Our friends, the dwarves are doing better now, but others aren't very happy with that. Thanks to all my readers and to my faithful reviewers, Crazy-Freaky-Anonymous-Author, Logismoi, and LurkingRoseDust among others. All reviews are encouraging and helpful, so please keep sending them!

Chapter 10: Recovery, Part 2

Lord Henrin carefully checked his appearance in the silvered glass. He was well-favored for an older man with his angular, lean face; shoulder-length, black hair with gray at the temples; and neatly trimmed mustache and beard. Baring his teeth in the mirror, he turned from side to side. He had all his teeth, which was something of a rarity among the men. Too much drink mixed with poor hygiene caused tooth rot in many of the men. But who could blame them? They could not be bothered to keep clean when so much dirty work needed doing. Reaching in, he picked out a bit of green. It would not do see the princess looking less than correct. He wondered why he made such an effort now when he never thought to before. Then he thought of the dwarves.

Two months had passed since the Durins dined at the keep, and since then they and their people somehow insinuated themselves into every aspect of town life. People were at first skeptical of the dwarves living so close by, and many stories were told of their strange ways. Did they really spring from holes in the ground? Were they part rock with their stocky bodies and gnarled faces? Did they really live to 300 seasons old? What was that strange language they spoke? The people gossiped and wondered, and talked of little else. But after the dwarves fixed their rutted roads and started building a stone aqueduct to bring fresh water into the region, the people embraced them wholeheartedly. Suddenly, all things dwarvish became the fashion.

Women copied the elaborate braids of the dwarrowdams, sometimes to comic effect. One eager, young woman strutted down the street proudly with braids sprouting out of her head like antennae. Henrin smirked at the memory. Men let their beards grow, and the more daring added metal cuffs. Clothing styles changed as well. Even though the dwarves were homeless and lacked nearly everything, what remained of their former lives was of the finest quality and of impeccable workmanship. Women marveled at the rich fabrics and intricate, gold -thread embroidery around tattered hems of skirts and blouses. The men coveted the elegantly tooled, leather saddles, satchels, boots, belts, and jerkins. Dark, dwarven ale brought by caravans was much sought after, and people tried all manner of dwarvish cuisine. Henrin shuddered at the more exotic dishes of moss fritters and the hunks of undercooked and heavily spiced meat that the dwarves downed in mighty gulps.

The men and woman also marveled at the mighty strength and stamina of the dwarves, who cut stone like butter and worked tirelessly until late in the evening. Queen Miraine revealed to them the secret of the realm's success: two mines with one yielding high-grade, iron ore and the other a fair amount of gold and semi-precious stones. Balin and other high-ranking dwarves inspected the mines and made many suggestions to increase their productivity. Gloin offered his business expertise to expand their markets. A ripple of excitement and energy swept through the region when the people realized that dwarves were very good for business.

However, Henrin did not like all the changes. Mighty strength was fed by mighty appetites, and his last two hunting parties returned with half the game he usually caught. Jokes by the men about his aim being off were met with stony silence. And that was not all. He saw old-growth forest trees crashing one after another to the ground to make log houses for the dwarves for the winter.

They swarm like ants, he thought as he rubbed his mustache and beard with a wet cloth, devouring everything they see.

Lord Jace Henrin was a more worthy man than many in the realm, although it had its share of decent folk who simply wanted to get by. Born as a minor member of the gentry, he advanced in rank through faithful service and hard work. He was loyal to his people and the royal house in particular for he saw that the king and queen sincerely cared about justice, honesty, and prosperity for all their citizens. How Eldor escaped their notice for as long as he did baffled him, but he knew that they had many trials to safeguard their lands from rapacious neighbors, and Eldor was clever. As clever at Princess Tayla was kind.

His heart swelled at thoughts of her with her gentle grace and sweet compassion for those in need. A more worthy man, perhaps, but a man nonetheless who coveted her dark beauty and was fiercely jealous of any who might turn her head.

She will make a splendid queen.

A man not without ambition.

And I a king who will ensure our dominance in these lands.

He huffed and checked his appearance again. But what to do about the dwarves? Putting his fist to his chest, he breathed in and out, trying to calm himself with the thought that this was temporary. Soon enough the dwarves would be gone, and all would return to normal.

But in the meantime….

Queen Miraine sought the dwarves' advice on all manner of question, and he felt swept aside like refuse broomed into a corner. Of course, the dwarves did have exceptional mining and stone- and metal-work skills. She was right to seek their help and advice there, but there it should have stopped. Instead, he saw dwarves supplanting men in the important positions of their realm everywhere he turned. They somehow took charge of all engineering projects and reworked already drawn-up plans for new bridges and buildings. Prince Thrain and Queen Miraine often walked through the muddy town streets together, the queen hanging on every word. She even sought and was granted an audience with the reclusive King Thror and left that meeting starry-eyed and determined to change many long-standing laws. The king must have had a lucid moment, but it was all too much for the Lord High Steward.

And then there was Prince Thorin and his brother. Finer of feature and taller than most other dwarves, the young princes swaggered their way into the hearts of women who made fools of themselves—in Henrin's opinion—to attract their attention. Blond and green-eyed, Frerin was a flirt and enjoyed the adulation. He gained quite a reputation for gallantry, kissing hands and bestowing flowery compliments. His cheerful disposition and open, friendly manner won him many friends among the men as well. Henrin often heard his hearty laughter ringing out when he was in town, and his jokes and amusing stories were repeated time and again in the pubs until Henrin knew them by heart—not that he wanted to. He snorted. It was a bad jest indeed to see the grinning prince saunter down the center of the main street with women hanging off both arms and more trailing behind. Still, everyone knew he was young and played it all as a merry lad enjoying the company.

He ground his teeth. Prince Thorin was another matter. Dark, brooding, and of few words, the elder prince's smiles were rarer than rubies. More like a flash of lightning in the night sky, and any woman who received one was instantly the most envied in town. He shook his head in confusion. Why would any woman seek after one so grim and unsociable? But it was very clear that they did. They enjoyed Prince Frerin, but they wanted Prince Thorin. For some mysterious reason, he sped their hearts, and Henrin could not understand why. After all, who could want a dwarf? Of course, even he could not deny that Prince Thorin was somewhat handsome with his strong features and noble countenance, but that did not change the fact that he was a dwarf. A dwarf! He had seen a few human dwarves in his life, and they were objects of pity or tolerance at best. But here come a veritable army of dwarves, and the women lose their wits. It made no sense.

He pursed his lips and recalled some conversation he had heard at the bakery. He had listened as women discussed Prince Thorin's broad shoulders and sad eyes. They sighed and fluttered their handkerchiefs. Then they discussed his deep, sonorous voice and sighed some more.

Ah, perhaps they feel sorry for him, he thought. That made more sense to him. His late sister, rest her soul, brought in all manner of stray bird and beast when she was young. Perhaps they pitied Prince Thorin, pitied him like a lost puppy. Women were soft that way. And despite Queen Miraine's wish that Prince Thorin befriend Princess Tayla, nothing had come of it. The dwarf kept to himself and his inner circle, only coming to town when need be. Perhaps the queen felt sorry for him as well. He breathed easier.

Aye, that must be it, he reasoned. They feel sorry for him. Aye, that makes sense, and they should. He felt more generous toward the dwarf prince. He lost everything, poor lad. He watched his king go mad and his mother die before his eyes, poor fellow. Then he remembered the rest of the conversation.

"And so handsome," a barmaid had said to her giggling friend. "I'll wager any woman would be happy in his arms. Do you think he wears a tunic when he hammers away in the forge? I'd give my coin purse to find out."

His compassion evaporated.

No matter. They'll be gone soon.

He straightened and left to find Tayla. It was still too soon to press his suit, but he was determined to spend time with her and let her get used to him as part of her life. Hurrying down the corridor, he came on Queen Miraine giving orders to the chambermaids.

"Yes, these two suites to be emptied and scrubbed thoroughly," she said while eyeing armfuls of sheets and coverlets. "No, I want these replaced. They're practically threadbare, and I want velvet wall hangings in royal blue. Send them to the dwarves to be embroidered if our seamstresses are unequal to the task."

Henrin felt an uncomfortable niggling in his stomach.

"What ado?" he asked as he looked in what was her sons' room to see some servants on their hands and knees with buckets of soapy water and bristle brushes and others removing all the old furnishings. The rooms smelled fresh and clean as servants scrubbed the plank floors and removed musty mattresses.

"I'm ordering these rooms cleaned and remade for the Durins," she said while waving away selections of fabrics. "No, velvet coverlets. They require heavier bed linens."

The niggling turned into a burning pain.

"They're to live here?" he asked disbelievingly. "Surely they want to stay with their people."

She smiled and nodded approvingly at two bolts of fabric.

No doubt of dwarven origin, he grumped.

"That is what Prince Thorin said," she answered without looking at him. She glanced at the walls and turned to her secretary, who was taking copious notes on all she found wanting. "These tapestries are old and ugly. See if a few dwarven weavers are available. Give them anything they need." She spared a glance at Henrin before turning away again.

"He graciously refused on their behalf," she said as she bustled about approving and disapproving of various offerings, "but we should have these rooms readied just in case. I asked Prince Thorin to oversee all work coming out of the royal forge, so he might need to stay from time to time as well as his family members."

Henrin frowned, and thick brows puckered over his eyes. There was plenty he wanted to say, but he knew he needed to tread carefully. He did not want his concerns dismissed as jealousy—it was not that, most assuredly—but he did think that this inordinate interest in the dwarves needed to end, and sooner rather than later.

"Is it wise to have the dwarves so integrated into our lives?" he asked with as neutral a tone as he could conjure. "We'll need to manage on our own after they leave, and I don't want our neighbors thinking us weak for so obviously depending on them."

Queen Miraine finally looked at him, and she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

"Indeed, Henrin," she said crisply, "I see quite the opposite. Our friendship with the dwarves has increased our stature among our neighbors, for it is well-known that the dwarves do not ally themselves with those they deem unworthy of their skills. Besides, their work on our bridges, roads, and walls will stand for 1,000 seasons. Who else can say the same? Did you see their plans for the city gate? Magnificent!"

Henrin gave them their due with a quick dip of his head.

"Aye, no doubt, but they have worked in all the towns along the way for they are destitute and must work where they can. Their service here cannot count for so much."

She waved away his concerns impatiently.

"We have need of their skills and knowledge," she said. "My lord, the king, though still with us, will not live out the winter, and we must make use of all possible resources. Our neighbor"—and she jerked her head to the north—"would like nothing better than to make our prosperity his own. I would see our towns rebuilt to last and our keep become the fortress we need, and we cannot achieve that without their help."

He exhaled and cast around for something that would win her to his point of view, when his gaze fell on Princess Tayla walking down the hall. She looked quietly lovely in a royal blue gown. She never favored jewel tones before, but he dismissed any significance of her choosing this particular color.

"Good morning, princess," he said gallantly with a bow. She smiled softly and peeked into the rooms.

"Do you think he will stay here much, mother?" she asked. Her voice was demure, but her eyes gleamed with excitement.

"I think not," her mother answered as she waved away her secretary.

Henrin considered all possible reasons for her question. He did not like any of them.

"Why do you ask, my lady?"

Now her eagerness was palpable. She clasped her hands in front of her and bit her lip.

"I hoped," she began. Then she exhaled with nervous excitement. "I was hoping that Prince Thorin—if he isn't too busy—might give me a few lessons on the harp."

The queen smiled warmly, but Henrin pulled a face.

"I'm sure that overseeing the armaments will occupy all his time."

With a matronly air, she beckoned her brother closer with a crook of her finger and daintily laid out a lacey doily given by a local woman and four mugs.

"Dis," Thorin grumbled as he surveyed the dwarven equivalent of playing tea party, "you are too old for this, and I know I am."

He had wanted to spend some time with his family before he started working at the royal forge, so he and Frerin sparred in a makeshift training ring every morning, and then he spent time with his sister. Drina always made sure she was there.

"Please sit next to me, Prince Thorin," she said primly as she patted the seat next to her. She still kept up the illusion that he would be hers someday, and he could not find it in his heart to say otherwise.

He smiled and sat down. He kissed her hand gently and grinned at his sister who giggled.

"Now how was your day, dear?" Drina asked while pouring tea into the mug. Thorin was so surprised that he could not find any words to answer her and blinked helplessly. A snigger at the door announced Frerin's arrival.

"Wedded bliss, brother?" he chortled, ignoring Thorin's dark look.

Dis pursed her lips, but her friend stood, marched over to him, and poked her finger against his chest.

"Don't you be mean to my prince," Drina said with an impressive scowl on her face. "I'll be nice to you because you're his brother, but you are not invited to our party."

Frerin's eyes twinkled, but he held up his hands in mock surrender.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said with no small amount of charm, "I am a cad indeed to insult my brother's beloved."

Drina crossed her arms and tapped one foot while deciding his fate.

"Very well," she said finally, "you may join us, but you'll be washing the dishes if you say anything nasty."

Frerin followed and mugged at Thorin behind her back. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't encourage her," he said out of the side of his mouth after Frerin sat down. "It's bad enough that she calls herself Lady Durin."

"You're the one who won't say anything, brother," he replied, "so it's on your own head. But what would father think if he heard? Or Balin? Perhaps he doesn't need to worry now that you're spoken for."

Thorin elbowed his brother, earning himself a sharp look from his much younger sister.

"Will you two ever grow up?" she asked. "Honestly, you both are the worst."

Drina laid out a plate of biscuits, honey buns, and berry scones. Perhaps this was not so childish after all. Thorin and Frerin loaded their plates when they heard a knock at the door.

Princess Tayla stood there with several guards behind her. Surprised, the princes got to their feet.

"Welcome, my lady," Thorin said smoothly. He rubbed his knuckle across the corner of his mouth to remove sticky crumbs. "Please come in."

She looked startled at his open smile and then glanced over at the table to the others.

"Ah, a tea party!" she said nervously while trying to match his easy manner. "I haven't seen one for ages."

Dis ran over and hugged her. "You can join us if you want. We have plenty for a change."

Tayla gave her a squeeze.

"I'd be delighted," she said softly. Dis pulled her over to sit on Thorin's other side, but Drina put her hand out.

"That side is my side too," she said. "He's my prince, so I get all his sides."

Tayla's eyes grew round, and she put one hand over her mouth. She could hardly think that Thorin was betrothed to such a young child, but then again, she knew nothing about dwarves. Frerin came to her rescue.

"Drina here took a shine to my brother after he gave her back her ball one night," he said, "and she's quite, um, determined."

Tayla wanted to laugh, but she saw the child's lip poke out and said nothing. Dis seated her opposite Thorin and, for some reason, she could not look him in the eye. So she sat quietly and talked with Dis and Drina.

"I congratulate you, my lady, on your choice," she said softly. "I'm sure Prince Thorin will make a splendid husband."

She heard his stifled groan and worried suddenly that she had overstepped her bounds.

"So what brings you here, my lady?" he asked gruffly.

Now it was her turn to look uncomfortable. She hemmed and hawed while the others watched. Somehow, she could not face him and kept her eyes on her lap. Everything about him intimidated her even though he sat with two girls at a tea party. Despite her anxiety, she could not help but think him a thoughtful brother to join his sister's game. She reminded herself that he was at least 10 years younger than Lord Henrin and prepared herself.

"I wanted to see how you all were faring in the camp and if you needed anything," she finally said in a rush.

Frerin's eyebrow raised, and he looked over at Thorin, who clearly was thick as a plank in some areas. The younger prince had a keen appreciation for females—of any race—although he agreed with his family that elves were horrible creatures even though he had once admired their silky hair.

"We are quite well, my lady," he replied easily. He paused. "Is there no other reason you came by?"

He ignored his brother's snort and waited patiently. He was rewarded finally with a shy smile.

"I had hoped, Prince Thorin," she started turning to him. She cleared her throat and aimed her gaze at his throat. "I wanted to ask if you might see your way to sharing with me how you play the harp so beautifully."

His brows went up, but before he could answer, a loud knock sounded. Tayla shrunk in her seat while Frerin went to the door.

"Ah, Lord Henrin."

The Lord High Steward stared at the comfortable, no, domestic scene in front of him, and he bit his lip in disapproval.

"I had heard you left for the camp, my lady," he said a bit more harshly than he meant, "and I came to ensure your welfare."

If he had intended to show chivalry, he missed the mark by a wide margin. Her lip stuck out almost as far as Drina's.

"Did you think me in any danger among our friends and allies, my lord?" she asked with her head held high. Her dark eyes narrowed. "I was not aware that the camp was off-limits to me or that my actions were monitored."

Henrin panicked and knew that he blundered but did not know how to recover. Surprisingly, Thorin rescued him.

"My lady," he said gently as he held her startled gaze, "he is only doing his duty and does not deserve your anger. I would be equally uneasy in his situation."

Then he addressed Henrin.

"However, she will come to no harm here, my lord."

Henrin did not see Tayla's face as she kept her eyes on Thorin, but he could not fault his words.

"I thank you, Prince Thorin," he replied stiffly. Then he looked around. They all looked too cosy with each other, and he did not like it. "May I ask what goes on here?"

Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but Drina beat him to it.

"We're serving tea," she said stoutly. Then she whispered loudly. "Should we let him in? There won't be enough to eat if he sits with us. They took almost everything!"

Frerin coughed behind his hand, and Thorin quickly pushed some of their biscuits and berry scones back on the platter.

"No need, miss," Henrin said.

Drina shook her head. "Lady Durin."

The steward's eyes opened wide. "Lady Durin?"

Drina leaned against Thorin's shoulder adoringly.

"It's a long story," Frerin said with a roll of his eyes.

Henrin smiled widely. It would be his last for a long time.

Question: Am I spending too much time on non-canon characters, or is it needed to make a story more real? What do you think? Please review!