From the moment I dismounted and was escorted inside the great gates of Erebor, I felt as if in a trance. I could not tear my eyes away from the stonework, the skillful carvings amazing me until I gave in and stood still at the entrance, my head tilted upwards and mouth open in awe.
We passed under the enormous arch that was the gate and began to walk on a paved road that led to the doors of the Mountain. The road would have easily fit at least twenty grown men abreast, and I felt as small as a speck of sand amidst the greatness of the construction.
Sigrid tugged at my hand with a grin and I realized that I had stopped again, this time to peer at the carvings on the stone doors. I shrugged helplessly – surely no one had come to the Kingdom and not marveled at it?
The halls stretched further than my own eyes could see, the ceilings towering above my head. The walls were of thick stone and the granite floor shone underneath my feet. I confess that I knelt and touched the smooth floor, marveling at how such a hard surface could feel like liquid beneath my fingertips.
Fili and Kili offered us their arms and guided us out of the great stone entrance hall into a smaller side room. Tapestries lined the walls and a warm fire burned in the corner, casting light onto the comfortable chairs that had been placed throughout the room.
"The reception chamber", Sigrid whispered to me when I shot her a quizzical look.
An older dwarf with a white, long beard was seated at one of the chairs and leapt to his feet, the movement looking surprisingly easy for someone of his age.
"Ah, Princess Sigrid!" he beamed and kissed the hand that she extended to him with a kind smile.
"And you are the Lady Anne, I presume?" he said as he turned to me.
"I am," I smiled and he held out his hand to me, until I realized what was expected of me. I placed my own on his and felt the scratch of his beard as he kissed my knuckles.
"Balin, at your service!" he said and bowed deeply.
"Oh, Lord Balin!" I exclaimed. "Your reputation precedes you. Forgive me," I offered him a low curtsy, embarrassed that I had allowed a dwarf of such high standing to treat a member of Dale's staff in the same manner as a Princess.
"Nonsense," the kindly dwarf replied and raised one bushy eyebrow towards Fili and Kili, who bowed to us while mumbling something about checking on Gimli's wellbeing before hurrying back out of the room.
"You will have to forgive us, Princess Sigrid," Balin said with a wry smile. "It seems that the dwarf that usually escorts you has fallen ill. I hope the two Princes were adequate replacements?"
I ground my teeth together to avoid a hoot of laughter and Sigrid nodded demurely.
"Well, that's a relief," Balin chuckled and held out both of his arms. I grinned over his head at Sigrid as the two of us placed our hands on each of his elbows and allowed him to escort us out of the reception chamber and back through to the entrance hall.
He slowed his pace as we moved through another set of great doors and I gasped involuntarily at the sight that lay before me.
"Behold," Balin smiled proudly. "The halls of Erebor!"
Balin led us down winding stone steps, though I admit that I exchanged my places with Sigrid so as to walk with the walls of the Mountain beside me instead of the sheer drop that would have surely been the death of my clumsy self given there were no hand rails.
Massive stone pillars bloomed up out of the bottom of the Hall, reaching up, hundreds of feet above our heads. A long, wide walkway ran through the middle of the hall, with more walkways interspersed throughout it, leading off deeper into the Mountain in every which way.
I had assumed that Erebor would be a dark and gloomy place, lit constantly by fires. But in the midday light, it was nearly as bright as it was outside under the skies – skillful dwarves had constructed unseen openings that cast glimmers of light around the hall. There must have been far too many for my hands to count, for the torches I saw could not have lit up the hall the way the sun was doing.
"Oh Sigrid," I breathed when Balin had led us down a hallway and shown us to our shared chamber that, in a show of ingenious Dwarven skill, had a view of Dale, "who would ever want to leave such a place!"
Even our chamber was beautiful. The main door led into a small sitting area where the floor was covered in thick, golden carpets. Three doors branched off of that – one to Sigrid's room, with a large, four poster bed and furs on the floor, and the one opposite led to my own room that was smaller, but no less comfortable with a wide bed and soft rugs over the stone. The door in the middle led out to a private balcony, half covered by stone lattice. It looked out from the side of the mountain, giving me a generous view of Dale and the farm lands to the far east of the city.
"Da can't stand it," Sigrid replied with a laugh. "He says it reminds him of a prison – a beautiful, well made prison, but a prison nonetheless."
I nodded slowly, remembering the stories that were still being told in the taverns of Dale, of how Bard had been arrested then managed to free himself in time to survive the burning of Laketown.
"Get settled in," Sigrid suggested with a grin. "Duty calls!"
But I didn't hear her – there was too much for a normal person to marvel at, much less a servant who had only seen the Mountain from afar.
After I had spent a good hour examining all the tapestries on the walls of my room and the carvings on the ceiling, I ventured out back down the hallway and into the main hall, holding the box of moulds against my hip. Sigrid had been whisked off to her first meeting of the day with Balin; she had commented dryly that he was the gentlest one out of all of Thorin's advisers and so she always organized to have her meetings with him, a fact I did not dispute when I caught sight of several stern and stately Dwarven men that greeted her as she left.
I walked out onto the main walkway, too entranced by the sight to notice that the Dwarves were all eyeing me curiously, until a deep voice boomed from behind me.
"Welcome to Erebor, lady Anne!"
Startled, I fumbled with the box of moulds and turned to face the newcomer. At first I thought it was King Thorin, given the dwarf had long black hair streaked with silver and stood taller than most of the other dwarves that were bustling about. My brown eyes locked onto a pair of ice blue and I still thought it was Thorin; until I sunk into a courtesy and came face to face with the swell of breasts contained within a dark blue gown.
"Thank you, my lady," I replied, noticing now the soft curve of her waist and fine, feminine black strands of hair that lightly dusted her chin. Never would I have thought that a beard could be feminine, yet I wondered how I'd mistaken her for a man, now that I could see how clean the rest of her ivory face was. Her long, black hair was shiny and thick, falling in waves around her shoulders and her lips were a rosy, natural red.
"I am so pleased you could come – my sons heaped praise onto your construction at Dale's feast, so much so that I became curious to see your work for myself. Even more so when my brother confessed that he had never seen something so lifelike!"
My mind was working furiously to connect the clues, then I dropped into another curtsy when I realized whom I was speaking to: "Lady Dís!" I smiled widely. "I have long wished to meet you – the Princess has spoken of you many times, in only the very best of ways."
"Oh," Dís swatted the compliment away. "Enough of that. I see you've already settled in?" she asked with a pointed look at the fresh clothes I'd changed into, a plain work dress in my usual brown.
"Oh aye," I nodded eagerly. "Send me to work, my lady, it is an honour to be invited to serve you, even if only for a short time."
Dís shook her head vehemently and offered me her arm, as if we were childhood friends and not lady and staff. "Nonsense, Anne. I did not invite you as a cook, but as a guest!"
I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. "Oh, I couldn't possibly-" I stammered, but she cut me off.
"You showed great respect to your Dwarven guests by making such an effort," Dís said firmly. "Besides, I have it on good authority that no figure was as spectacular as that of the Mountain, even the Woodland Realm – is that correct?" Her eyes were twinkling and I grinned in spite of my nerves.
"It was a new mould, my lady, and made very well," I replied diplomatically. Dís beamed, seeing my answer clearly through the haze of courtly politeness and wound my arm around her own.
"Come! I have some cooks who are very eager to meet you, mistress Anne."
"Not mistress, my lady, Anne will suffice, or lady if you must," I corrected her as respectfully as I could as we began to walk down the main walkway before taking another set of stairs by the wall and walking further into the Mountain. The natural light grew dimmer the further we descended but it was replaced by hundreds of torches along the walls.
"Not mistress?" Dís raised one smooth, black eyebrow. "Am I to believe there is no man warming the bed at home?"
I emitted a strangled sound in my throat and she laughed loudly, guiding me through an ornate set of stone doors that led to the kitchens and giving me the advice that would serve me well over the coming days: "This is a Dwarven city, lass. Best get used to straight, honest talk."
"How do I look?" I nervously smoothed down the red gown I'd worn to dinner with Bard and his children months before.
"Never mind you, you're a vision as always. How do I look? Be honest."
I stepped back and studied Sigrid's reflection in the mirror beside me. She was breathtaking – resplendent in a simply cut, green gown that made her dark golden hair shine. The sleeves were snug around her arms, but dropped at her elbows to fall loosely over the skirt.
"Like you've stepped out of his dream," I replied with a sly smile, enjoying the blush that spread over her cheeks at the mention of Fili.
Dís had extended an invitation to us to dine with her that evening, and we were both anxiously examining our reflections in Sigrid's large mirror beside her bed.
Sigrid had spent the afternoon in meetings with Balin and other members of Thorin's council, discussing new plans for Dale ("Fountains, Anne! Fountains!" she'd exclaimed with joy when she'd burst into our chambers earlier) as well as fine tuning an agreement for the skilled craftsmen of Erebor to begin work on weaponry for Dale's growing army.
I myself had only just returned from the kitchens, where I had been pleasantly surprised – most of Erebor's cooks were male, and had the kind of excitement about sugar work that I had only seen in young girls. The afternoon had been over in the blink of an eye, filled with grinding sugar, making the paste and filling basic moulds that Dís proclaimed she would have served at the dinner that evening, much to my embarrassment. The cooks were highly skilled, and I quickly decided to send them better moulds once I'd returned to Dale, in exchange for their good treatment of me.
I took a quick look out the window at the darkening sky and estimated that we had about an hour left before Balin would come to escort us. I already knew how I wanted to use the time.
"Sigrid," I began as she sat down on a chair in front of the mirror so I could begin work on her hair, "will you tell me why you are so determined that your father not know about Fili?"
Sigrid bowed her head shyly, staring into her lap. My immediate reaction was to want to launch into a speech, saying that she could not hide it for much longer considering Fili studied Sigrid as if he lacked only the bread to make a meal out of her. But I remained silent, hoping to draw out an explanation.
"It's not what you think," she muttered and my brushing stilled.
"What do I think? I don't think anything except he's a fine man. He'd make a good father, a good provider. His people love you like they would one of their own. I cannot see the obstacles that you seem to."
She mumbled something unintelligible and I squeezed her shoulder.
"Hmm?"
"I said: he would be a perfect husband."
I spread my hands. "Well, yes. We've already covered that."
Sigrid finally laughed, looking back at my reflection until I too, laughed at our conversation that would keep going around in circles unless she was honest.
Sigrid seemed to come to the same conclusion, for she took a deep breath in and laid her hands in her lap. I resumed brushing her hair, waiting.
"Fili's eighty five, Anne. Did you know that?"
I nodded wordlessly. I didn't know his exact age but I knew dwarves aged remarkably well.
"Well," she continued, "you must understand, Da thinks the Dwarves are good men… King Thorin has gone a long way to repair the relationship between them, he's given a lot to us to make Dale what it is and what it will be."
"I know that," I said calmly, not wanting to break the spell that had her talking more words than her father ever had in one sentence.
"But, take King Thorin for example. He's nearly two hundred!"
This time, my façade crumbled and my mouth hung open. "Two hundred!" I exclaimed but quickly returned to brushing her hair when she winced. "Right, two hundred. Well, at least it's nothing compared to the Elves."
Sigrid snorted and chuckled. "Yes, true. But Da said over dinner one night, after there had been talk of an alliance through marriage between Dale and Erebor, that he wouldn't wish such a life on any human woman. He said by the time she'd be grey haired and bent, the husband would still be looking as young as ever. By the time she died," her voice dropped and I heard it catch. I squeezed her shoulder again.
"By the time she died, he would still have decades to live. Da said there would be no balance between them. She'd always be nervous that she was no longer the woman she was, and the husband would have to live a hundred years more after her death, all alone. He thinks it's a recipe for sadness."
I focused on twisting the strands of hair that framed her face, creating braids that would meet in the middle of the back of her head. A recipe for sadness. Of course Bard would think that. He had spent a good decade in grief – it would only be natural for him to protest such a union for similar reasons. But I felt that Bard had it wrong, not that I'd tell him that, for that was a conversation meant for husband and wife and not King and servant.
"Sigrid…" I trailed off as I tied a leather band around the braids where they met. I had left the rest of her hair down, taking inspiration from how Dís and the handful of other women I'd seen let their thick, soft hair flow over their shoulders and backs.
"Sigrid, your father's opinion is born out of his experience. That doesn't mean it's the same for you," I said gently. "We do not know what life has in store for us. Surely it would be better to marry a dwarf who loves your heart and soul, than resign yourself to an unhappy match simply because the man is of the same race?"
Sigrid's serious expression turned mischievous at my words. "Says the woman who has won the heart of a King, but refuses to see it!"
"Oh!" I tugged on her hair, laughing. "Believe me, if Bard was as clear in his feelings as Fili is with his, I'd be marching back down to Dale right this minute and demanding a declaration. It's not me you have to give that advice to."
Our laughter carried through the chamber, interrupted only by the knock that announced Balin had arrived. I quickly braided my own hair in the same style as Sigrid, braids at the front and loose down my back, and hurried to open the door.
"Lady Anne," the older dwarf bowed and I curtsied with a wide smile.
"My lord Balin, forgive me if I kept you waiting."
"Not at all," he dismissed the comment and bowed again when Sigrid came into view.
As before, he offered us both of his arms and shook his head with a wolfish grin that took years off of his face. "I will be the talk of Erebor – arriving to dinner with a golden Princess on one arm and a dark beauty on the other."
Sigrid and I exchanged a look above his head and I pressed my lips together, my mouth shaking as I tried not to laugh.
"Lead on, my lord Balin," Sigrid said, her calm voice not betraying even an inch of the mirth in her eyes.
We walked back to the main hall, which now glittered as if with gold from the hundreds of newly lit torches. And all the while I pondered Bard's words to Sigrid about Fili and whether she was right – did I really have his heart? And if I did, would that mean that his decision about a union between Sigrid and her Fili would be different? Would Bard feel differently, if he too felt the buzzing under his skin that I felt when he was near?
And if I did have his heart… would he ever allow himself to admit it to me? Or would I become like the woman in his advice to Sigrid – losing my years to a man, nervously waiting, watching myself change from young to old, dark hair to white. It was a sobering thought, one I quickly banished as Balin led us to the doors of the feasting chamber. But I couldn't quite take my mind off of Bard – despite my doubts, I wished I could know: was he thinking of me, the way I was of him? For even in the beauty of Erebor, I wanted to hitch up my skirts and run all the way back to the man that had left his stamp on my heart.
.
.
.
A/N
Ofbloodandroses - they are! And thank you!
Lystan - not too much beard in this chapter, I will endeavour to add more into the next ;)
VirgCoup - thank you!
Ali - oh, wonderful! Thank you. I'll be anxiously waiting to see if you watch BOtFA with the same ideas, I did the same a few weeks ago and loved it even more.
I'm interested to see people's thoughts on Bard's reason to object about a match with Fili. The argument makes the most sense to me, though I'm aware that it goes beyond the race issue that most fics seem to concentrate on.