Hello friends! Here's a summer installment! Have fun with it! Many thanks to a VERY patient Painton who read through two drafts! And thank you to all you wonderful readers who have send the most lovely messages and support. You are a blessing to any writer!

Chapter 21

"I understand, but in the meantime, tell me what you need from us … Areen," the king asked softly.

I had no doubt on the first item. Sky and Summer needed protection. Then I needed to be honest about what was going on, even though the thought of telling him such sordid details made me nervous. And the trade agreement must be signed. Yes, that was important, although I was sure he wouldn't go that far if it wasn't in his best interest. But after those items? What an offer! How much could I ask for, I wondered? Not that I'd be unreasonable. Just my own set of chambers next door to a kitchen built to my specifications. Oh, and Lord Boron would take on the exalted role of apprentice stable mucker. Summer would appreciate having someone devoted to cleaning under her tail and with a golden shovel to boot!

"My lord, I need safe haven for my dog and pony," I said firmly, ticking off one finger. The next item was harder to force out, and I dropped my hands in my lap. "I need to tell you everything that's been going on and ... afterwards, I hope you'll still sign the trade agreement."

"I shall order them moved after you have your say," he promised in that low, velvety voice that I imagined had the flavor of a good beef gravy or molasses bread with walnuts. He said nothing about the trade agreement, but I wasn't surprised. Pushing back on the bench, he scraped the heels of his boots against the stone walkway while he tried to find a comfortable position for his legs. The creaking of leather and clinking of chains continued until he grunted his readiness. It was at that fine moment when my determination faltered, and I turned cold with anxiety. Slif was all supportive hugs and funny jokes to dispel any melancholy, but King Thorin seemed to have enough melancholy for the both of us. I blew out my breath in a hasty rush and struggled to form the first word, but nothing came. There was so much to say, and I couldn't decide where to start. All my thoughts tangled into a snarl that one throws away or cuts off because picking it apart is too hard. Finally, I growled with frustration, but then I heard that voice rolling out like a banner flung into the wind.

"I will stay for as long as you need."

"Thank you, my lord" I replied after taking a few deep breaths. "I appreciate that. It's such a knotted story that I'm having a hard time finding where to start."

"At the beginning, Areen," he said in a measured tone. "There's nothing more that needs doing tonight, so I have the time."

I nodded my agreement and started by describing father's descent into madness. I told about the death of his family in a raid when he was little more than a dwarfling, hiding in a tree to watch those he loved slaughtered and despoiled by orcs, only to be taken in by a family who wanted a servant more than a son. Father was a tragic figure, and I couldn't imagine how awful it was for him, but his suffering by no means excused his behavior. King Thorin suffered just as much, but he fought through it. I knew that by how his family and close friends acted. They were happy to be with him, easy when with him. I heard their love for him in their voices. Not so with father. He inspires fear and loathing in most and greed in the rest.

"He wanted so much to have his own children, maybe thinking that they would make up for the loss of his family," I said. "Mother had no trouble getting pregnant, but she miscarried every babe until I came along. I don't know how father felt when he saw that I wasn't a son and that I would be lame for life, but I don't imagine that he took it well. My brother came a few years later, but by then he had changed too much recover."

"Now he's suspicious of everyone and throws his people into prison regularly," I said, my voice growing more irate. "Once a whole family because the children were playing catch, and the ball got away from them and rolled over his boots, leaving mud on his silver buckles. Relatives had to scrounge to buy him a new pair of boots before he ordered their release." My voice dropped. "Periodically, he sends out his guards to find those who criticize him or circumvent his taxes to feed their families. When he finds them ..."

"When he finds them?" King Thorin prodded.

"When he finds them," I continued with enough heat to scorch the bench we were sitting on, "he either banishes them or cuts off their thumbs for treason."

He sat quietly while he digested that piece of information. Of course, punishment exists for a reason, but it had better be exacted for a very good reason and after guilt had been established beyond any doubt. I couldn't imagine King Thorin ever sentencing someone out of spite or paranoia. However, I needed to move on from father before I exploded and decided instead to talk about the Secret Servants. With a big smile, I told King Thorin about those good and courageous ministers who risk execution for what they do—Lord Torfrin and Lord Vinn in particular. They're heroes in my mind, and I described them in glowing terms. They deserve it, Mahal knows!

"The lords in charge of the accounts tell him that the amount brokered for our goods is less than it is so we can distribute the remainder to my people. Father doesn't know about any of this, but he's always on the hunt for dissent, so we have to be careful. I expect that any who are caught would be executed and perhaps their families as well. It's happened before but not for some time. Lord Torfrin and Lord Vinn are the best and bravest of dwarves, and they, along with mother, deserve all the credit for keeping our people together."

"And you and your mother, Areen?" he asked after his breath hitched. "What would happen to you if you were found out?"

I bit my lip, not really willing to go there. Painful death is something we all knew might come our way, but none of us wanted to dwell on that prospect for long. Lord Torfrin and Uncle Vinn kept us focused on the good we were doing and gave us as much encouragement and strength as we had need for. Besides, thinking about execution doesn't exactly bolster courage and keep one wanting to stay the course.

"I try not to think on it, my lord," I said slowly, "but I expect we'd be banished if not worse. I don't think father would have us killed, but I do think that he'd kill those we love as punishment. Sky and Summer would be the first to die and then my friends on some charge."

The king made an undeniably disgusted huff, and my mind skipped to wondering if we could understand each other with only grunts, snorts, and huffs like Summer and Sky communicate. That would be an interesting conversation to say the least.

"We came to near-bankruptcy when father decided to spend most our treasury on grandiose projects and the last of it on a mine that yielded nothing of value. Our kingdom—if you want to call it that—looks impressive, and my people put on a good front for trade, but in truth the average dwarf is destitute. Your down payment was most timely."

Another huff on his part and another question. I was grateful that he was brief and to the point.

"How is it that your herbs and dyes don't supply enough revenue to compensate?" he asked. "Our reports showed that your trade is sufficient for your people and to spare."

"It would be, my lord, if father wasn't so extravagant." I said after a sigh. I laced my fingers to keep calm. "He's determined that the Grey Mountains be seen as a power equal to the Iron Hills or even Erebor, but that pursuit has no hope of success."

King Thorin mumbled under his breath about that being a fool's errand, and then he changed topics. I don't know if he did that for my sake or his, but I needed the reprieve.

"What caused your blindness?"

"A fever when I was nine," I answered, struggling to keep my voice steady. "I fell ill with so many others. Father brushed it off as the usual sickness that comes through from time to time, so he didn't order any preparations. It wasn't. It was a plague, and it swept down on us, killing many though none close to me. Mother tended to me while I recovered, but father never once visited. I did hear him in the hallway asking if I was going to die. He said that he'd rather I die than be a noose around his neck with my blindness."

King Thorin hummed or hmmmd in response. I guess it's ridiculous to say that someone hummed as if they were going to break into song, but he did sound like that. A sonorous tone that very well could have accompanied a dirge or song of mournful longings or lost love. Sometimes mother hums when she's considering something, but this was the first time I could honestly say that a dwarrow did. Maybe he has a good singing voice, and this was an unconscious habit. Then I shook my head to clear my strange thoughts and get back to where I was. I do that a lot. Something strikes me and then my mind jumps to something else completely. I remember doing it when I was young so I wouldn't dwell on painful events. Now it's a habit.

"Areen?"

Ah, yes, he was still there. I plowed on with stories of father rearranging furniture to make me fall and changing the locations of meeting places so I would have to backtrack.

"Then he'd punish me for being late." I said.

The facts of him beating mother came out more slowly, each painful word falling between stutters and stops. After I told him that bit of ugly news, he actually snarled. It wasn't at me, but it was frightening to hear, and I felt goosebumps rising on my arms and legs. Did he do that in battle? I chalked that up to one more reason why he won his war. After talking so long that his ear hair must have grown at least a quarter of an inch, I brought him up to present day.

"After father received your last letter, he ordered me to come here with the understanding that Sky and Summer would die if I didn't fool you into thinking I'm something I'm not," I said, my anger at father's infamy spilling over into my present situation. I felt the king shift on the bench and heard the merest pop of his lips opening, and I had to stop myself before I talked over him. I swallowed with a noisy gulp.

"I will protect your animals, and I ask you to believe that I will take steps to ensure that you are treated as you deserve."

After a moment, I dipped my head. I listened to his undertone and heard nothing but firm resolve, and I must say that went a long way to helping me feel better, but he wasn't done yet.

"My example was not what it should have been," he continued, enunciating each word clearly like he was dictating to his scribe, "and that will change; however, you will encounter animosity because blindness is still considered a ..."

"Curse," I interrupted without thinking. "I know." He noised his agreement.

"There's something else, my lord," I said, almost cringing this time. He made another questioning sound, and I stopped to ask myself if he spent a good portion of his day grunting, noising, and gesticulating his thoughts. He seemed to communicate surprisingly well that way, and it occurred to me that he must get a lot of work done. One grunt, and his counselors could write a new law. The image of long-robed counselors running out the door and drafting a law that used up pots of ink and parchment based on one grunt from the king squeaked out a scoff.

"What is so amusing?" he asked while straightening up with a few more creaks of leather.

"You say more with a grunt than anyone I know," I answered before my rational mind could stop me. "Is that part of princely training?"

He snorted, and his creaking had the rhythmic sound of a quiet chuckle. "It might be at that," he replied. "So this is the real you then?"

I heard the smile in his voice, and I nodded with a pained scrunch of my mouth, my nerves returning. The real me. Just what Kili asked. What if they didn't like the real me? It would only matter until Feron came, but I knew now that they were good and honorable dwarves—if a bit overbearing at times—and I wanted their good opinion before I left. Even in King Thorin's anger I recognized his love for Kili and determination to protect his people. Mama bear indeed, but I couldn't fault him for it really. I guess I would have done the same if I felt someone was threatening my friends or mother. I didn't say anything, and then I remembered that he was waiting for an answer.

"Yes, I suppose so," I replied with a definite cringe, "but I'm afraid that you and the others won't like the real me. I'm such a mix of things that sometimes I think Mahal meant to make two different women but got distracted and slammed me together instead."

He creaked again, a little louder that time.

"You need to be yourself, Areen," he said, his tone reasonable, "whatever that is. We'd not have you play false to please us. That's not honorable."

He made sense but, on the other hand, he was king, so it was easy for him to say. Even so, I never thought I'd be sharing so openly after the start of our rather, um, emotional conversation.

"We've come a long way in a short time, my lord," I said, letting my well-trained posture relax. "For a moment there, I thought I might have to kick you in your tender spots if I could guess where they were."

At that, he creaked even more and made a deep rumble of sounds that had me imagining his head down and his eyes closed and crinkled at the edges. I'd give him white, even teeth now and maybe even a nice smile. He was still a gnarled stump of a tree, but even stumps had their charm.

"You'll get along famously with the company, Areen," he observed. "Of that I am sure."

We didn't say much after that, just sat companionably on the bench and let the time soothe away any remaining tension. Maybe he had some excess of feeling that he needed to dispel. Still, he never really addressed my fear.

"I'm impertinent," I said into the stillness. He harrumphed this time, a definite "You don't say."

"I am!" I argued. I stabbed at the air and poked him in the chest by mistake. He had moved closer than I thought. "If you want me to be myself ..." I paused and waited for his response. Shifting suddenly, perhaps in surprise at my chest-poking, he noised his agreement. "You know, that can get annoying after a while," I commented. "Anyway, I talk without thinking and end up saying the most inappropriate things—like a moment ago—and my mind wanders too much, so if you want me to be honest, you should know what you're getting yourself into for the next few weeks. Frankly, I told father that he should come with someone else and pass her off as me."

This time he chuckled outright, and the bench shook. I couldn't fault him. Friends have said that I sound a bit touched sometimes. Another thought, a more sober thought, pushed that one out of the way. He must have seen my face change because he stopped at once.

"Did I offend you, Areen?" he asked. I shook my head. Mother's words came into my mind, and I thought that now was the time to ask. Even if we had reached a truce, he was still a busy king, and I was sure that I'd not get this much time with him again.

"No, no, my lord, it's just that mother thought it would be good for me to be here. She said that you have something I need, that you could help me."

I felt his face much closer to mine.

"With what?" he asked.

I shrugged, completely unprepared to answer that question.

"I don't know," I replied, a little put off that mother was so vague. "Perhaps since you recovered from your, um, illness you can help father recover from his, his, uh, condition?"

The king was quiet for a long time, and I wondered what he was thinking. He didn't say.

Thorin tilted his head while considering her question, his surprisingly good humor dampened by a return to what she had shared. He understood her mother's desperate desire for someone who had overcome madness to help another still mired in it, but her husband's situation differed greatly in that he had closed himself off for years, not days. Surely, he wouldn't listen to a stranger if he wouldn't see those who would be loyal and love him if he gave them the slightest chance. Thorin was also not sure he could keep his composure around her father, now knowing what he did. He had listened to Areen's story with increasing astonishment at the utterly shocking state of affairs.

This isn't possible, he thought while he listened to her descriptions of her father's perfidy. But as she continued talking, sometimes haltingly, he realized that the realm of the Grey Mountains was indeed a hotbed of intrigue and deception with its citizens playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a number of rats thrown in for good measure.

I've never heard of such a thing happening—anywhere. Of course, politics and diplomacy are part and parcel of any kingdom, and factions and special interests abound, but nothing like this.

Nothing like citizens banding together with nobles to hoodwink their lord so that the people didn't starve. Nothing like a queen deceiving her husband to head up a secret society dedicated to stealing from the treasury to keep the kingdom from imploding. Nothing like a lord so depraved that he would torment his blind child for pleasure, and nothing like a dwarf beating his wife for any reason. He had heard of ballads and tales blabbing such stuff and nonsense, and he always scoffed at those in the library who waved hankies while they read, tears streaming down their faces. They dabbed at their eyes with one hand and struggled to turn pages with the other. Even Della confessed to reading a few of the tamer versions.

This sounds like one of those detestable books written by idle dwarves who don't know a day's hard work.

Only this time it was a pitched battle to survive with no end in sight.

Her mother's ordeal deserves another category entirely.

Maybe he meant to answer me, but the door scraped open before he could.

"Uncle? Areen?" Kili called.

I heard him round the corner quickly and trot toward us. He stopped short and gasped, perhaps at our sitting on the bench instead of hurling vases at each other. I had a sudden image of the king heaving a huge urn at me while I tossed flower pots, both of us surrounded by shards of pottery and slivers of crystal.

"Areen! Your arm! Uncle, you couldn't have. You didn't …?"

By now it felt hot and thick, and I had trouble bending my wrist. Self-consciously, I cradled it and held it against my stomach. If his tone was anything to go by, he was well and truly shocked, but I shook my head in his general direction. Soft mumbles made me think that he was trying to reconcile my injury with my present calm. I opened my mouth to reassure him, but King Thorin beat me to it, his tone firm and no nonsense.

"Her father," was all he said, but his voice gave those two words the weight of a life sentence. The birds sung as before, and the air was as fragrant, but never had father's actions seemed as filthy as King Thorin's voice made them. They were not only sins against me, mother, and our people, but against Mahal himself. Kili murmured in sorrow.

"May I?" he asked with a feather-light touch on my fingers. I held out my arm, and his hands inspected my arm just like his uncle had done an hour before. "It isn't broken, praise Mahal, but Oin should have a look and wrap it. He can make a sling." He put a soft kiss on the back of my hand and patted it with care. "I see you reached an understanding."

I nodded, and King Thorin grunted again then caught himself with a snort. Kili noised his relief. Must be a family trait.

"So what happens now, Uncle?" he asked.

What indeed, dear friends? Please review! Let me know you're out there!