Here's chapter two! I'm sorry if it's a little slow to start off, but I wanted to make sure to build up the story a little bit so it will make more sense later to the plot. It will pick up in the next couple chapters though, promise. I hope everyone enjoys this one :)
Chapter Two
Thorin was woken by his servant at the crack of dawn. There was hardly time to wake up and have a speedy breakfast before he was forced to the meeting with the royal tailor and fitted into his new outfit for the occasion. It was heavy and gaudy and Thorin winced at the thought of someone attacking him in it. He would have no chance of survival, surely. He usually wore simply cut, embroidered tunics over practical wool shirts. Things that were cut finely enough to show his princely status, but not so ridiculous that he could not fight or work in the forges in. If occasion called for it, he might add a furred coat, but this was just ridiculous, and he said as much in a few choice words, to the tailors as they pulled and prodded him into place, forcing him into the monstrosity that had too many layers to count. It consisted of a dark blue silk shirt that hugged his arms so that it was hard for him to lift them without fearing he would rip a seam. He hated this the most, thinking it looked more elven than dwarfish. This was the fashion now? On top of that was an elbow length black velvet tunic that was so heavy with embroidery that it weighed thrice as much as his methreal coat, which he went to battle in. But that wasn't the end of it either. On top of the tunic he was forced into a coat with fur trim and on top of that a cloak, also of velvet, with a dark red silk lining that made his knees quake to keep the weight up. As for adornments, they had forged a new pair of silver bracers for him and also presented him with a stiff pair of leather boots that had ridiculously shiny silver toes. All in all, he felt like a walking wardrobe, and that wasn't even considering what they were probably planning to do to his hair.
"Magnificent!" the tailor said, clasping his hands, as Thorin stood straight in the center of his room, his eye twitching and his fists clenching, trying to fight the urge to punch something, though wasn't entirely sure he could with this getup. "You look every inch the dwarf prince, your majesty!"
"If that's indeed the case, then I wish to Mahal I had not been born to royalty," Thorin growled under his breath, and the servants pretended to ignore him even though he was quite aware they had heard. They finally released him from the horrible outfit, and when he felt he could breathe again, he slipped off before anyone could tell him another thing he needed to do, to get some time alone before he would have to dress in the ridiculous thing to meet everyone.
He found his way to the library where he saw Frerin reading with Dis. She was sitting in his lap and he was helping her figure out the words she couldn't quite wrap her tongue around. Frerin smiled up at Thorin as he closed the door behind him and Thorin sighed and sank into the chair opposite his siblings.
"I am going to be so glad when this is all over, Frer," he said, rubbing his hand over his face tiredly.
"I know," Frerin said kindly. "Don't worry, all these fancy ceremonies will only last for a few days. Until the wedding."
"Oh, you are such a help to me, brother," Thorin told him sarcastically. "There won't be a wedding if I can help it. Not for a good long while anyway. I have far too many things left to do in my life to have a wife and children. What if war comes and I have to lead the army? I cannot do so with a clear conscience if I am to leave a widow behind should something happen to me."
"Father did it," Frerin said quietly.
"I am not Father," Thorin replied firmly and there was silence for a long time, until Dis broke it.
"Frer, what is this word?"
Thorin left them to their reading again. He only had three hours before noon, and he didn't really know how to spend them. He wanted nothing more than to go to the practice room and take his sword to something, but he couldn't afford to get sweaty now. It would take him an hour to get dressed—if he was lucky. It would likely take more than that if he wasn't.
Instead, he found himself wandering toward his grandfather's chambers, not his sleeping room, but his treasure room, where he sadly spent more time than in his bed of late. He didn't like going there, but he felt compelled by some odd pull. Vaguely, he wondered if this was some preliminary effect of gold sickness. He knew it ran in the blood of their family, and his greatest fear was that it wouldn't stop at his grandfather.
But no, his desire to go there was more connected to wanting to see his grandfather, to seek what advice he had to give him. It was what he had done since he was old enough to walk, and he didn't think it would stop any time soon. He only hoped it would have no reason to.
He didn't knock, but pushed the big doors open with a loud creak of the wood. Torches lit the room and shone off the piles of gold, making the entire chamber glow with a warm light. It looked inviting, enchanting even, but all Thorin saw was folly, and it made him sick to his stomach.
He found Thror in the middle of it, gazing at a jeweled goblet with a look of pure joy on his face. But his eyes held none of the familiar sparkle Thorin loved to see that was becoming all the more rare these days. They were manic, crazed, and it hurt Thorin even more. He turned to go, but he accidently kicked over a plate and the sound echoed through the hall, causing Thror to turn around, anger and suspicion in his eyes. Thorin stepped forward instinctively and held his hands up.
"Grandfather, it's just me," he said gently, but there was no recognition in Thror's eyes. He stormed forward in anger.
"What are you doing in here? Get out! This is my gold! You can't take it from me!"
"Grandfather, you know I don't want it!" Thorin protested, then bit back a gasp as Thror grabbed him by the front of his tunic and slammed him back against a pillar, hard enough to make Thorin wince. He gently put his hands over Thror's and stared into his eyes, fear coming over him more and more as he saw no recognition there.
"Grandfather, it's me!" he pleaded, and suddenly, Thror's eyes began to clear and his anger was replaced by a confused look that turned into horror. He let go of Thorin and stepped back, his hands shaking.
"Thorin, lad, I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me," he said, his voice hushed.
"It's all right," Thorin assured him quickly, readjusting his tunic and offering a smile. "No harm done. I…I just wanted to come see if you were okay."
"I'm fine, Thorin," Thror said, but Thorin knew even he didn't believe it.
He left to go back to his chambers and subject himself to the torment of the dressers again. And they were waiting for him too. Once they finished getting him into his clothes, they wound his hair in such braids as he never knew were possible. He was only glad he had not yet begun to grow his beard out long, or they would have had such pleasure in tearing that out by its roots too.
Frerin met him on his way to the throne room. He was dressed also in new clothing, but not nearly as gaudy as Thorin's. Frerin laughed as he saw his brother's outfit, much to Thorin's chagrin.
"Just wait until father decides to marry you off," he snarled and watched in annoyance as Frerin turned away to hide the fact that he was still laughing.
The ceremony wasn't long, thankfully. It was simply King Hroth coming into the hall, greeting Thror, and Thrain, and Thrain presenting Thorin to him. Thorin didn't even have to say anything apart from a short welcome, and then he was allowed to retire until supper when his role in the proceedings would be more sought after.
Where he would have to meet the princess.
As soon as he was freed from his clothing a second time that day (unfortunately, it was not the last he would see of that horrid outfit) he grabbed his sword and went straight to the lists. He didn't even bother grabbing Dwalin this time, too angry to fight with his friend in fear of accidently hurting him.
After tearing his hair out of its elaborate state and into a simple plait at the back of his neck, he took his practice sword and slammed away at the posts there in the practice court for fake enemies until his arms were burning and sweat poured down him, yet still he didn't stop.
He had not once forgotten the confrontation with his grandfather that morning. He knew it was not something he would forget for a long time. That was the longest Thror had not recognized him during one of his fits. And he had never attacked Thorin physically. It just made him realize, all the more, how stupid this whole wedding thing was right now. Why now of all times? What if King Hroth found out about his grandfather's condition? Would it make him more willing to marry his daughter off to Thorin, thinking she would be that much closer to being queen? Or would it make him reconsider entirely, upon the knowledge that there was madness in the family? Thorin finally stopped, panting heavily and slumped against the post he had been hacking at, pressing his forehead against it. He decided it was probably best to stop before he hurt himself.
He tried to be discreet heading back into the palace and went through the servant's quarters. With all the guests hanging around, he was afraid they might take offense at seeing the prince of Erebor in a sweat covered shirt and trousers with his hair far less than the perfect, painful, style it had been in earlier.
He was startled slightly as he came around a corner and saw a young maid sitting in a window niche with a book in her lap. Thorin stopped and stared blankly at her a moment, unsure of what to say, as she looked up and smiled slightly at him.
"Sorry, I didn't know if I was supposed to be here or not. I was just looking for a quiet place to read while I had a few minutes to spare."
She was extremely pretty, Thorin thought with some regret. She had light grey eyes and auburn hair that fell in curls around her shoulders. He figured she must be one of the maids who had come with the contingent from the Iron Hills; perhaps even a ladies' maid to Princess Solveig, he thought, seeing her somewhat more expensive attire. She certainly must not have recognized him even if she had seen him earlier. He had to admit he looked quite different now in his filthy shirt, the laces half undone to expose his upper chest and the sleeves rolled to the elbows. He watched her rake a pleased eye over the length of him and he smiled slightly as he thought of what his grandfather had told him the day before about lasses liking a man off the field. It was actually rather liberating that she did not know he was Prince Thorin. He never had that luxury and he certainly wasn't going to let on now. He bowed to her slightly.
"I apologize, miss, I'm just heading back to clean up. I too, was seeking privacy."
"Well, then we shall part ways and allow each other a quiet moment," she said with a smile that made his heart do a strange flip. "I will leave you on your way."
"And I will leave you to your reading," Thorin told her with another gallant bow.
"I wouldn't mind meeting again under different circumstances though," she told him as he walked off.
"Nor would I," he said with one last smile but instantly squashed those thoughts away. He had no right giving that girl hope. Perhaps it wasn't a good thing he hadn't announced himself to her. But he knew the repercussions he would get from his father if Thrain heard rumors spread by a ladies' maid that Prince Thorin was gallivanting around the city in a disarray and wooing the serving girls when he was supposed to be paying attention to the princess. No, that would not do at all.
No. Thorin couldn't allow himself to think of the lovely dwarf maid again. Tonight he would meet Princess Solveig and most likely set off on a path to forego all freedom he could have ever had had things been different, and he not a prince.
He somehow made it back to his rooms before the servants and indulged in a private, steaming bath, relaxing as best he could before everything turned to bustling and ceremony that night.
True to form, the entourage of servants with his ridiculous outfit came just as he was trying to relax after his bath, and they instantly began forcing him into the princely garb once again. This time they were even less kind when they did his hair, seeming to want to punish him for undoing their handiwork earlier. He growled curses at them as they all but made his eyes bug out of his head with the tightness of the braids, but they graciously ignored him, used to his typical protests by now.
He was forced to sit quietly until dinnertime for there was nothing more he could do in the weight he was wearing and he tried to focus on a book, but his mind was elsewhere. Finally the bell was wrung and he got up and began to make his way to the dinning hall.
Dwalin and Frerin met him on the way, and he was instantly glad of their support. Frerin was wearing something less horrible than Thorin's outfit, but still ridiculous, and he was envious to the fact that Dwalin was wearing something more akin to typical dwarven attire, his hair plaited normally, and his twin axes sheathed across his back. They all stopped in the anteroom as Thorin took a deep breath, knowing that as soon as he walked through the door, he would probably never be able to go back to his old life again. The thought was incredibly sobering, and he almost quelled at the idea, wanting nothing more than to turn tail and run. But then Dwalin's hand was on his shoulder, steadying him.
"You'll be fine, Thorin," he said. "Just give me the signal if things get too much. I'll think of something to end the evening."
Frerin grinned and reached up to yank one of Thorin's braids fondly. "Yes, we'll be right there for you the whole time, brother. Don't you worry."
Thorin smiled despite himself, glad he had their support. He clapped them both on the back. "Thank you so much. I suppose we'll have to conduct ourselves in some sort of semblance though. Father would never let us forget if something happened tonight to ruin everything."
"True," Frerin said. "Well, it will never be over if you don't go now, Thorin."
"I know," Thorin said and with one last sigh, he stepped out into the dining hall.
His grandfather and father, and King Hroth were already there, sitting at the high table; Thrain on Thror's right and Hroth on his left. Everyone else rose as Thorin entered, Frerin at his side, and Dwalin respectfully behind them. Thorin wished he would be able to sit next to Dwalin that night, but knew he would not. He walked slowly over to the high table and simply tried to concentrate on not tripping over the incredibly long cloak he was wearing. The last thing he needed was to fall on his face in front of Hroth and his entourage. He and Frerin stopped in front of Thror's place and bowed low in respect before they took their seats, Thorin next to their father and Frerin further down from him, leaving a space for Princess Solveig.
Thror stood up then and everyone in the room quieted down. "People of Erebor, and those of you who have come from the Iron Hills, our guests. I would like to welcome King Hroth to our halls and our table. You are most welcome, my friend."
King Hroth nodded in respect, a small smile on his lips. Thror continued, and Thorin was forced to wipe his sweating palms on his trousers. "Our kingdoms have always been on good terms, but we have been hoping for a long time to strengthen those bonds and it is our wish that that can be done by the union of our own Prince Thorin to King Hroth's daughter, Princess Solveig."
King Hroth stood up now as well. "And now, the princess shall be presented to you all, and it is my sincere hope, as well as King Thror's, that the union between our peoples will one day become reality."
Thrain turned to Thorin and the young dwarf suddenly realized that he was supposed to be there to greet Princess Solveig when she came into the hall. He nearly stumbled to his feet, and if it wasn't for Frerin's quick hand grabbing up his cloak, he would have tripped over it and fallen onto his backside. He tried to fight the flush from his face and shot a quick thank you glance at his brother, before he came around to the front of the table, casting one glance back at his grandfather. Thror gave him a smile, one that Thorin had known for so long, and suddenly, he felt much better about the situation. He knew he could do this. He took a bracing breath and turned to the doors of the hall, ready to greet the princess.
"Without further ado," Hroth said, motioning to the guards at the doors. "May I present the Princess Solveig."
The doors were opened and in she walked, flanked by two ladies' maids. She was dressed just as elaborately as Thorin, in a long green dress with a train that flowed at least five feet behind her. Layered in the skirt and sleeves but leaving bare the creamy skin of her throat and breast. Auber hair half up and half down tumbled in ringlets onto her shoulders and then she looked up and met Thorin's baffled stare with grey eyes that held just as much surprise as his own.
And instantly Thorin was completely lost for words or any thoughts at all for that matter. Because this was the girl he had seen in the servants halls earlier that day. Princess Solveig herself. Now what in Durin's name was he going to do?
