Authors' Note: Welcome back! We hope that you enjoy our romp through Tolkien's world. If you recognize it, it's probably from Tolkien or Peter Jackson. If it's an non-Tolkienian idea you've seen before in fanfiction, feel free to assume it's a (most likely) subconscious allusion/tribute to the original author. Happy reading! Elle and Rhi
Fevered Excitement
The reaction of the crowd was instantaneous, and loud. Fili carefully kept his face impassive as the men and women before them tittered, gesturing wildly and speaking in ever increasing volumes of good fortune, prophecies, and disbelief. Thorin merely raised his eyebrow, fixing the guard with the look Fili had seen many times in his childhood: the 'well? Aren't you going to hop to?'
"Are we to be kept out here like unwanted vagrants?" the dwarf-king asked coldly. "Or will you fetch your master to greet us?"
The drunken fool fell down twice more in his haste to scamper away, and Thorin strode confidently through the gate, gazing imperiously upon the gathered masses. The rest followed, Dwalin of course at Thorin's right, only half a step behind, while Fili moved to his left. He wished he could glance back, make sure someone was helping poor exhausted Biliana, but now was not the time to show either weakness or indecision - or anything that could be mistaken for it.
The crowd parted to let them pass, falling strangely silent as Thorin and his Companions moved through them. A second, much younger guard approached the dwarrow, eyes bulging with excitement, and bade them, stumbling over his words, to follow.
They were led through the dilapidated town, watched eagerly by whispering men and women and wide-eyed children. Eventually they came into a small square, framed by better quality buildings and a stately town hall. Waiting on the steps was a large, fat, balding man and a small dark thing - Fili supposed it, too, was a man - lurking by his side. Arrayed behind him was a cadre of the well-to-do of the townsfolk, though their finery was threadbare and worn.
"Welcome, Welcome!" The fat man crowed, flinging his arms wide and twirling his hands in a flamboyantly foolish approximation of courtly gesture. "Welcome to Laketown, King Under the Mountain! I am its humble Master, and I speak for all when I say this winsome occasion is beyond all our hopes!" He bowed deeply, a chain of office flapping against slightly faded garments of garish ornamentation.
He continued speaking after rising, still in loquacious terms, but Fili noted dryly that his eyes never left the golden chain visible around Thorin's neck.
"But where are my manners!" the Master cried. "Come, come! You must be hungry, and it shan't do to keep such distinguished guests waiting!" He gestured dramatically behind him, towards the open doors of the hall. "Join my friends and me, for a most deliquescent repose!" Most of the dwarrow in normal situations would have rushed in, Fili knew, but they calmly if resolutely followed Thorin as he made his stately way into the building. The Master's eyes, and those of his shadow, darted back and forth across the forms of each Companion, lingering uncomfortably long on Biliana. Fili frowned, and signaled Bofur to remain close to her side: he would have done it himself, or sent her kinsmen, but Balin and Dwalin had their own parts to play in this uncertain place. He was happy to note, then, when she was seated across from him and Kili, from where they sat at their uncle's left, Dwalin and Balin on his right. Food was quickly served, and most but not all, of it was welcome.
"Push these away, would you Kee?" he gestured towards a plate of baked apples, trying not to wince. "My barrel stank of apples, and I never want to smell any again."
Laughing, Kili obliged, but not before transferring a large spoonful onto his own plate, eating it with great enjoyment as his brother watched in distaste. He laughed at Fili's face.
"You were lucky! I'm not sure what was in my barrel before, but it didn't smell so pleasant as fruit!"
The banter continued for some time, Bofur joining into the princes' conversation much more freely than he would have at the beginning of the Quest. Biliana, however, said nothing. Fili was growing concerned, and, judging by the frequent looks Thorin and Dwalin were sending her way, so were they.
The food flowed abundantly, as did the wine. It wasn't particularly good wine, but it merried their hearts nonetheless. Nori's eyes were bright, and he had struck up a boisterous conversation with a gaggle of the Master's threadbare hangers-ons, gesticulating wildly and gawping at their stories. He certainly looked deep in his cups, but Fili knew him well enough by then to know that it was largely an act: he certainly had not reduced his vigilance over the crowd. They might have enjoyed themselves more, relishing their renewed freedom and relative safety, but none of them could to relax, wary of the Master and his ever-fawning minion, and worried about their hobbit.
Throughout the dinner, she turned down multiple offerings of food (a first for the halfling lass), and grew paler and began to cough and shiver as the night dragged on. She buried her face into her sleeve, trying to keep her coughs and sniffles quiet, and it seemed the men around them did not, in fact, notice, but her dwarrow did. Bofur worked hard to help hide her weakness, and drew rather more attention to himself than perhaps necessary when wandering eyes turned her way. But when her head began to droop, Thorin rose to his feet.
"I thank you, most heartily, for your generosity, and your company this evening," the king began as Fili gestured for their Company to rise. "But our journey has not been kind, and we are ready to procure lodgings for the night, if you would be willing to direct us to an inn."
Biliana swayed perilously; out of the corner of his eye, Fili noted Bofur and Dori closing ranks with the hobbit woman, Dori catching her arm as Bofur's hand went to the small of her back. Unfortunately, the movement caught the Master's eye.
"And what sort of creature is this companion of yours? She seems too small to be a dwarven lady!" His tone was even more unpleasant than before as he peered down at her.
Fili tensed; Thorin grit his teeth. But Balin answered smoothly with a politician's benevolent smile, but with a tone Fili knew was a warning.
"This is Biliana, my kinswoman." He drew himself up, his hands relaxed and poised, but in easy reach of his thatrzagr. "A Lady of the line of Fundin."
The Master blinked; his lackey moved closer to Billa, but drew back when Dwalin cracked his knuckles; the bustle of many people muted the sharp sounds but the implied threat was tangible. Their burglar sighed quietly, but said nothing.
"Oh, my apologies!" The Master's face shifted, becoming much more fawning."Oh, my apologies! I meant no offense, but it has been so long since any dwarf-ladies were seen in these parts!"
"Dwarrowdam, actually, but that is beside the point." Balin waved a hand. "And no offense is taken. But we truly must beg your leave to seek our beds. I'm afraid we are all quite exhausted, and shan't be good company for much longer. The inn is…?"
"Oh, an inn is no place for a King and his companions!" The Master flapped his thick hand dismissively. "Please, take your rest in my family home; I rarely have time to remain there anymore, so busy am I seeing to the affairs of state! But still, it is a lovely home, and quite large enough to suit your needs!"
Thorin hesitated; Fili, too, worried that accepting would put them more in the debt of this unknown buffoon, but to refuse would be ungrateful, and still they needed his goodwill and that of his people, who waited on Thorin's every word with bated breath.
"You are most generous, above any claim or expectation of mine, to an exile and his friends," Thorin said at last. "And we most gratefully accept your kind offer."
This was the right answer, so far as the gathered men were concerned, and they roared their approval. Guards escorted the dwarrow and their hobbit to the large wooden house, but a good deal of the men, both from inside the hall and waiting outside, followed in procession after them, cheering and singing songs.
The King beneath the Mountain,
The King of carven stone
The lord of silver fountains
Shall come into his own!
His crown shall be upholden,
His harp shall be restrung,
His halls shall echo golden,
To songs of yore re-sung.
The woods shall wave on mountains
And grass beneath the sun;
His wealth shall flow in fountains
And the rivers golden run.
The streams shall run in gladness,
The lakes shall shine and burn,
All sorrow fail and sadness
At the Mountain-king's return!
They could not reach the house fast enough. Biliana collapsed in a chair as soon as the door was closed behind them. She weakly tried to wave off Óin, but the bast'khuzd would not be discouraged. He sighed deeply as he finished his inspection.
"You've done a number on yourself, haven't you, lass?
Her answer was a harsh cough followed by a violent sneeze. He grinned.
"No surprise, given the river. Just a cold, I think; some rest, some warm fluids, and in a few days she'll be solid as steel." he told Thorin, ignoring the now-scowling hobbit.
"Very well," the king answered. "Let's get her to bed, then." he smirked at her sudden violent blush. "Balin, Dwalin, see to your kinswoman." He looked around as Dwalin hurried to lift the tiny hobbit. "The rest of you…" he trailed off, thinking.
"We know little - far too little - about the people here." he admitted, looking over the Company with his general's eye. "We will need to correct that. Nori," the thief gave a salute, "don't try filching here… we can't risk any ill will, not now. But I need you to learn all you can, about the Master - his weaknesses and his tempers. Who is for us here, and who could be against us? Bofur, Kili," he turned to the merry miner and his youngest nephew, "make sure those who are for us, stay with us, and those that are neutral come to be for us. Glóin, count what coin we have left, and give them all we can spare from supplies: a round or two for the tavern's full might win us much. But," he allowed with a wry grin, "I leave much of that to your judgments; you know more of the winning of friends than I."
Kili smiled, as did Bofur, but there was a serious glint in their eyes. Nori gazed out of the window at the roofline, his nimble fingers working over his belt, divesting himself of his few noisy accoutrements, necessities of living in the Wild; Fili would not be surprised in the morning to find that the dwarf had gone climbing this night.
Thorin paused as he looked over the remaining dwarves, meeting Fili's eye in an admission of indecision. Fili, as his current heir, and Balin and Dwalin as advisor and bodyguard (for even if the king dare suggest it, they both knew Dwalin would never let Thorin walk unattended in an unfamiliar settlement of men) had obvious enough roles, but Fili knew he had not yet before considered how best to use the others in politicking, not journeying or fighting.
A disturbance at one window answered one question quickly enough. Bifur snorted like a boar, storming over to the glass-paned window and shouted in Khuzdul, shaking his fist at the rowdy peepers, scattering them. Thorin smiled grimly.
"Bifur, stay at the house. We do not want the curious to become bolder, or to be unaware of the Master's servants' comings and goings, especially as…" he glanced up at the ceiling significantly. Bifur grunted. "You'll be our warden here."
The veteran shook his spear in promise.
Bombur too was commissioned to stay, to assist Óin in his care for Biliana and to cook for them - Thorin would rather be reliant on the Master's chefs as little as possible. Glóin and Dori were to inspect the marketplace for supplies - inspect, but not yet purchase. Rushing, all dwarves knew, was the best way to get slag sold as gold. Then he turned his slightly guilty gaze to Ori.
"I don't know yet what you ought do, Ori."
The young dwarf only smiled. "Not much I can do, I'm afraid. I'm not charming or cunning, and I doubt Laketown's got a library or librarian to befriend." He looked up the stairs, where Dwalin and Balin are yet to emerge. "By your leave, I'll stay on to assist Óin or Bombur, chart what needs we have, and work on my manuscript while able."
Thorin had no objection to the plan, nor did Balin when he returned after leaving his kinswoman to her rest. Dwalin only grunted, eyes frequently darting back towards the ceiling.
They were mostly left alone the next morning - though curious men constantly tried to peek under the curtains, no messengers from the Master disturbed their breakfast. The lazy peace and abundant food distracted the dwarrow for a time, but eventually they realized Biliana was absent. Dwalin went up to fetch her, but quickly returned and all but dragged Óin back up the stairs. The remaining Companions looked at each other in alarm; Balin and Thorin quickly followed the warrior and healer to the second floor.
After a long, awkward silence, the Companions began to clean up the meal in a subdued manner. That done, they parted ways, most going back to their sleeping places, but Nori, Bofur and Kili braved the crowds outside to begin their investigations and goodwill tours; Fili smiled despite himself when he heard the cheers. Glancing back up the stairs, he sighed. Taking a seat near the fire, he waited. Alone in his thoughts, he let himself, for a moment, indulge his morose longing for Svitha, and wonder what she would think of recent developments. She would not like the Master, he was sure. But he had no doubt she'd be amused by the mother-bear their hobbit had reduced Dwalin to. He smiled, but then sighed.
Thorin came down then, looking grim.
"Óin says it's not dangerous," he said before Fili could even ask, "but she looks - and clearly feels - miserable." His lips twitched upward, Fili raised an eyebrow.
"What's funny about any of this? Her sickness was caused on our behalf, and besides, I dislike any weakness in this place, Ruk'dad."
Thorin nodded gravely, but soon smiled outright. "She's not best pleased right now. Óin is brewing her some noxious thing, and she's complaining already, even coughing every third breath. A bit like your brother would, actually."
Fili barked a laugh at the comparison. "Not a good patient, then?"
The king grinned. "Oh, I think she'll prove a terrible patient."
Thorin's predictions proved accurate. Biliana was as irritable as a wet cat all week: she tried to reject her medicines, snapped at visitors, and generally refused to be entertained. Even so, the Company was concerned enough about their burglar to keep vigil over her, taking turns - all except Kili, who fled her bedside within the first half hour. Thorin, amazingly, handled her moodiness best, with an unflappable patience that was the wonder of all. Dori was there almost as often - and normally at the same time - as Thorin, though he tended to allow their burglar's attention to remain on their king, his own focus apparently on the copious amount of mending required for the Company's worn garments.
When questioned by a beer-braved Bofur, as to his patience and grace in the sick-room, Thorin shrugged, and merely said, "Dís." Dwalin snorted beer onto the table; Fili nearly choked on his own brew.
Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin were often gone that week, however, as was Nori. The Master constantly invited Thorin to meetings or events, and the sons of Fundin, for obvious if different reasons, would not let him go alone. Fili accompanied him sometimes, when the surety of the line - and their confidence in bringing both king and heir - needed to be emphasized. Such times were tedious to the extreme. Not for the first time since reaching his majority, Fili silently wished his uncle would just hurry up and wed already, produce another heir, and save him from the dull burden of statecraft.
Nori continued his "research" into the people of Laketown. The third day, he hit gold. It appears that one of the captains of the guard (the only competent one, to hear tell of it) was the direct descendant of Girion, the last Lord of Dale. The news intrigued Thorin, who ordered Nori to arrange a conference between the two, with all possible discretion. Nori tried, but the bowman was stern and not typically free in conversation, and Nori - as one of the famous Company - was always watched when openly in public.
In the end, it was Glóin who found the means of bringing him into Thorin's presence without suspicion, and indeed entirely without intention. Joining Bofur for a pint at the one tavern in the town, the red-headed dwarf happened to be merrily into his cups when Bard and his men came in for a post-duty round. The two fell into easier conversation than would have been assumed: Bard, too, was a family man, a father of a son and two daughters, and the husband of an adored wife. Singing their beloveds' praises saw one, two, three pints go, and Glóin insisted Bard come back to the house, to see his picture-locket. The guard-captain obliged, smiling indulgently at the dwarf's boisterous singing.
Fili was shocked when Nori appeared, in no great humor, to warn them of Glóin's unwitting success. The young prince shared a look with Thorin as their spy disappeared back into the night once again. The opportunity was too great to ignore, but any appearance of artifice, even false, could kill the discussion before it began.
Glóin arrived, singing off-key, followed by a stern, tall man. Balin started, taken aback at the captain's appearance - Fili would later learn that the bowman was the spitting image of his noble ancestor - but Thorin greeted him amiably enough.
"Captain Bard; be welcome among us. What brings you here this evening?"
The stern man did not smile. "Master Glóin wishes to show me a treasure, but I was not aware my name was known to you."
Thorin gestured to a seat. "Indeed, it has been on my mind these last four days; and I have wished, though unsure how to achieve, a meeting with you." Noting his face, the king assured the guardsman, "Glóin played no contrivance upon you. If you wish merely to speak with him, and not with me, I will depart upstairs."
The bowman relaxed slightly. Glóin returned then, with the locket, and Bard was much engaged in praising the family to his new friend. A new noise on the stairs distracted Fili: he turned his gaze to see Biliana, leaning heavily on Ori's arm, carefully maneuver down the flight into the common area. Thorin was on his feet at once, relieving Ori of his precious burden and leading her towards the kitchen. Fili and the others in the front sitting room smiled and greeted her from where they sat, but those in the kitchen greeted her with such cheer and aplomb that Bard looked up from his conversation with Glóin.
"One of our Company, my kinswoman, has been ill." Balin explained. "She took cold on our journey down the river. This is the first time we have seen her downstairs since our arrival here."
Bard nodded. "I had heard a woman was among you. Alfrid - the small man who attends upon the Master - spoke of her." His face darkened, and Fili guessed they would not like the man's speech. But Bard gave no particulars. He shook his head, recalling himself. "I fear, master dwarves, that I know few of your names. Glóin," he gave a small, gentle smile, "of course, and I could hardly not know your leader, but some of you I know only by sight, and others not at all."
Balin apologized, and quickly corrected that. To continue courting his goodwill, they led Bard into the kitchen, to introduce Biliana and the rest.
She sat at one end of the table, still pale but improving in looks and humor, smiling gently as she sipped from a bowl of broth before her. Thorin stood beside her, quick to respond to any indication of need or want from her.
Names again were given, and Biliana smiled upon the bowman.
"I am pleased to meet you, Bard of Laketown. They say," she gave a significant look to Nori, who had returned unnoticed to the house, "that you are the heir of Girion."
Bard gave a short bow. "I am of Girion's line, but since Dale fell there has been little cause to call anyone his 'heir'."
"Not yet, perhaps," she smiled, glancing up at Thorin. He gestured to the seat on her left, which the bowman took, while the king sat at her right.
They spoke for some time, not comfortably and yet not awkwardly. Thorin would turn from time to time to adjust the blanket upon Biliana's shoulders, or to refill her glass of water. Bard watched these interludes with a knowing smile, and, considering the bowman's expressions, a welcome suspicion entered Fili's mind. He turned back to gaze upon his uncle and their halfling, and an impossible hope began to take root in his heart.
Bard and Thorin proceeded slowly. No promises or treaties were made that night, and a few times their hobbit laid her hand on Thorin's arm to keep the meeting from growing tense, but when Glóin's snores reminded them of the hour, they parted with firm handshakes and a promise to meet again.
"My new friend Glóin should answer any wonder of my visiting you during the remainder of your stay, however so long that might be," the guard-captain said with a questioning look. Thorin grimaced.
"In my heart I am eager to be off, but the Master is not yet satisfied, and until Biliana is again hale and whole I will not force the issue." He sighed, glancing back at where the halfling sat flanked by her kinsmen. Bard nodded.
"You have given me much to consider; I will come soon enough, I wager, to see your companion and hear more tell of his family; then, no doubt, we will also speak further."
"No doubt." Thorin nodded his head as the man departed. A last long look at Biliana, and the king went up the stairs to bed. Fili's eyes gleamed in the gloom as he watched their burglar follow Thorin with her gaze, and he desperately wished Svitha had observed the evening, to confirm his delighted suspicions. As it were, he would have to make do with the elder, more sensible members of the Company-all of whom, he noted sadly, had made their way to bed while he carefully considered everything he had just seen; Fili resigned himself to wait for the right moment the next day.
He had his chance at breakfast, arriving at that table before most of the others, most importantly Biliana and his uncle and damn nosy brother. Glóin nursed his aching head, but Balin listened to Fili's vague suppositions with attention, if also with growing amusement and unhelpful non-answers, visibly frustrating the young dwarf. Finally, Glóin snorted, glaring into his empty mug.
"Cottoned on, have you? Eh, well, better late than never…" He cast the mug to the table with a thud, visibly drawing himself together for the day, and squinted at the blond heir. "Well, I don't think it's too late to join the pool. I'll ask Nori if he's still taking wagers, if yer interested."
As Fili gaped, Balin laughed, his eyes twinkling. Fili grumbled into his breakfast, determinedly ignoring Bombur's knowing smile as the rotund cook brought over a second round of good food before the others came downstairs. The young dwarf swore under his breath, glowering at his own mug. He longed for Svitha and her discretion; she would have laughed at him more than the others, but at least she would have done so in private.
As sick and irritable as she was, sitting with Biliana had been vastly preferable to Thorin than indulging the Master. Now that she was growing well, spending hours in her company increased his dread all the more of the Master's table, and even of meeting with Bard.
The Master wanted promises, wealth and coin unimaged, though he was careful to make no ultimatums or threaten his largesse. Thorin, in his turn, was wary of promising riches yet unwon, but would remind the Master the opportunities of trade and commerce that would follow the retaking of Erebor, and promise that generosity now meant goodwill upon later success.
Bard was less greedy, at least on the surface, but more wary and skeptical of their chances. In principle he was for them, but doubt weighed heavy on their discussions.
"That Beast will not sleep forever, and Laketown is the nearest source of the food dragons are said to prefer." The man said one night, leaning forward in his chair. "All the same, I fear your visit will hurry our fate along."
Even with his doubts, he brought along perhaps the best piece of intelligence they had yet heard: Girion had sworn until his dying day that he had hit the dragon with a dwarven-forged black arrow, knocking loose a scale upon its breast.
"One more shot… and he would have brought down the beast." Bard assured Thorin with an earnest look, surprisingly youthful on that grim face. Whether it be true or no, Thorin could not say, but Girion had been pulled, half dead, from the ruins of a ballista tower, and the weapon and its darts had been well made, even according to the crafts of the dwarves. The possibility hung in the air, a hope Thorin had never even considered.
Even so, Thorin was not sure he liked the grim man. His eyes were piercing, but he kept his own counsels, leaving the exiled king ever unsure whether the guard-captain were friend or foe. And he was wont to cryptic remarks that Thorin was unsure how to interpret.
One such comment came as he arrived one night, Glóin in tow, speaking again of family. The red-headed dwarf was bemoaning his lack of daughters, when the man, in as serious a voice as Thorin had yet heard him speak, saying,
"You will have as many as me, in the end."
Glóin did not seem to note the odd statement, but Thorin's brow furrowed. It was an odd thing to promise, especially to a dwarf whose only child was already approaching adulthood. He truly hoped the rest of Bard's promises were not as empty as that.
Otherwise, things were coming together nicely. Biliana was recovering well, and Dwalin had begun the process of keeping her with them, even after the successful conclusion of the Quest.
Thorin had at first been surprised, and then chagrined for that surprise, when Balin told him it had been the younger son of Fundin's idea to extend their kinship to the burglar permanently. The gruff warrior had been as protective as a Heart-Uncle regardless, and Thorin had no objection to Balin formally extending the offer. On the contrary, he was delighted. Balin and Dwalin would be fine uncles, and Biliana, no doubt, would make a devoted niece to his oldest friends. He hoped, furthermore, that she would then remain with them in Erebor; it was becoming difficult to imagine life after his restoration without her presence; it was if he were imagining it without Kili or Balin, or any others of his kin.
Thorin had not been present when the offer was made: such a moment was highly private, with none outside the proposed family group bearing witness to sure barings of hearts and souls. But he later saw her red eyes and beaming smile, as well as the slight puffiness around Dwalin and Balin's own eyes, despite their satisfied faces, and knew the offer had been accepted. The announcement was made later that night, at dinner - the first that Biliana had been well enough to attend with the Company. Thorin had declined (or, rather, Balin had politely declined on his behalf) the Master's invitation that night: the Company was together again, and Thorin's place was with them.
Biliana was greeted with cheers as she took her seat, and the good news was celebrated with roars of approval. Glóin offered three toasts for each of the Fundins, and Bofur ended up standing on his chair, singing old songs traditionally sung in celebration of a safe birth. Through it all, Biliana leaned against the solid form of her new younger uncle, a soft smile on her face. Her gaze met Thorin's, and he held her eyes until she blushed and looked away.
The night came to a close late, and yet too soon, when Fili, Kili, and Ori began to compete in issuing forth loud winds. Biliana's nose wrinkled, but she made no objection as the smell grew and the sounds increased. Finally, Glóin took matters into her own hands, releasing a flatulence that stunned the young dwarves into awed silence. They all laughed, but Balin then took Biliana by the hand to lead her back to bed, "needing her rest after such nonsense."
Being dwarf-kin suited Biliana, Thorin thought. Balin had begun her Khuzdul lessons that next day, keeping them short, as she still tired easily, but she made quick progress nonetheless. Balin teased she might master the tongue before they reached the Mountain.
A week after that first night she came down, Biliana was well enough to accompany her uncles into the town. If the dwarrow-men had proved popular in the settlement, their hobbit quickly became beloved. She took to the children, often as tall as she, and they to her. Biliana was wont to pause to give aid any mother, aunt, or elder, and had no difficulty sharing her knowledge on common household ailments and troubles. She soon became adored for her practical lore, and the womenfolk of Laketown found reasons to call upon the young hobbit at her temporary residence.
The kitchen of the Master's house became a hub for the homely arts, and Biliana hosted women and children graciously and without rancor. Initially intimidated by the craggy-faced Bifur, the children soon saw past the gruff dwarf's silence and axe-head when he produced wondrous trinkets of play, the like of which had not been seen in the region since the burning of Dale's toy-market. To the children of Laketown, indeed, it became a fierce battle between partisans of Biliana and Bifur, each side judging their idol the wonder of the age, and more than one laughing mother spoke of interrupting quite heated debates, and even a few brawling squabbles.
Evening and morning, however, Bifur maintained his vigil over Biliana and the house. More than one extra-curious passerby, seeking to spy upon the dwarven company, found themselves none-too-gently reminded that dwarrow-folk are an intensely private and warlike race. Bifur was cautious and left no lasting damage to those he encouraged to continue along the street, and those who dawdled along were not keen to admit that they had been shown the error of their ways by a male half their size and beloved by their children.
Thorin, unfortunately, mostly heard of such doings after the fact, being unable except on the most blessed days to linger in the kitchen, listening to Biliana's voice rise and fall with feeling as she shared stories of past days with the enthralled children of Laketown. Durin's Day was approaching, and supplies and promises still needed to be secured. On that front, his most trusted advisors were cautiously sure of success, but they were wary about the long-term effects of Laketown's generosity.
"This is not a town of wealth," Dwalin grunted. "Nor do they have the quality of weaponry we would have required, had the lass not managed to recover our own. Only fish, and beer, and not very good beer at that."
"The townsfolk are one bad season away from true hardship," Bofur murmured. "And what they have, the Master takes more than his due. Tis not like the fat man himself has much, but he takes and takes."
"There is little we can do to change that now," Balin admitted. "But once we have the Mountain again…" Silence lingered in the air for a time, before Glóin shifted the conversation.
"On the plus side, the people love us. Especially our burglar."
"She is doing quite well," Balin smiled to himself. "Not only is her health restored, but she is a welcome addition to our presence in town," he continued, unknowingly echoing Thorin's own thoughts on the subject.
"Aye," Glóin hummed. "And did you know, I overheard two bairns just this morning, arguing over whether she was a Lady or a Queen? Seems she reminds them of the noble dams of their bedside tales."
Thorin cut his eyes to the dwarrow, calmly smoking his pipe near the fire. Glóin met the King's gaze, his face pleasantly unassuming, though his eyes held a wicked twinkle. Before he could say anything, Balin continued.
"She is a generous soul," he said blithely. "Much like the great Ladies of old. She shares the toils with the women and aids them in their work. She is an honor to the Line of Fundin."
Had Thorin not known Balin so well, he would have thought the white-bearded adviser was supporting Glóin's insinuation. "I hear Bofur's name on a lot of lips." With a last narrowed glance at Glóin, he turned to Nori. "Tell me more."
"Bofur is a friendly drunk," Nori explained with a quiet chuckle, "and might be the best loved here had the lass not gotten back on her feet." The dwarf emerged from the shadows, his face creased with concern as he changed subjects. "The Master of Laketown is a known fool, but only those who agree with him have the opportunity to thrive - or near enough, best that can be done in this town. There is much here that is unjust." At Thorin's steady gaze, he continued. "He has stockpiled weapons in an unused stable behind the Hall. They are guarded more intensely since our arrival; it seems that he fears that we will take his 'good weaponry' without pay."
"Tis not worth the possible consequences to do so," Balin cautioned, and Nori snorted outright.
"Tis not worth the thieving, even for scrap metal," he retorted. "Ancient armor, rusted through; blades that cannot hold an edge; even the hafts are no more than kindling. I've seen mountain orcs better equipped."
"And the people of Laketown?" Thorin pressed. "Are they for us, or against us?"
"Too poor to have much choice in the matter," Nori grunted. "They won't rise unless the Master is toppled, and we give them hope that a better future is forthcoming, should they not be eaten by the Beast."
Thorin did not fully appreciate Nori's pessimism, but he could understand it. Every minute in the Master's company made him more likely to share it, or even, in his blackest moments, to wish for it, if the loss could be confined to the fat tyrant and his sycophants.
"Bard is a key ally for us in this matter," Balin mused, and Dwalin looked up sharply at his brother's next words. "He is a man of character, and much loved in this town. He stands behind the Master because that is his duty, but he is the true leader here."
"Bard seems honest, but so do many men before they have rank or gold," Nori warned. "Many a man intends to be kind and benevolent before he strikes a vein of mithril, but fails to follow through after the fact."
A sharp knock at the door disturbed them; Bifur rose to respond to the intrusion, and Bard was welcomed into the front room, for once accompanied by several others.
"The Master has bid me to give you a message, that he agrees to your terms and would be delighted to have your presence at a Feast a week from tomorrow, to 'wish you well before you depart to reclaim your inheritance'." Had the guards-captain been any less grim, he might have rolled his eyes as Kili often did.
"To that end, he sent a gift," gesturing behind him, his fellows brought forth heavy rolls of well-dyed wool. "It is said a tailor is among you; seamstresses shall be sent here tomorrow to assist him, at the Master's expense."
"I am sure Dori will appreciate their aid," Balin admitted, smiling at the men. "Might there be anything else of import to be known?" As he spoke, Glóin and Dwalin began carrying away the bolts of cloth, and Nori departed to fetch Dori.
Bard blinked slowly, taking in the industrious initial preparations of the dwarrow. "You have friends in Laketown," he mused. "Many would like to be remembered to you in your prosperity."
"And we shall not forget our friends," Thorin answered. Bard fixed him with a long look, nodded once, and departed.
Even by dwarven standards, Dori achieved a wonder in the week that followed. Suitable garments were crafted for each member of the Company, in Laketown fashions, but with embroidery that proclaimed their dwarven origin. Biliana assisted with the decoration, and was the only hand that sewed the thick, intricate patterns that framed Thorin's collar and wrists. He tried not to be over-pleased by the fact, but he found himself tracing the patterns with his fingers throughout the night.
They prepared themselves carefully the night of the feast. Hair and beards were washed and combed until they shone, and the scraggy ends beyond repair - reminders of their hard journey - were snipped off. Leather and weapons were cleaned and polished to gleam against their new clothes. Balin braided Biliana's hair with especial care, allowing some of her red-brown curls to remain loose upon her shoulders, but much up in a elegant pile on the top of her head, one braid crossing her forehead like a tiara.
The procession to the feast was an overwrought thing, in Thorin's opinion. The pennants strung in the streets were patched, and though the villagers were delighted to see their friends so finely attired, he was keenly aware that the largesse that gave rise to those garments came from the sweat and toil of these honest workers. Thorin was cautious to keep his bearing appropriately kingly - he noted Fili emulating his own posture with the soft bloom of pride - but a smile crept onto his visage as he watched Kili catch a bouquet of daisies and proceed to hand them one by one to the mothers along their route.
The Master awaited them on the steps of the town hall, flanked by the most important men of the town. His lackey was behind him, half-hidden in the shadow of the doors, but with a glint in his beady eyes as he peered down at the Company.
"Welcome!" the Master boomed, his hands flung wide. Thorin noticed a different color on the once-rich furs of his collar, and after a moment, recognized it as gravy. "We are delighted to serve you this evening!"
A sharp gesture and sharper hissed word from the oily Alfrid sent a pair of comparatively well-dressed guardsmen scurrying to fetch an ornate chest, carrying it to its place beside the Master.
Thorin gave a short, polite bow. "As we are, to be so graciously welcomed into your society."
"To mark this stupendous occasion, I have searched high and low for items of use to you in your noble quest." With another wave of his arm that almost struck one of the guardsmen, he opened the chest, displaying a wealth of fabric inside, well-made cloaks lined with heavy furs, if Thorin's eye was accurate. Dori looked begrudgingly impressed. "The mountain will no doubt be cold, and we would not wish to see our new friends freeze before reclaiming their inheritance!" With a flourish, he drew out one of the cloaks for display.
"It is obvious," Thorin began in answer, "that the skill of Men of the North was not lost with the ruin of Dale. I am honored to receive such craft work." He did not add that he feared the Master's fat fingers would stain the fabric and leave a stink that even the talented Dori would be unable to remove.
The Master basked in the moment, and gestured once more. A straight-backed young woman came out, carrying a rich blue garment in her arms. "And of course, we have not forgotten the kindness of the lady in your midst!"
The woman halted a few feet from the Master, just out of arm's-reach, and held up a fine lady's coat for inspection. Thorin found that he appreciated the woman's contribution most of all in the pageantry of gift-giving, even more that she had the presence of mind to keep something intended for Biliana out of the Master's hands.
"Sigrid is young, but already among our finest seamstresses, and we wanted your lady to have something to remember her time among us," the Master preened. "But enough of all that! Dinner awaits!"
He spun on a heel, his garments dragging on the ground behind him, and strolled into the hall. Checking his scowl, Thorin followed after with a sure and stately step.
Alfrid bowed greasily to Biliana and offered her his arm, but Dwalin stepped between them with a dark scowl and escorted Biliana off. Before Thorin could express his sudden fury at the worm's audacity, Dori stepped in to distract the man, asking where he might store the fine garments for the evening of merriment. Alfrid was unprepared for the dwarf's sheer forthright fussiness, and was occupied for some time directing the tailor to the appropriate people and places.
Before dinner was served, the dwarrow were escorted to their seats at the high table and the Master gave another speech, expressing grandiose expectations of the dwarves' success, and the inevitable rivers of gold that would come from the Mountain. His speech, as always, was verbose and over-long, and Thorin saw relief in more than just dwarven eyes when the Master finally called for the first course to be served.
Unlike their first night, the Company was not able to gracefully depart after the meal finished. Rather, the tables were taken away with a great deal of haste and noise, and the guests began to mingle, though many made frequent forays to the large tapped keg in the back corner.
A small instrumental ensemble took their seats on the dais that had held the high table, and despite their lack of variety in the music, it wasn't altogether terrible. Some of the coupled men and women danced. Most of the guests, however, continued to mull about and chatter together. Thorin smiled as he saw Biliana speaking with the seamstress who made her coat, praising the fine needlework.
The hours crawled by, until even Biliana's smile became a bit forced. Fili seemed to be determined to wring out the most good from this opportunity, and sat deep in sober conversation with a handful of the more honorable merchants of Laketown. Though proud of his nephew's initiative, he knew his heir well enough to know the lad took no pleasure in the task. Altogether, Thorin itched to depart, but the Master gave no sign of tiring.
A whoop from the back drew the attention of no few guests, and Bofur sat proudly at a table near the keg, a drunken lackey fallen off the bench beside him. "I did warn you!" he laughed merrily, his eyes twinkling as other guests joined in the laughter, helping the man up. "None can drink against a dwarf! Even a poncey elf would lose his wits before one of Mahal's children!"
"Your men are most high-spirited," Alfrid observed as he approached where Thorin stood with Dwalin and Biliana, and it took all Thorin had to not drive his fist into the man's face for being so close. "I do wonder, what does your lady make of such behavior?"
Biliana's face was calmly polite. "I am quite used to the exuberance of my companions, sir. And merriment on so fine a night is no bad thing."
"Indeed," he agreed with a sly look on his face. "It is a fine night, and it would be a shame if we did not all enjoy it." Dwalin stiffened, and Thorin's ears began to roar. The man's tone set his ever nerve on edge.
"The evening has been quite a success," Biliana demurred, taking half a step closer to Dwalin. Thorin's hand went to Deathless' hilt. "I expect you had much to do with arranging such an excellent event, and I thank you."
Alfrid preened, and bowed, but before he could reply to her compliment, Bard approached, slipping between Alfrid and the dwarrow with seemingly serendipitous obliviousness.
Thorin almost sighed aloud in relief at the guard-captain's appearance, but Alfrid tried to shoo him away.
"This is no time for prophecies of floods or poison fish, Bowman!" he hissed, spittle flying from thick lips.
"No, it is not." said the grim man. "And I did not come to speak any." He turned his gaze to the dwarven king, dismissing the little kakhuf inbarathrag entirely. "I wish you good fortune and good health, Thorin son of Thrain son of Thrór - for all our sakes."
"As do we all," Alfrid interjected. "Bard, don't-"
"The Master requires your attendance," Bard said blandly, and with a dark look at the captain and an oily compliment to the health of the hobbit lady, the lackey retreated.
"You are a good man," Dwalin said lowly, cautious to ensure his voice did not carry.
"Not a very good one, I'm afraid." Bard did, however, incline his head to accept the dwarrow's praise. "Master Dwalin, I was hoping I might speak with you."
Dwalin's brows crept upward, though his face remained stoic. "About what, lad?"
Bard gave no indication of hearing the dwarf's diminutive term; or if he did, he dismissed it. "You have seen battle, yes?"
"Aye." The dwarf narrowed his eyes at the captain. "Tis not a glorious thing, though, and I do not believe you foolish enough to think so."
"Certainly not," Bard agreed. "But you have trained men, and I have seen you watching our drilling. What do you see?"
Dwalin took a moment to size up the man once more, sharp eyes taking in the man's earnest concern for his people. He launched into a flurry of war-terms that Bard seemed to only vaguely understand, but Thorin stopped following the conversation when he noticed Biliana looked a little peaked. He closed the remaining distance between them swiftly.
"How are you?" Thorin murmured to Biliana, lips next to her ear. Óin may have given her a clean bill of health, but she had been ill for so long, and the night was taxing even at full health. As if to confirm his anxieties, she shuddered, but answered happily enough.
"Well, thank you." Her voice was low and almost breathy. "Though I am glad Sting is on my hip." She glanced at Alfrid, who had gone on to leer at another woman.
"Sting?" Thorin glanced down at the little blade on her shapely hip. He did not know she had named her weapon.
She blushed, hand brushing the hilt. "I well… I named my sword, back during the fight with the spiders.I thought of myself as a stinging fly, then, and thought Sting a fine name for my small sword."
"Sting…" he said the name slowly, tasting it on his lips. Then he smiled. "Agreed; it is a good name for the sword."
Thorin looked away from her pinking face, towards the musicians playing a tune reminiscent of a dwarven dance. Suddenly, a wild idea flitted across Thorin's mind. He was reasonably sure Biliana would be acquiescent, and it would make the night a far more pleasant one to remember.
"Miss Baggins, could I have this dance? I believe Balin and my nephew taught you the steps?"
She blinked up at him, but her blooming smile was answer enough. She took his offered hand, and they moved towards the other couples, taking their places with grace.
Most eyes, Thorin knew, were upon them, but Biliana's smile did not waver, nor did her cheeks fill again with blush. The set began without incident, and for a few moments Thorin simple enjoyed the sensation of dancing with an agreeable partner. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fili take in arm an elderly matron, leading her to the line. His brother was close behind, with a giggling girl-child barely old enough to leave the nursery. Biliana turned her face to hide a laugh. Thorin didn't bother to conceal the twinkle in his eye.
After two sets, Thorin escorted Biliana back away from the dancers, but his youngest nephew quickly stole her away. Nori soon cut in, twirling their hobbit away from the pouting prince, only for Bofur to steal her in turn. Kili leapt back into the fray, the music now embellished with Biliana's laughter, as the cycle continued four or five rounds, until Kili ended triumphant and Nori and Bofur finished the set together.
Biliana retreated back to Thorin's side after their nonsense, grinning up at him and resting against his arm. He smiled down at her in return, his eyes twinkling again when her saw her attempt to smother a yawn.
"Thank you," she said, "for the dance. I can't recall ever having a better partner."
He found himself standing a hair taller, pleased beyond measure at the compliment. He decided to pay it in turn.
"Nor I," he said, delighting in her renewed blush, in the slight parting of her lips. Suddenly, the warmth of the room struck him.
"Shall I fetch us some refreshment, after our exertions?" he asked, inwardly wincing at his phrasing. But she nodded, and he moved as swiftly as was seemly towards the servers and the wine.
He returned shortly, two glasses of ruby liquid in hand. Biliana was smiling back towards the dancefloor, where a laughing Fili had strong-armed a protesting Kili into dancing a reel.
"My lady," Thorin said with a bow, gaining her attention and offering the drink, which she took with teasing gravity. Her pleasing face remained cheerful and fixed on his, and they enjoyed together a quiet moment, the bustle of the gathering flowing unnoticed around them.
When Kili interrupted them, demanding another dance, Biliana pleaded his forgiveness, claiming she was too tired for another set. And indeed, Thorin noted, she was hard-pressed to stop her eyelids drooping or smother her yawns. He cast his gaze around the hall; many were beginning to fade. Nori was playing dice with those men closest to the Master, and, Thorin suspected, taking them for all they were worth in their drunken stupors.
Balin approached the King, and with a subtle gesture, indicated the Master of Laketown slouching in his chair, Alfrid lurking behind, the pair of them cackling together about something. At a sign from Thorin, the dwarves began to disengage, Dori bustling Biliana over towards their coats,Glóin following behind after a look from Thorin. The dwarf king took Balin and Fili to pay his final respects.
They approached the dais unnoted, if the conversation's continuance was any indication. The Master leveled his hand at a height similar to a dwarf's. "She would be about the right height for pleasuring a man," he slurred, a little too loudly.
"A convenient height for that and more," Alfrid agreed, and dissolved into silly little chuckles. The dwarrow-men bristled against the crudity.
"By your leave, Iruk'adad," Fili gritted out in low Khuzdul, "And I will bring an end to their wagging tongues."
He was tempted to say yes, but Balin cleared his throat. Thorin knew by the steely glint of his old friend's gaze that had the dwarves not needed the goodwill of those perverts - and oh did that humiliation burn- that Balin would have challenged the men to akrâg'aktidmês that night, and Balin's thatrzagr would have taken restitution for the insinuation in blood.
"Not yet," the dwarf king growled. "Not yet." But soon, he vowed to himself.
The Master noticed them then, and Thorin took a small amount of satisfaction in the alarm in his eyes.
"We take our leave," Thorin said, perhaps harsher than he ought. "The night grows long, and we have another journey to begin on the morrow."
"Yes, yes! Of course, of course," the Master effused, spilling the wine in his hand as he gesticulated. "We shall see you off in the morning. Rest well, Master Dwarves, and know Laketown's goodwill goes with you!"
Their departure from that point was swift and succinct. Dori hoisted the trunk of cloaks to one shoulder as Ori complimented Biliana in her new coat and took her by the elbow, and the others closed ranks around their hobbit, shielding her from the drunken gaze of the Laketown residents.
They left the next morning. The Master ensured it was another spectacle, with a foolish amount of pomp and circumstance, but Thorin could not wholly hide the grin that threatened to split his features. One more boat ride, and he would be on his land. He was almost home.
Translations:
Akrâg'aktidmês - judging the truth of honor (literal); a Dwarven custom to defend one's or kin's honor
Bast'khuzd - healer
Kakhuf inbarathrag - goat-excrement
Ruk'dad - uncle (informal, affectionate)
Iruk'adad - uncle (formal)
Thatrzagr - broad and straight sword with a star-shaped three-pointed expansion at the sword's tip
