"King Bard is waiting to have his audience," Balin reminded Thorin for the third time, and Thorin gritted his teeth.
He could answer - yet again - that he just needed to finish reading this one debenture - but instead he just sighed and kept his eyes on the parchment.
"He claims he has finally brought those treaty drafts you'd requested," Balin droned in the background.
Thorin closed his eyes and invoked Mahal the Maker asking for patience.
"And he had brought a scribe," Balin added.
"Good," Thorin answered and continued reading.
"And when I went to greet our honourable visitor," Balin continued and then held a pause.
Thorin sighed again. He was almost done reading, but now he had trouble focusing. Balin's silence was pregnant.
Thorin lowered the parchment and gave the old Dwarf a purposeful expectant look.
"You'll see, I reckon, laddie," Balin said with a chuckle. "I only want you to brace yourself. And keep quiet."
The old man's riddles were hardly entertaining, and Thorin decided he might as well be done with all this nuisance faster. He put the papers aside and allowed his visitors.
The Bargeman stepped in. His attire was still unbecoming, some modest dark coat, no adornment, no jewels. He had three older men with him, familiar to Thorin by now. They were the elders from Esgaroth that Bard had chosen as his counsellors. Thorin looked at the fifth person in the company, and despite the lowered face and the attempts to hide behind the others he recognised her immediately.
"My lord," King Bard greeted him, making Thorin jerk and look away from Eorwyn.
"My lord," Thorin answered absent-mindedly.
She was dressed in the clothes similar to the Men. Her hair was even shorter now, but combed. She had a large ledger with her, and a scribe's trunk hung over her shoulder on a long strap. When the King and the counsellors sat down, she tucked herself behind a small desk by the wall, opened the trunk, and took out quills and ink bottles.
"This is Eoren, our new scribe. He's proficient in many languages," Bard said, probably having noticed Thorin's looks.
Thorin nodded as if disinterested and turned his attention to the discussion.
A few hours later after yet another shoal of documents had been looked through, rectified, argued about, and put aside for 'more consideration,' the Men rose to leave. Thorin felt the familiar pang of irritation that he couldn't follow the example. He would probably still make the Bargeman come to him for negotiations, since Thorin felt no desire to set foot into that swamp of a town again, and Dale wouldn't be restored any time soon. To sit in a large chair, preferably set on an elevated part of the room would be best, but he would agree on simply having a choice of rising to his feet.
Bows and goodbyes followed, and the Men left. Balin chuckled from his spot.
"What now?" Thorin grumbled.
"What a clever girl," the old man said and pointed at the scribe's trunk left under the desk.
A minute later a knock came to the door.
"Come in," Thorin said; and the girl edged into the room.
"Pardon, my lords, I seem to have misplaced my tools," she mumbled, and then firmly closed the door behind.
Only then she finally lifted her eyes at Thorin for the first time. Her gaze searched his face; and he smiled at her widely.
"My lady Eorwyn," he said, and a tentative smile fluttered on her lips. "Although, as I see, you still aren't a lady."
She laughed softly and stepped closer to his bed.
"Good day, my lord." She then turned to Balin. "My lord."
The old man grinned at her and stretched his hand. She took it, and Thorin saw Balin pat the back of her small palm with his other hand.
"It is such a relief to see you unscathed… Master Eoren," he said with another chuckle.
"I am well, thank you, my lord. The Elves made sure of it." She then turned to Thorin again. "I am so glad to see you both alive. And others? Has any of the company-" She didn't continue, and exhaled with relief when Thorin shook his head.
"All well. Some wounded, but Lord Thorin and Master Fili were the ones to sustain most injuries, and they are on the mend." Balin smiled at the girl again. "Have you faced the Battle?"
"No, no." She shook her head. "Master Findir, the Elven healer didn't allow me to leave at the time, only after the Battle. And then I just joined the Men in the camp. I'm staying there now, and then I'm hoping-"
She abruptly stopped her account. "I'm sorry, it's of no interest to you. I just wanted to thank you again for saving me." She looked between the two Dwarves. "And for not revealing the truth to King Bard and the Elders now."
"Do you wish to remain in disguise then?" Balin asked.
"Aye, I think it's the best. Considering my past and-" She once again didn't finish her thought. "If it is no trouble for you, could you please keep my secret henceforth as well?"
"The choice is yours," Balin said.
"Thank you."
Thorin saw light blush colour her cheeks. She looked healthier now, though just as lean. She looked like a fawn, thin and long-limbed. Her eyes shone with life, and Thorin smiled pleased. He had spared her no thought since he had seen her last, but it was joyful to know she was well and safe.
She bowed to both of them, took her trunk, and left.
Thorin quickly picked up a parchment from the bedside table to avoid Balin's habitual summation.
"She looked well," Balin started, and Thorin sighed.
Apparently a page from the store ledger he hid behind wasn't a sign clear enough that he wished no further idle discussion.
"We need to tell the others to keep their mouths shut about her true self, and-"
"Aye, aye. Could you send for my tray?" Thorin interrupted.
He didn't need to lower the page to know how misted the eyes of the old sentimental goat were right now. Thorin was happy to see the girl as well, of course; but now the question of their stowaway was resolved even more completely. There was nothing to discuss here.
Balin left, and Thorin threw the page aside and stretched on the bed, gritting his teeth. His wounds ached, and his head felt heavy. Perhaps a storm was coming.
