"That's not how you use it."
Her Greataunt's voice made Algun jump up and tear her eyes off the bottle of the plum brandy.
"The cork is supposed to be pulled out, and glasses need to be filled. What a waste," the old woman grumbled and sat heavily in the chair.
She started unclasping the belts on the ankles of her boots, making displeased grunts. Algun thought she might have heard a quiet swearing as well.
Algun got up from her seat and came up to the old woman. She knelt and took the buckles out of the woman's hands.
"Alternatively... I could send it back," Algun said quietly.
She could guess Siginirak was currently giving her a sarcastic look even without lifting her head.
"It's been seven days, and you still haven't."
"Traditionally I'm allowed to think it over for a fortnight," Algun grumbled.
One boot was unbuckled, and she started on the other one.
"Poppycock," the Dwarven dame scoffed. "Most zadram khajam are open the first day, and gleeful acceptance notes are sent back. In rare cases, when refusal is sent, it happens just as fast. You're just being a dunce."
"Why? Because I'm not sure what to answer?"
Algun got up.
"What's there to be unsure of?" Siginirak shrugged.
She shook off her boots and went to the basin, shuffling her feet. Algun knew the woman's knees had been bothering her recently.
"It's the first invitation to courtship, siginirak! I can't just say 'aye' and then renegade! And it's the King!"
Another dismissing 'pfft' noise followed from her Greataunt.
"The fact that he went after you shows he's just a man like any other."
"What's this supposed to mean?" Algun felt offended. "Am I not good enough to be his Queen?"
"You ain't," Siginirak deadpanned.
She dried her hands and sat at the table. Her dinner on the tray was definitely cold. She'd been once detained in the infirmary past any reasonable hour.
"There are maidens more beautiful, of better families, with better skills, and much bigger dowries in Erebor, practically waiting at his door. I've just chased a couple away today." The healer seemed unconcerned by the temperature of her stew and started eating it greedily. "And yet, even before his sister arrived to start matchmaking, he sent you this." The Dwarven dame pointed at the brandy with her spoon.
Algun threw a dark glare at the cursed bottle.
"Which only means one thing. He ain't using his royal head when choosing."
Algun plopped on a low bench by the wall. Siginirak threw her a sardonic look.
"It's just an zadram khajam," the older woman said. "If you accept it, it just means you don't find him repulsive."
Algun gave out a shaky laugh.
"No one finds King Thorin repulsive, siginirak." Algun stretched her legs in front of her and stared at her boots. "But I just think… that unlike him, I can't just… skip using my head."
"Of course not. Marriage is generally a matter you should consider thoroughly." The woman poured a glass of ale in her mouth. "Any reasonable person would consider against of course, but I have low hopes for you."
"Why is that? I've never been one of them, 'waiting under his doors' ones," Algun answered pouting.
"Nay, but you haven't send the bottle away either. You are considering marriage, and to him for that matter."
"He is Thorin Oakenshield, siginirak," Algun said quietly. "Of course, I'm considering it. Now," she pointed out. "Now that he's… interested."
"And before?" Siginirak asked venomously.
"And before I just… admired him. His looks, and… his manners, I suppose." It was Algun's turn to shrug. "I enjoyed the fittings, and… his humour. He's… mesmerising, and exciting… I don't know, siginirak."
"Well, since you're enjoying his temper and his looks, why hesitate? Let's open the bottle now. I could use a drink."
The woman took a step towards the shelf the bottle had been perched on for the last seven days - and Algun emitted a shrieky, 'No, wait!'
"Now what?" Siginirak grumbled.
"Looks, and manners, and temper - that's not all that matters in this case, isn't it?" Algun crossed her arms. "There is also his… crown."
"What? Is it not to your liking? It won't go with the peacock clobber you're sewing him?" The dame barked a raspy, caw-like laugh.
"I mean, his rule! And how I would be the Queen of Erebor if this courtship takes it course!"
"Don't you want to be a Queen?" Siginirak asked nonchalantly.
"No!" Algun answered before she could even think about it.
She froze with her mouth half-open, and then she pressed her hand to her forehead.
"No, I don't want to be the Queen," she said quietly but firmly. "I want to open my shop in erebor. I want to be the best and most in demand needlemaster in all seven Dwarven kingdoms. I want to dress the King and the court."
"But do you want the King?"
"I do!" Once again the answer just burst out of Algun. "Oh, Mahal help me..."
"The Maker is no help for you here," the old woman scoffed. "He isn't usually bothered with blockheads."
Algun dropped her head in her hands.
"What do I do?" she whined.
The sound of a cork popping out of a bottle made her whip her face up.
"Drink, child. And write one of those frilly notes. I'll sign it."
A glass full of the dark ruby liquid was placed on the corner of the table, and Algun minced to it. She lifted the goblet and could already catch the sweet, heady aroma of the brandy.
"You still have moons to change your mind," the healer dame dismissed and licked her lips. "Meanwhile, you'll enjoy his looks, firsthand, so to speak."
She took a small sip and squinted in pleasure.
"Play with his locks, scratch the beard, and all those other things you've been imagining," Siginirak drew out.
Algun choked on her first sip of the brandy.
"What?" The old woman gave her a saucy wink. "I might be old, but I'm not dead yet."
Algun stared at her Grandaunt - and then just shook her head and toppled the drink down her throat. The flavour and aroma flooded her senses, intoxicating and overwhelming - just as its sender.
"I'll get a quill," Algun muttered and walked out of the room.
Algun was rummaging through papers on her Greataunt's table, when a door opened and a Dwarf stuck his head in. He looked somehow familiar - and then Algun remembered. The Dwarf had been a member of the original company of King Thorin. His name was Bofur, son of Bragi, from the Rhudaur Dwarves. All twelve Dwarves who travelled with the King from the South were well-known these days.
"Evening, lass." He gave her a wide sunny grin. "Is this the study of the chief healer, Mistress Frotha?"
"Aye, sir. It is. But she's in her chamber." Algun pointed at the door she'd just come from. "Do you need me to call her?"
"No, no, I just thought that was where King Thorin was."
"They'd moved him to a chamber in the East passage, Lower Halls, a few days ago. They'd cleared and decorated the halls for him."
"Ah. Well, ta!" The Dwarf smiled at her again.
He was moving out of the room, and then he was back, his head and shoulders back in the room, the door still, for some reason, only half open.
"Are you Algun, daughter of Birni? The famous seamstress?"
"Aye, I am," she answered, and he gave her a merry look over.
He was clearly sizing her up, but it didn't feel lecherous or offensive. Still, Algun met his eyes and gave him a pointed look from under a raised eyebrow. The Dwarf snickered.
"Pardon my curiosity, fair maiden. It's just that I've heard… rumours."
Blood rushed away from Algun's face. There was nothing she'd hate more than to be a subject of idle gossip; but then she remembered that she was in that room looking for a quill and parchment to write a note accepting the King's courtship, and she gloomily told herself she might as well get used to it.
"Don't worry yourself sick, my lady," the Dwarf continued, openly laughing now. "So far, lord Balin is restraining himself. It's only the Company who knows. And we will try keeping our mouths shut." He picked up a quaint floppy-eared hat he was wearing and funnily bobbed it on his head. "Good day."
"Good day," Algun answered darkly.
The Dwarf was leaving - and was back again.
"Though, to think of it, there will be wives at tonight's dinner; and they will blather." Bofur, son of Bragi shrugged. "Hopefully, old Balin keeps his gob occupied with food."
And then, he was finally gone.
Algun fell in her Greataunt's chair and pressed her hand to her forehead. She hadn't even agreed yet, and the 'rumours' had already started!
She looked down at the desk and finally noticed a quill sticking from under a pile of parchments. She picked it up and twirled it in her fingers. To think of it, she could still change her mind...