Chapter Three

The Grey Mountains troupe reached Erebor by mid-morning. Olin showed the guards at the gates the letter bearing King Thorin's seal. Jora gulped as they entered mountain. The entrance hall was many times bigger than the one in Lord Halvar's mountain hall. Onyx columns lined the way to the rest of the mountain. Dwarrow were everywhere. Jora fiddled nervously with folds in her simple blue linen grown, and Elin intertwined her arm with her sisters as other dwarrow watched them.

"Let Jora go!" Lady Eda hissed to her daughter. "As long as we are here, she's not your sister, but your servant." Reluctantly, Elin obeyed, and Jora dutifully fell a few steps behind her sister.

Just then, an older dwarrow in a fine burgundy tunic came forward. His long white beard was unplaited, but styled to fork at the bottom. His short hair stood up in spikes. He had a warm, kind face and genuine smile.

"Welcome, my lord and ladies, to Erebor. I am Balin, son of Fundin, at your service," he bowed to Lady Eda, who curtsied and answered similarly, then introduced Olin and Elin. "And who might this charming young lady be?" he asked, turning a friendly smile to Jora, who was not behind the wagon with the other servants.

"My daughter's personal maid," Lady Eda answered in a disinterested tone. Jora quickly dropped into a graceful curtsy.

"I see," he said thoughtfully. "Well, tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss...?"

"Her name's Jora," Elin supplied. Jora met the kind Lord Balin's eyes briefly before lowering them to the floor. Oh yes, she knew exactly who this was: Lord Balin, King Thorin's chief advisor who went on the quest to reclaim Erebor! He was a hero and a dwarrow of great influence.

"Well, I suppose you'd like to be shown your rooms so you can freshen up before meeting their Majesties, hmm?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Elin answered. "A real bath would be ever so lovely."

"Elin!" Lady Eda gasped, then turned to Lord Balin. "We would be most grateful, my lord."

Balin offered Lady Eda his arm, according to custom. "Right this way, my lady." Elin immediately grabbed Jora's hand and dragged her along with them. Jora, with a look of silent protest, tried to free her hand, but Elin did not let go.

"Someone has to tell the others where our rooms are, right?" Elin whispered with a grin as she linked arms with Jora once more.

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"No, Elin! It is out of the question! She's here as your servant!"

"If Jora does not go, the I will not come."

Olin, who had changed into his second-best tunic and trousers, and Jora watched from across the room as Lady Eda and Elin argued. Elin was adamant on Jora coming to meet the king and princes, but Lady Eda refused on the grounds that Jora was supposed to be servant, and she did not want the royal family to think Jora was a candidate.

"Mother, if these prince are as picky about their potential mate as you say they are, and if Jora is truly not 'princess material' as you say she is, then what have to fear? They'll pass her off as a common lady's companion and not give her a second glance," Elin argued.

"She makes a true point, Mother," Olin shrugged.

"Oh, very well!" Lady Eda threw up her hands. "Go put a nicer dress on Jora. And for Mahal's sake cover up that wild hair of yours!" She stomped into the sitting room to wait, her blue silk gown rustling angrily as she swept out of the room.

Elin whirled around, practically squealing with joy.

"I think I'll go join Mother," Olin mumbled and quickly left.

"Oh, which one will you wear?" Elin dashed over to her wardrobe and began searching through gowns. "The pink? No that one will clash with your hair...oh, yes! The pale blue will contrast lovely with your complexion..."

Jora tapped her shoulder and handed her a note, stopping Elin in her tracts.

"I cannot wear one of your gowns, Elin. I will look like your equal rather than your maid. I'll wear one of mine."

"But Jora, this could be your one chance. See, if they see you, and like you, they might ask after you! Then Mother could not refuse to send to the balls and banquets!"

Jora shook her head. "I am not a candidate, Sister. I... I am...deficient."

"Deficient?!" Elin gasped, hand press to her heart. "How in Mahal's name are you deficient?"

"I am a nobody."

"Jora..."

"And I cannot speak. You know it is seen as either a curse of Mahal or a sign that I am of a weak, slow mind. The king and his princes, high and noble though they may be, will not see me any differently than anyone else."

"But they might not!"

"It does not matter. I will wear my fawn-colored dress; it is quite fine enough for a maid to wear. I will gather my hair into one of my snoods and cover it with a kerchief."

"Very well, Jora," Elin sighed. "but I am still going to find a way to get into at least one ball."

"If there is a way, you will surely find it, Sister."