"You are going easy on me." Fíli swung his arm to readily parry Kíli's stroke, and the clang of their swords joined the din of the crowded training rooms. They were only using practice swords, but the old things were still heavy and sharp enough to cut - if there were any chance of being hit.
"I would never." Kíli darted this way and that, but Fíli saw that his arms weren't moving nearly so quickly as his feet. Each swing of his sword was at best predictable and at worst an insult.
They had been practicing less than half an hour and already Fíli's shoulder ached and his arm cried out for rest, but he was determined to prove he could still best his brother. It would be an empty victory, though, if Kíli fought no harder than this.
"I see what you're doing." Fíli lunged but Kíli jumped out of the way as he blocked with his sword. His return feint was on Fíli's good side, and easily blocked. For all his flourishes, Kíli was careful to keep his parries and thrusts well within Fíli's reach.
"I'm doing nothing." Kíli made a show of elaborate footwork but once again when his sword came down it was simple enough to block.
A fire of anger lit deep inside Fíli. He was not so bad off that he needed to be coddled by his little brother. He lashed out, and when his sword came down with more force than they had been using, Kíli struggled to fend it off.
"Fight me," Fíli growled. Surprise danced in Kíli's eyes a moment, but then he threw off Fíli's sword and brought his own around hard. Quickly, Fíli parried before slashing again. Back and forth they went, strike-parry-slash, their swords in constant motion. Fíli was dimly aware of the ache in his arm, the stiffness in his shoulder stretching past the breaking point, but in the forefront of his thoughts was only that he refused to be treated like a dwarfling.
Kíli brought his sword around but Fíli was too slow in his parry, his arm too tense now to block in time. Kíli's blade glanced off Fíli's and struck him hard in the shoulder. The blow was a dull ache with a tiny sliver of fire at its center.
The rage they had expended on one another dissolved in an instant. Kíli came closer to inspect the wound. "It's not bad, but maybe we should get you to Óin."
Fíli would not go to the healer over something so minor. "Just bring me a wet cloth."
His breath came in jagged flames as he sat down in the ring where they had been sparring. Kíli returned in a moment with a cloth and a jar of salve. Fíli pressed the cloth against his shoulder and checked the flow of blood. A line of red stood out against the white cloth, but it wasn't much. He had certainly had worse. Replacing the cloth on his arm, he held it tight to stem the flow.
"Well," Kíli said as he sat on the floor to face Fíli, "I'm wealthy."
Fíli inspected the blood flow again. "What?"
"You told me that if I ever managed to strike you hard enough to draw blood you would give me one hundred gold coins."
Fíli exhaled a laugh. "We were dwarflings when I said that."
"A deal's a deal." Kíli watched him a moment and grew more serious. "What was that about?"
Fíli shook his head. "Nothing. Everything."
Kali waited for a real answer. Where to start?
"Astrid is armed." He hadn't been able to get the thought from his mind since she had confided it that first day. "She had daggers on when I haven't worn mine in years. What does that say about me?"
"That you'd better not try anything too forward?"
Fíli wasn't in a joking mood. "We're growing too comfortable, Kíli. We should be the ones out there culling out the orcs, not cooped up in here making sure Thorin's line is well protected from all danger."
"Not that danger cannot come from within the Mountain," Kíli said quietly.
Fíli stilled. "You've heard the talk."
Kíli gave a reluctant nod. A small but vocal faction of dwarves thought the King and his heir weren't battle-ready. Dáin and his son were. It didn't take a very smart dwarf to figure out the conclusions some were drawing.
"Folk worry," Kíli said in a low voice. "Thorin won't so much as walk to Dale to meet with Bard."
"Thorin won't even walk through the halls of Erebor." If Uncle was ashamed of his injuries, he had only drawn attention to them by shutting himself in the royal corridors. The mystery surrounding his health had made it a thing of curiosity and speculation, even Fíli had heard whispers of that much.
"He did win us safety," Kíli said at last.
"Some say that was Dáin's doing." The Lord of the Iron Hills's timely arrival was widely considered the turning point of the battle, and some thought the battle Thorin's fault to begin with. "And if trouble comes again? Who will the soldiers follow into battle? Me? You?"
Kíli had come through the Great Battle mostly unscathed, but he was no captain. If battle should come to the Mountain, one of them - Thorin, Fíli, Kíli - should lead the soldiers who marched out to meet it. And yet, since the Battle they had not been allowed to spear so much as a boar, much less an orc.
Across the training rooms, Dwalin stood talking with a young soldier. Their old mentor was Captain of the Guard now, and trained his recruits mercilessly. It took but a moment for Fíli to make up his mind. With a last glance at Kíli, he stood and crossed the room, careful to avoid dwarves engaged in sparring, knife-throwing, and hand-to-hand combat. When Dwalin noticed him, he dismissed the soldier.
Dwalin nodded at Fíli. "Did your brother best you?"
He had hoped the hit would have gone unnoticed, but Dwalin's eyes missed nothing. "I wouldn't call it that."
"Oh, I would." Kíli had followed and now stood at Fíli's elbow. "Please call it that. I just want to hear you say it one time, out loud."
Fíli ignored him. "Are you selecting soldiers to pick off the orcs on our borders?"
Dwalin crossed his arms. "I am."
"I want to be part of the company."
The look Dwalin leveled at him was all steel. "You just had your arse handed to you by a dwarfling."
Kíli's grin quickly turned into a scowl.
"You know we should be part of this effort."
"Erebor's heir, out on a raiding party? Thorin won't like it."
"No, but the Dwarves of Erebor will." Fíli didn't have to say anything about the rumors of unrest - surely Dwalin was already well aware of them. "And I need it."
Dwalin looked grim a long moment before he broke into a deadly grin. "That you do." He turned to Kíli and clapped him on the shoulder. "What about you, laddie? Do you need to kill a few orcs again, too?"
"As many as it takes."
Dwalin's laughter cut into the noise of the training rooms. "Now we're talking."
Astrid made a slow circuit of the grand hall as she examined portraits of stately dwarves. That afternoon Fíli had led them to the gallery dedicated to the Line of Durin and his ancestors, where not just kings but their families were on display that they might not be forgotten. Many of the stone sculptures had been in place since Erebor was first cut into the Mountain nearly a thousand years ago, but more recent likenesses had been taken in charcoals and oils. She gazed at the face of a hard-nosed old dwarrowdam who looked back at her with unbridled contempt. The artist had brilliantly captured the dwarrowdam's disdain - Astrid felt censured simply by looking at the painting.
After some study, she realized Fíli stood beside her, watching her with a curious expression as though her interest itself were a mystery. He was obviously not an artist.
"Do you see the family resemblance?" he asked. He furrowed his brow and shot a look of malice at her in an attempt to duplicate the old matron's scowl.
"You do have the same mustache braids."
He turned once again to the portrait and examined it up close. "So we do. They look even more handsome on her."
"Who was she, do you know?"
"Some ancient grandmother, I suppose. To be honest, I've rarely visited these halls. I can only take so much lineage at one time." He grinned, but she thought she saw some truth behind the smile.
"It's a wonder these weren't ruined when the dragon came." These last weeks she had marveled at just how much of the Lonely Mountain had been untouched by the assault. In her youth she had imagined the whole of the Mountain to be destroyed to make room for the dragon's lair, but that was not so.
"There was nothing he wanted in here," Fíli said as he glanced absently around at the stone sculptures and massive paintings. "He ransacked every room he could reach that had gold in it, but a chamber such as this would have been past his notice."
"I'm glad to know a dragon and I have so little in common."
Fíli laughed at her silly commentary. "So am I."
"You wouldn't believe how filthy everything was, though," Kíli said as he and Idunn caught them up. "Cobwebs from here to Moria, rats the size of your head."
"You would make an interesting historian, Kíli," Idunn said.
"Oh, I know the most fascinating things." He turned to Fíli. "For example, did you know that Idunn's charge, here, is an artist?"
Astrid stood the straighter. "I am no one's charge."
Kíli gave her a generous smile. "You are a bit." The implication rankled, but he was too good-natured in his teasing for her to stay irritated with him for long.
"Are you an artist, Astrid?" Fíli asked.
"I draw."
"You draw," Idunn repeated dryly. "Your drawings rival any of those in the Iron Hills." She turned to Fíli and continued on. "Lord Dáin had his son and daughter sit for her, and the portraits she drew now hang in his private study."
"You have never said that you have such talents," Fíli remarked.
"It's never come up," Astrid said. There was much yet they didn't know about each other, her hobbies among them.
"Do you know, I think I would like to sit for a portrait," Kíli said. "But only if I am assured that you can capture my innate nobility." He stood to full height and glowered down at Astrid as though he were staring down an orc. "I am told it is very innate."
Astrid gave a little laugh. "I'm sure I would do my best."
"Where are your portraits?" Idunn asked them as she glanced around the hall.
"We have none," Kíli said
Astrid looked between him and Fíli, unable to believe such a simple statement. "This entire gallery is dedicated to your House, and you aren't a part of it?"
"Uncle says we can immortalize him after he's dead," Kíli said with a grin.
"But what about you, your mother?"
"I suppose it hasn't been a priority," Fíli said.
"You're the royal family," Astrid said as though he had somehow forgotten, "you should have your portraits here."
"We've had a few more important things to concern ourselves with these last few years." Fíli's voice had a slight edge to it and Astrid realized the impertinence of arguing with him. He had been good and kind so far, but he was the Prince of Erebor, and should not be quarreled with simply because she appreciated portraits and he did not.
"You are right, of course." She turned away to examine the other portraits but suddenly wished to be anywhere else. Her guilty thoughts turned to how much work had been done since Erebor had been retaken - of course they had not had time to think of something as frivolous as a portrait when rebuilding went unfinished.
"If it's any consolation," Fíli said to her softly, "Mother agrees with you. She's a big believer in custom. Uncle Thorin..." He shrugged. "Well, Thorin does as he sees fit."
In time their little group left the portrait gallery and walked lazily towards the Main Hall. The thoroughfare was crowded as dwarves strode about intent on business of one kind or another. The Princes' presence was announced in loud whispers that spread through the hall, gossips and gawkers taking the place of heralds. At first their gazes slid over Astrid with indifference, before they focused on her again with more curiosity. Unasked questions seemed to hang in the air, but for the most part the dwarves returned to their own agendas and left the Princes to theirs.
"Is there anything you have need of from the market?" Fíli asked.
She thought of her well-stocked desk and seemingly unlimited supply of food from the kitchens. "My rooms have been so well outfitted, I cannot think of having need of anything for many months."
He looked doubtful as he considered her. "Nothing at all? I thought all dwarf-maids went to market every week with the express intention of buying something they don't need."
"Just as all warriors go to the armorers' stalls each week to buy another axe they don't need?"
A grin danced across Fíli's mouth. "Everyone could use another axe. Come, let's see what we may find. Maybe something frivolous will spark both our interests."
A buzzing sensation pulsed through her from her own sparked interest as she let Fíli lead her into Erebor's market lanes. The commotion was deafening. The market was the size of the Iron Hills' marketplace three times over. Stalls and tents that sold goods of every sort filled the great cavern. Everything she looked at was a delight to behold - toys, fabric, clothing, stoneware, jewelry. The delicious smells from the food carts were overpowering in their temptation.
They walked slowly through the market, Fíli trying to get Astrid to choose something she liked, and she steadfastly unwilling to do so. He seemed to earnestly want to buy her something, but what he sought out was wholly unacceptable: furs, ornately carved trinket boxes, jeweled beads for her hair. She could not accept such a present from someone she had known barely two weeks, even - perhaps especially - the Crown Prince.
"There must be something you would like," he finally said. "The whole of Erebor's marketplace is at your disposal."
"There is something," she said when her eyes lit on a stall across the market. She made her way through the crowd, hardly noticing Kíli showing off for Idunn by juggling pieces of fruit. The stall Astrid chose was laid out with charcoal sticks in neat rows, brightly-hued inks in cut glass vials, little pots of colored paints, and fine drawing paper. The dwarf behind the table gave her a nod, silently inviting her to examine the wares.
Fíli seemed reluctant to accept her choice as he looked from her to the half-dozen drawing charcoals she held out to him. "This is what you want, is it?"
"These are very fine, and I would be grateful to have them."
The way he looked at her so closely, she thought she had offended him in choosing something so meager. Had she misunderstood his intentions regarding the extravagant offers? But then a slow smile spread across his face. "Then I will be happy to give them to you."
There was a crash behind them as Kíli's juggling act came to an end.
"And it seems we've worn out our welcome anyway," Fíli added.
Idunn and Astrid hurried their feet along the corridor that led to the royal family's private dining room. After another afternoon of being squired about the halls by the princes they had retired to their chambers to change for supper. Two weeks of wandering Erebor had shown them but the smallest portion of the immense caverns, but at least Idunn felt she could roam about the main corridors and find her way back to her rooms on her own.
The guards opened the dining room doors, and the women stepped inside. Kíli immediately came forward to greet them. "My ladies, it has been far too long."
Idunn found his flirtatious charm amusing. Of the brothers, Kíli was the more outgoing and the less guarded in his choice of words. Fíli seemed always watchful, as though measuring his comments before speaking them. That was no bad thing, but in a palace so formal as Erebor, Kíli's easy-going attitude was a relief.
"How did you manage all this time without us?" she asked. He and Fíli had left them at their chamber doors not two hours earlier, but if he wanted to tease, Idunn would play along.
"I confess, it was a struggle." He grinned again and gestured them towards the table with a sweep of his arm.
As Idunn took her place, King Thorin's hard gaze was on her and she quickly glanced away from him. There had been no alteration in placement since their first night in the Mountain, leaving Idunn between Thorin, who sat at the head of the table, and Kíli, who sat between herself and Astrid. As much as she enjoyed Kíli's company, she did not relish having to endure King Thorin's silent observation at mealtimes. Apart from a handful of grumbled greetings, he had said nothing at all to her or Astrid since the night of their arrival.
"A caravan leaves for the Iron Hills in two days," Lady Dís said as they all fell to their meals. "If you wish to send a letter to your mother, Astrid, they will carry it for you."
"Thank you, I will write to her. She will be happy to know I am well."
"Have you anyone to write to in the Iron Hills, Idunn?" Kíli asked with a saucy bob of his eyebrows.
She hadn't a chance to respond before King Thorin spoke in his low, rumbling voice. "I understand your father was a bladesmith, Idunn."
"Yes," she said, trying to conceal her shock at being addressed directly by the king. He had made such a show of ignoring her, any attention he paid her at all could only be a surprise. "He was one of the finest bladesmiths in all the Iron Hills."
King Thorin's small smile felt more patronizing than appreciative, and it spurred her to go on. Whether that was for her father's reputation or her own, she didn't bother to think. "Folk of dwarves and men came from leagues around to purchase weapons forged by him. Lord Dáin's own sword is of his make. I only wish I could have learned more from him."
One of King Thorin's eyebrows twitched. "You are a bladesmith?"
Now she had no doubt of his condescension, and a spark of fire lit in her chest. "I am. I grew up at his side in the forges."
King Thorin laid down his knife and fork, and clasped his hands before him, his lips pressed into a tight line. His gaze was heavy, as though capable only of finding defect and blemish. She sat up straighter, but turned her face towards Dís at the other end of the table, unwilling to let the king see just how much he unnerved her.
From Kíli's other side, Astrid said, "Idunn made my daggers. They are very fine."
"Ah, you work at silversmithing then." Thorin nodded and picked up his knife and fork again. "Making decorative daggers for dwarf-maids that would snap when put to any real test is very different from forging weapons meant for battle."
The spark in Idunn's chest flamed into anger, but she kept herself in check. It would not do to raise her voice with the king. "Many of the soldiers who came to your defense at the Great Battle wielded weapons that bore my mark. You may ask them whether their weapons snapped when put to the test."
Idunn heard Astrid's soft gasp and instantly regretted her words, if only for her sake. She could not sit idly and accept such derision, even from King Thorin, but neither would she intentionally jeopardize Astrid's match.
King Thorin's eyes narrowed. "Show me."
She paused a beat. "Sire?"
"Show me." His steel blue eyes were cool and steady in their challenge. "Craft me a sword as you have done for so many of the Iron Hills."
His expectation of her failure was evident in his caustic tone. He didn't think she would try. He probably didn't even believe she knew how. Did this King Under the Mountain think he alone could forge a weapon?
"If you wish it." She turned away again.
"I will tell Balin to expect you."
Her heart hammered away in her chest. Fine. I will make a sword for King Thorin of Erebor.
"I'll show you the forges tomorrow then, shall I?" Kíli asked, cracking a smile.
Idunn opened her mouth to accept when Thorin interrupted. "No. I'll have need of you tomorrow. Someone else may show Idunn the way."
Kíli looked as though he would argue, but the glare Thorin gave him could have dropped an orc. Kíli shut his mouth and returned his attention to his supper. The King Under the Mountain was in a commanding mood, it seemed.
After the supper things had been cleared away, Dís summoned them all to the hearth. "Come, have a seat," she said, "no need to run off so soon. Though with sword-making challenges being doled out, it's no wonder you should want to."
Thorin huffed and crossed his arms but didn't rise to his sister's bait. The girls took the offered seats next to the fireplace, but King Thorin didn't move. He always remained at the head of the dining table rather than join the little party around the fire after meals. It seemed a perfect representation of him that he would keep his distance while everyone else enjoyed themselves.
If the king wanted to be miserable she would leave him to it. His dour demeanor only made her more stubborn in keeping her attitude lively with Kíli and the others. She laughed the louder, smiled the brighter, and talked the longer, hoping it galled him that his attitude hadn't affected hers. By the time she and Astrid excused themselves for the evening, he wore a ferocious scowl that Idunn accepted as a minor victory.
