AN: I've changed Dain's age in my AU, making him around 190 instead of 166. Thorin is 197.
Chapter 21
Daena stuck her spoon into the porridge with a sigh of satisfaction. For a nearly a hundred and eighty years, even since she was weaned, Daena had begun every day of her life with a bowl of porridge. Until recently, that is. Since relocating to Erebor, the matronly dwarf had been most displeased by the state of porridge. Bread, meat, and all other intemperate and indulgent foods were eaten at a whim, and Daena was displeased to see that even Malin had adopted this Western style. It smacked of the influence of... of... elves?
Today, however, nothing could mar her happiness with the porridge that was so so perfectly prepared. Some younger folk sprinkled theirs with spices and sugars, but precisely prepared porridge required nothing but a pinch of salt.
"My compliments to the cook," she waved her spoon appreciatively at Sigrid. Truth to be told, Daena felt rather diminished by the large, stately home of Bard. Her feet dangled like a child's at the table, and the table was high.
"Tis not I," Sigrid shook her head, "Madghie made it."
"Tell her this is excellent, excellent," Daena's eyes rolled skyward in pure ecstasy
"Tilda hates porridge," Bain pointed out, and was promptly poked in the elbow, "Ow!"
"Makes you grow large and strong," Daena eyed the lass suspiciously, "It's good stuff, it is. Not too dry, not too wet... and Mahal forbid not burnt!"
"I'll tell Madghie," Sigrid smiled across the table.
"I'll tell her myself," Daena said, spoon the last delectable morsel into her mouth and pushing herself off the table. Dressed in a well-cut, yet sensible robe, with her hair dressed in its usual way, she appeared much more female in the eyes of Bard's children, which Oin knew spoke volumes of how much Daena was at home in Dale.
The hired kitchen girl was a friend of Sigrid's, and she was upon this morning in very, very high spirits, for the herring had been bought at a very good price and she didn't need to make bannocks today. In the kitchen, she swept merrily as stew bubbled, singing a cheerful song quite loudly with her strong voice.
"A bit strongly spiced, that," came a deep but not unfriendly voice from the door.
"I like things strong," admitted the lass, getting over surprise, "Madghie, at your service."
"Daena at yours. What's that cooking?" It smells a wee bit spicy for the bairns."
"It'll be good with scones for supper," Maghie suggested, "Bain has taken a great liking to my fish-and-lentil stew. Would you like a taste?"
She whipped a wooden spoon from her apron and held it hesitantly out to Daena, who set down her empty porridge bowl and pulled a chair over to the stove. Taking the spoon from Madghie with a nod, Daena dipped her spoon in the rich stew.
"Mm..." the steam clouded her vision for a moment, "This is nice."
"A little eastern," Madghie admitted.
"Are you of Easterling blood?" Daena eyed the lass critically.
She was stodgy, and not tall for a daughter of Men. Like some inhabitants of Laketown, Madghie was quite Eastern in appearance, with tanned skin and piercing black eyes. But Daena noticed something else as a well - a thin but noticeable line of facial hair on Maghie's cheeks and lip... was she... dwarven? At least partly?
"I dinnae know," Madghie accent was strangely mountainous, "I'm a foundling."
"Ah," Daena nodded, descending from the chair, "Bard is good king to have gainfully employed such a skilled cook."
"Thank ye," Madghie blushed, lowering her face not quite knowing what to say,
"I came to tell you that the porridge was excellent."
"Thank ye," Madghie stepped back slightly, a little intimidated by the dwarf.
She found this dwarf-woman strangely fascinating. Such a noble and important dwarf was not a common sight, only a feature of legend and myth. To have such an important creature not only in the kitchen with her, but tasting her soup and praising for porridge was a bit much for poor Madghie. She open and shut her mouth, eyes glazing over in their awkward focus.
"I will have an elven healer look over Tilda, perhaps Tauriel herself when next she comes," Bard promised.
"It is reassuring that a strong alliance has been forged between Dale and the Green Wood," Oin nodded perceptively, "Even if we cannot count the elves as friends, they are at least friends of yours, and thus friends of our friends."
Bard shrugged,
"What are men but the eternal peacemakers of Arda? We have no bone to pick with any kingdom, save that of darkness..."
"Tell her to look at Tilda's feet especially," Oin shook his head, "Fair creatures may be experts in their medicine but they walk with their noses too far above the ground."
Bard laughed; it was a carefree laugh such as if he had only recently been able to breathe deeply, richly, freely...
"And we must convince Daena not to rob us of our hired cook," Bard suggested, leaning forward to Oin's level and whispering conspiratorially...
"I have sharp ears, King of Dale," Daena approached the hearth where Bard and Oin were seated.
Bard shrugged, "Any news from the raven, Lady of Urad Zimrul?"
"More of the funeral..." Daena glanced hesitantly at Oin, whose shoulders slumped slightly, "The child had been turned over to the stone. We will return in three days. The king will send an envoy to meet with you, Bard, and then we depart the day after."
"How coincidental," Bard mused soberly, quietly as Oin contemplated the loss of his nephew, "I have visitors from the Green Wood at that same time as well..."
"We can change plans," Daena said quickly, a firm line of displeasure on her lips, "I will send for a raven..."
"No, no," Bard shook his head, "Leave them be. And as regards Madghie, you are welcome to have her in your employ, if she can be convinced."
"Easily, I think," Daena rubbed her hands together, "I will care for her as long as she lives, I promise you that. And I am to live a good seventy years more! She will be paid well and treated kindly. I need porridge, and my brother will not spare the expense."
"Is she to follow you back to the Iron Hills?"
"If she wishes," Daena shrugged, "She is free to come and go. I hear Madghie sews as well..."
Bard coughed,
"I would not put much hope in that. Sigrid prefers to do the sewing, though some say she ought to..."
"Let her be occupied," Daena nodded, "Servants are only to free us from some tasks to enable us to accomplish others. Sigrid would be greatly unhappy if she had nothing to do but idle her time."
"The children are a great help," Bard nodded, "But I do not wish for servants to run our lives..."
"I am sure you know what to do. A wise father if I ever saw one," Daena smiled, "And we share strong beliefs in gainful employment."
Bard blushed,
"A father, but not a mother. There are matters on which I am of little aid to my girls... or even Bain. I will be honest, I only know how to shield Sigrid from unwanted attention at present, but not an inkling as to... as to..."
Bard sighed. His burdens were his and his alone. Surely if he had managed this long (and surely teething and the pox were the worst of it), he would just get through whatever hurdles his lonely foray in the unexplored territories of parenthood would bring...
Bard changed the subject,
"Ah, so with the growing city, I sense the need to establish smaller agricultural settlements next spring. Food, grain especially, is expensive at present as it is brought in from a great distance..."
Kili trotted with his hands in his pockets into the royal halls. It was a beautiful day. The sun had risen, figuratively of course, since in the mountain dwarves knew not of the sun and its times and rarely saw or felt it.
"I do not think it necessary, amad," Kili complained over the fried trout at breakfast, "I am busy and Fili is well capable of..."
"Go as a group! Urla needs some fresh air, and I think my two princes should present yourselves to the King of Dale," Dis insisted, waving her hands dismissively.
"Uncle should go," Kili suggested. He glanced at Fili, who was his usual quiet self.
"Mmm?" Thorin looked up. He was not to be snatched away from the pleasures of fresh, fried trout at breakfast to be lured into a discussion.
"I'm sending Fili and Kili to escort Lady Daena back to Erebor," Dis said, "It will be a good excursion for Urla and I'm sure they'll take good care of her as well as make a good job of presenting the transports of gold to the King of Dale."
"How long are we staying?" Fili lifted the glass of tea to his lips, trying to graciously keep his beard from entering the cup.
"One or two nights. Bard will host you," Dis stated, then looked to Thorin, "I've arranged it all by Ravenspeak."
"Aye, do what you must." Thorin nodded dismissively and lifted his fork to spear the large fish once again...
"May I bring a friend? I think she would like a breath of fresh air..." Kili ventured.
Thorin looked up and Dis shot him a pleased look.
"She? A lass?" Dis's well-drawn eyebrows lifted.
"Ale. She needs to get out of the mountain, I think."
"Very thoughtful of you, Kili," Dis nodded approvingly, "You've been very good to her in her bereavement."
Kili shrugged.
There was silence, and eating. Thorin was about to savour the last morsel when,
"On second thoughts..." Dis glanced around the table and announced, "Your uncle and I will also make the trip."
Thorin dropped his fork,
"Wha-" he began.
"You need fresh air, nadad," Dis snatched his fork deftly and held it out of the way, "And I'm sure the King of Erebor himself should be present with the shipment of gold."
Fili and Kili looked positively delighted. Bastards, Thorin thought, then quickly swallowed the fish that was turning dry in his mouth with a gulp of (yuck!) tea.
"Please come, uncle," Kili was practically bouncing in the chair like he did as a child, "We could explore Dale... and see what the Lonely Mountain looks like from the highest tower..."
"If I go, the lads will not enjoy themselves," Thorin protested vaguely and desperately, glaring at Kili to "shut up".
"Nonsense," Dis returned his fork and grinned at him, "They want you to come... and furthermore, the mountain will take care of itself for a day. I want to do some shopping."
Thorin pouted. He was King Under the Mountain, and one of the perks of king-hood had to be that he was absolved from attending to Dis as she went on a spending spree.
Dis was giving him an innocent look that melted his heart. After all, she had just recovered from food-poisoning and had emerged from two long weeks of round-the-clock nursing, perhaps she deserved a break. And it melted his heart that she wanted to spend time with him.
But the thought that convinced Thorin was that if he made any further move to oppose her, Dis's kitten-like expression would be replaced by the figurative drawing of claws...
"Very well," Thorin nodded. Then he stood from the table, the action which, as it always did, resulted in everyone at the table quickly rising to their feet in reverence. Thorin nodded and then marched quickly out of the room with what was left of his royal pride.
"There, that's settled," Dis shrugged, and then motioned for a servant to bring out the rest of the trout, "Can't have that old bugger finishing our delicious breakfast, can we? Come, Urla, dig in."
Urla looked up. She barely spoke at meals, but that surprised no one. In fact it would be rather surprising if she did.
"It's be great fun, Urla," Kili winked at her, and Fili added,
"Oh yes, you've never been to Dale. It will be quite splendid."
"Is it quite proper?" Urla ventured timidly at Dis. Visiting a town of Men did not seem to her a very proper thing to do.
"I used to visit Dale all the time as a lass," Dis started to tell one of her long stories, "Now, granted, Adad would sent a great deal of guards. Either Thorin or Frerin would have to come if Adad did not, and they followed me like a hawk. I brought along quite a few lasses as well, and we even stayed overnight once, in a tavern of all places. Ghiza and her sister were with me, and there was a flood or something of that sort."
Dis glanced toward the door through which Thorin had disappeared, lowering her voice,
"Now it was that very night your uncle decided to ask Ghiza's sister to marry him... I'll tell you the tale if you promise not to breathe a word of it in front of him..."
She enjoyed telling stories and this was a very good, and amusing story she had not told in a great many years, not after Ghizim died and the mountain was lost and no one wanted to tell stories any more.