difficult today. Merchants from near Nogrod have come, and I expect them to drive a hard bargain for the ore we've brought up from the mines this month past. Their finest smiths are excellent, and so they are quite particular about their iron."

"Nothing you cannot handle m'lady," Mil chuckled, as she plaited a delicate iron bauble into Thaen's hair. "You've got the same bullheadedness as your father, if I may say."

Thaen rolled her eyes. "Every she-dwarf is stubborn." Mil laughed outright. "You may be right at that. The only ones more obstinate than dwarf men are dwarf women."

They fell into companionable silence as Mil did up her hair, and Thaen's thought turned once more to brooding. She had been moody of late. There was a worrisome sense in the Iron Halls for a while now; the very air seemed to hold its breath, on the edge of some momentous thing; something she could not quite put her finger on. It put her on edge.

But such things could wait after her dealings with the merchants. She grinned a bit, humor lifting at the thought of arguing prices with the stodgy old dwarrows from the Blue Mountains. She could haggle better than a fishwife, she'd been told, and took that as a source of pride.

…Though she supposed it had not been meant as a compliment at the time when it was told.

It took Mil the better part of an hour to finish braiding, beading, and tying the Thaen's thick, dark hair into place. "Done!" she exclaimed as she slipped the last decorative comb in. "You look as lovely as ever, m'lady."

Thaen surveyed her reflection. Her hair was masterfully done. Mil had made several thin braids at her temples, each with seven iron beads, and had plaited the lot together. The thicker braids were swept behind her head and knotted at the back. Two combs held the knot to her head, ornamented with thin chains of silver that brushed her shoulders and connected to smaller combs tucked under her braid near her temples. It was quite lovely, and complimented her thin face and high cheekbones. The hair left free tumbled around her face and over her shoulders, concealing the fact that she had merely wisps of sideburns, and not even a hint of beard, for noble ladies descended from Durin could not grow much facial hair, and tended toward small noses and gentle features. The kings and princes of Durinsfolk had long had finer faces as well, though they at least could grow beards. She was told it gave her a noble air, and her looks were considered rare and unique among dwarrows, but she had often yearned as a dwarfling to be a traditional beauty with a wide, welcoming face, large nose and lustrous curls in her sideburns.

Well, that was not her lot, and there was no use in wishing it to be, so she smiled at Mil, thanked her and went to find the merchants.

"No, no, no; as I've said before, Master Sootheart, ore from the Iron Hills is so rich that your smelters will be able to feed it directly into their blast furnaces. You will not find such quality anywhere else."

"And as I have said before, how do I know there aren't contaminants in the ore? Such rich rocks are wont to have high water content, as you well know, or even phosphorous or aluminum."

Thaen resisted the urge to rub at the headache forming above her left eye. "No iron ore is flawless, but we can guarantee ours has more than fifty percent iron yields. Besides, this ore is mainly hematite, which as you know, separates easily from unwanted elements. Come now, Master Sootheart. I have spent these last few hours putting to rest every one of your arguments about the quality and quantity of these rocks. Let us end this back and forth. You pay me my first price, which is generous I'll have you know, and we all part ways well content."

Though Thaen very much doubted that Master Sootheart would leave these halls remotely happy.

Master Sootheart, a swarthy, wide dwarf man with beetled brows and thick salt-and-pepper beard that tucked into his belt, grumbled to himself for a moment, before turning to examine the samples before him for the hundredth time since their meeting began.

"What of the color, then?"

"What is wrong with its color?"

"It is purple!"

Thaen raised her eyebrows. "Aye, it is. A unique feature of the Iron Hills. It will not harm the quality of the steel, though, if that concerns you. I should remind you that some of the most beautiful gems are made from imperfect stones. "

The middle-aged dwarf was silent a moment, then gave a chuckle. "It is a color of kings." He turned toward her. "I saw a King recently, though he did not wear anything as beautiful a color as this. I'll take the lot."

Thaen blinked at the sudden willingness of the tenacious dwarf. "For 300 gold coins, as I asked?"

"270."

She narrowed her eyes. "Again with this? 300 or nothing." Sootheart stared. "I came all the way from the Blue Mountains! You would send me home with not a rock to show for my efforts?"

"And gladly, Master." But she smiled not a moment later. "But do not say we Durinsfolk are not charitable. Come, we have been at this a while and missed lunch. I would be honored if you would take dinner with me. We will rest, and I would very much like to hear stories of your Blue Mountains."

She extended an arm and the merchant took it under his. "I must say, My Lady, I did not expect I would be doing business with a gentlewoman, and one who does it so…adroitly."

Thaen laughed. "Why, Master Sootheart, I am flattered. The last dwarf who I traded with called me a vicious cut purse."

They reached a side room, comfortably furnished, with thick carpets over the marble floors and tapestries depicting hunting scenes in warm summer colors hanging from the walls. A low stone table near a window was piled with food. The seats had several plush cushions each.

"Expecting many guests, Lady Thaen?"

Thaen laughed. "No, Master Sootheart. But I was not sure if your apprentices would be joining us."

Sootheart sat, and with a wiggle of his long brows and perhaps a smile under the fluff of his beard said, "I think you scared them off."

Thaen graciously poured her guest some wine from a chilled flagon, then helped herself to some roast beef and a few potatoes. "Such a shame; there is more for us," she grinned.

Sootheart loaded his plate as well. "But I must ask, do you often conduct trading in the Iron Halls?"

Thaen paused, "No, only when my brother and Lord Father are not at home, but they have been away on many occasions together and as such I manage the affairs of our home. It would have fallen to my Lady Mother, but she passed many years back."

"I am sorry, Lady." The dwarf said. Thaen waved a hand at his condolences. "I was so young, I cannot recall much of it. Besides, I discovered my skill for bargains this way. All dwarrows have a craft. Some smith, others mine, a few yield swords and fight, but my skill is trade."

"And what a skill to have!" Sootheart toasted her, and they both drank deep.

Thaen set her glass down and picked up some grapes. "Now, Master Merchant, tell me of your Blue Mountains. I have had no news for what feels like an age!"