Twenty Six
Dís frowned into the table, listening to the subdued banter of the five or so dwarves at the table. Louder was the silence of Dain. He'd not said a word throughout the meal, and seemed so withdrawn into himself, Dís wasn't sure whether he was even aware of aught but his own thoughts. The motions of his eating and drinking seemed automatic, somehow, as though he were detached from them.
One of their dinner companions - an Iron Hills noble, like his comrades - chuckled around a mouthful of bread. "You should've seen the commotion in the mines today. Caught that firebrand Josrin stirring the pot again. Going on, he was, about the 'hardship' the miners have faced of late, before dawn to well into the night with few breaks in between. Called Your Lordship a pretty name or two." He laughed. "We soon set him right."
"What did you do to him?" Dís asked, breaking her long silence. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but as queen, the mistreatment of her subjects was ever close to her heart. These... "taskmasters" Dain had set over the workers were beginning to cross the bounds of decency as far as she was concerned. The dwarf looked to Dain, as though for permission, and when he received not so much as a blink, shook his head.
"Ah. Not good talk for dinner, my Queen. Suffice it to say, he got what was coming to him." The others chuckled in a manner of humor Dís didn't at all like. She straightened in her seat, her features hardening to stone.
"Do you think me so delicate as to be put off from my meal by such news? I am your queen, and I will decide what is or isn't fit for my ears."
A tense, awkward silence descended over the table as the nobles exchanged looks, then glanced at their king, who reacted no more now than he had before. Dís received the distinct impression that these dwarves knew perfectly well that their talk would draw out her temper, and had been counting on the king's support to protect them. Dain, however, was clearly in no mood to defend his lackies.
"Well?" Dís arched one braided eyebrow, and the nobleman's gaze shifted away from hers.
"The miner Josrin was found guilty of insubordination, and received fifty lashes for his treasonous talk."
Dís drew in a sharp breath. "Fifty? And you considered that fair recompense for a bit of questioning? For empty blustering?" The queen took pains to calm herself. The dagger-edge of her tone seemed finally to have pulled Dain from his thoughts, and he shook his head slowly.
"The mines are the foundation of this kingdom. A steady flow of gold and gems is our only safety and security. Unrest amongst the miners would disrupt that."
"But surely justice is equally the foundation of Erebor," Dís said pointedly. "Gold is not worth more than the lives of our people, or their happiness."
Dain turned his gaze on her, hooded and piercing. It felt heavy, that gaze, and Dís thought a lesser dwarf might have wilted under the weight of it.
"I will not put the happiness of a few miners above the welfare of an entire kingdom. Erebor deserves better than that."
Dís hesitated. She knew thin ice when she saw it, but this... wasn't like him. He might've been hard before. Strict. But to put wealth above the lives of his subjects - it went against everything she'd thought of him prior. Well, she'd pledged to advise him when she disagreed with his actions, and she would not rescind on that pledge now. Not when it might still make a difference.
"My King, perhaps a gentle hand would serve your purposes better than an iron fist. A single dwarf idly complaining is hardly cause for threat to life and limb."
At this, one of the nobles politely cleared his throat. "Beg pardon, Your Highness, but he's hardly the first we've had to deal with."
Dís noticed the sudden death glare Dain directed at the speaker, though it was furtive and brief. The noble lowered his head penitently, and didn't speak again. So there was more to this story. Much more.
"Why was I not told there was... dissent in the mines?" Her gaze darted from the noble back to Dain. "Truly? You'd let me pass my days in my chambers harping, or at the forge working, as if there was no unrest in the kingdom?"
"This is not the business of queens." Dain's voice was soft, but dangerously brittle. "Tend to your own interests, my lady. I ask nothing more of you."
Dís felt a chill, though she thought it might have been more than half anger. "I told you once before that I would not be a token wife, to be paraded out at special occasions and locked up otherwise." If he would not see her as his equal willingly, then she would see it done other ways.
She was ashamed that she had wasted so much time. She had not been as idle as Dain might believe, but she had been confident in the peace that had settled over the Mountain with the conclusion of their marriage. Dain had not forced her to share his quarters, and they had passed several pleasant afternoons together, after the day's work had been seen to.
That had changed, of course, in the past few weeks. With more and more time to herself, Dís had taken to making friends among the servants, using her new bodyguard to her advantage.
Clearly, her network of loyal gossips was incomplete, otherwise she would have heard about this outspoken Josrin before he'd been whipped to within an inch of his life. Dís stood, the scrape of her chair echoing ominously in the silent chamber.
Dain seemed to relent a little, giving a faint nod. In any case, he neither corrected her, nor tried to prevent her leaving. Dís almost wished he would have. She had a feeling he would soon forget all about this confrontation, being altogether occupied these days with his own activities and demanding schedule, such that mealtime conversation and quiet afternoons had become all but a memory of late.
This concerned her, this change. She would have to get to the bottom of it, somehow, and from there decide on a course of action. For now, she had other things to take care of.
Ensuring no one followed, she went straightaway to the healer's ward, where Josrin had doubtless been taken after punishment was meted out. After a quiet exchange with the healer on duty, one she knew had accompanied her brother and sons on the Quest, she was directed to a cot some distance from the others, where the prone form of a dwarf was visible beneath dark, wool blankets.
"He's in a fine way, Highness," the healer, Óin, said softly, shaking his head with concern. "I'd be surprised if he lasted the night."
Dís lifted the corner of the blanket, and saw not one, but five angry lash marks that extended from his back onto his shoulder. With a soft hiss, the dwarrowdam let the blanket cover his shoulder again.
"How did he survive at all?"
Óin let out a gravelly chuckle. "Stubbornness, I expect." Then the old healer's expression became serious again. "Shall I leave ya to yer business, Highness?"
"No. Please stay." Dís turned her attention to the injured dwarf, who groaned softly at her gentle touch. "Josrin, I am Dís, daughter of Thrain. Can you hear me?"
"My... lady," groaned Josrin, eyes fluttering slightly.
When she saw how difficult speech came to him, she hushed him softly. "Save your strength." She turned to Óin gravely. "What treatment has he received thus far?"
Óin scratched at his sleeve. "Well, to be honest, My Queen, I was instructed," he lowered his voice significantly, looking very uneasy, "that he should be 'practice' for my trainee. That I wasn't to touch him."
"On whose orders?!" Dís demanded, appalled.
"The King's orders, Highness. Your husband's."
Dís felt her jaw flex and had to work to keep her anger in check. There were many things she would have said nothing about, valuing her secrecy above speaking out, but this? "And he hadn't even the decency to call it a death sentence," she muttered, working hard to keep the words under her breath. The fury she'd harbored for Dain immediately after her brother's exile was making a vengeful return, charring and weakening the affection she'd begun to allow to take its place. The dwarf that had suffered no variation from his unyieldingly practical plan - that dwarf would not do this.
Óin was eyeing her sidelong, seeming somewhat nervous. Dís took a deep breath. She knew herself well enough to know she was leaking her anger, and oughtn't have let it.
"Óin, do what you can for him, and if anyone asks, we'll say it was 'instruction' for your trainee. Can he be trusted to support your story if questioned?"
Óin's brows knit, and he leaned fractionally closer. He seemed to be trying to decipher her, as though she were cryptic handwriting. "My Queen, if this is a test... I..." He hesitated, seeming very torn. "I don't know if the rumors are true or not... that you remain loyal to Thorin, despite yer marriage to his cousin." He glanced over his shoulder at the young dwarf beginning to make water rounds. Where he'd been lurking before now, Dís didn't know. Óin's already low voice dropped to a faint whisper. "My trainee's an informant, Your Highness. Of that I'm sure as day. Why else d'ya think he watches me so closely? Ya think Dain'd leave a member of Thorin's Company unsupervised in times like these?"
"I had held out hope that the healers' hall,of all places," she growled softly, but didn't finish the sentence. Yes, she'd known Óin was being watched, but she'd hoped that his job and his apprentices wouldn't be interfered with. After all, there were few enough crafts as respected as that of healer. She thought briefly of her brother, Frerin... so bright, so eager. So gentle with his hands.
The dwarrowdam shook her head slightly. "This is unacceptable. Is nothing sacred?"
"So... it's true, then?" Óin turned his head just enough that he could locate his trainee without performing any more suspicious over-the-shoulder glances. "You're still loyal to... your brother?" There was wariness in his tone, and Dís supposed she should be thankful he was being so cautious. Only an idiot would have simply played along, as though she weren't married to a usurper who evidently had informants everywhere.
"I am loyal to my people," Dís answered carefully. "And to the pursuit of just rule. My husband and I... differ on how best to deal with those who disagree."
Óin regarded the dwarrowdam with a healthy measure of uncertainty now, and though it stung, Dís knew it was as things should be. Though she longed to directly contradict the king's orders, to do so would be folly on many levels.
"This," she murmured, gesturing to Josrin, "happens to be a point on which we disagree." Lifting a hand, she caught the trainee's attention, and summoned him with a twitch of her fingers.
"Do you know how to save him?" she asked, and her tone brooked no evasion.
The trainee, a lad maybe just into his nineties, tugged at his sleeves. "Well, I... I did my best." He shrugged lightly. "Master Óin's taught me pretty well. It's just that..." He frowned, pulling back the blanket a little more. Josrin twitched, hissing as the wool came away from a lattice of lacerations, deep, fiercely red, and weeping. Dís drew in a sharp breath, closing her eyes briefly. She turned back to the trainee.
"You know how to treat someone in his condition? You're qualified?"
"Well, yes. I think so." The young dwarf stared at his boots uncertainly. "Tried getting him to drink earlier on, but he couldn't keep anything down. I figured..." He shifted, glancing at Óin as though pleading for help. "I was told he wouldn't last the night anyway, so I should just... make him comfortable."
"Don't give up." Her voice carried a strange, thick quality, as though this dwarf meant more to her than just a subject. She knew nothing of him beyond his name and the implications of his actions, but there was something... like her mother whispering in her ear, her brother shouting from a distance, their words combining and uniting in her mind. Every life matters.
"Don't give up. Never give up. This dwarf deserves to live as much as you or I. Would you let him pass into the Halls of Waiting, knowing that you might have saved him?" Dís forced herself to look at the map of welts and torn skin. "I've seen dwarves survive worse. Come. I know you can do more. Your master is at your side, and this dwarf's life hangs in the balance. Let it never be said that we of Erebor let our kin perish needlessly." Dís stopped then, aware she had spoken too much, although it had been truth in her words, truth as deep as her bones.
The young dwarf seemed more surprised than inspired. "But My Queen, I was told-"
"Forget what you were told." Dís' motherly tone hardened. "You will treat this dwarf, and you will treat him properly. Your master will guide you, or risk my royal displeasure."
"And if Dain hears of this?" Óin looked askance at the trainee in a way Dís knew meant there was little possibility of Dain not hearing of it.
"Then I will take all responsibility." Dís straightened, squaring her shoulders. "You as healers have taken an oath. One stronger than the whims of a king, and far more binding. Would you abandon that oath, now it is being tested?"
The trainee flushed with shame and looked down. Had she touched a nerve, or perhaps summoned a memory he'd buried in loyalty and self-importance? It wasn't for her to know, but she stepped back as the youngling moved forward to do as he was told. Under Óin's guidance, the trainee carefully cleaned and tended the various injuries. If they healed, they would leave many more scars than even a miner was wont to bear.
The work took long enough that Dís's sturdy boots were beginning to feel confining and hard as she remained where she stood. The trainee slipped off with the soiled rags, dirty water and instruments that would need to be sterilized. He would tell Dain, but Dís thought the cost of a hard look and a scolding worth the effort to save this dwarf's life. Josrin was unconscious, and it was just as well. She turned to leave, but stopped when a rough hand touched her arm.
"Highness," murmured Óin, "it was a noble thing ya did, but I fear for ya."
"What suffering on my part is not worth the lives of my people?" she returned, and patted his hand gently. "I know what I do, Healer."
The inevitable confrontation began mostly as Dís had anticipated. A heavy knock on her door in the early morning. She was awake, of course, sipping tea in her chair and poring over some books of law. Dain admitted himself, entering the suite before she'd had much of a chance to prepare herself. The dwarf's grey beard was bristling, though his rage seemed a quieter sort - a simmer that might easily become a rolling boil.
"So. You would seek to undermine my authority in defense of a traitor?" He crossed his arms, leaning over her like a dark, looming cloud. "This is the second time, Dís. Why don't you trust me to handle my own business?"
She didn't stand, but she did put her tea aside. "You told me once," Dís lifted her eyes to meet her husband's, "that if I thought you in error, I ought to let you know. I'm letting you know."
Dain's shoulders seemed nearly rigid with unmistakable anger. "By defying my direct orders?"
"You ordered him lashed, and he was. You ordered the trainee to treat him, and he did. You did not order his death, for which I am grateful. If you had, I would respect you far less. As it is, that respect is waning." Dís kept her tone calm, but she knew it had an edge to it.
"You will not presume to meddle!" Dain seized the arms of the chair, his face so close now to Dís' that she could distinctly smell the oil he combed through his beard. "You are my wife and queen, and as such, you will respect and honor me." When she didn't reply, he sighed, seeming to lose some of his steam. He pushed himself up, swinging away from the chair as though he were having trouble keeping his balance. After a moment's pause, he turned to look at her again.
"I see I must cling to your every whim if I'm to retain your favor. You think you know the state of this kingdom better? Perhaps you should run it! Give succor to traitors, mercy to those who would rise up and destroy all we've achieved. Then perhaps you will understand the conundrum of leadership, the difficult decisions that must be made." His gaze bored into hers keenly. "The seedlings that must be culled... before they become oaks. "
"Culled?" Dís was aghast. She was beyond aghast - she was appalled. This didn't sound like the edict of a king. This sounded like the raving of a tyrant. Had she been so misled all along? Had she really known so little of her cousin?
Some of her disgust must have shown on her face, despite her efforts to the contrary, for Dain gave her a macabre smile.
"You see my quandary, then. I cannot allow these dissenters to thrive under my rule."
Dissenters. Traitors. Gold. Does he never speak of anything else?
"Did not we agree when you took me as your queen that we would rule together? Yet you do not alert me when council is called, you make judgments without consulting me. What am I to conclude then, Dain, but that you so lightly break your word?"
This seemed to stir something before untouched during the conversation. Dain looked away again, considering. Even from the half-profile she could see of his face, Dís could mark the confusion that crossed his features. "I... don't remember agreeing to that," he said, finally, and Dís couldn't detect deceit in his tone. He turned back to face her. "At least, that's not the way I remember it."
"Then how do you remember it?"
Dain hesitated. "You promised you would support me, even when you didn't agree with me. You pledged your love and loyalty, no matter your differences of opinion." He crossed his arms, smiling faintly. "I knew there would be arguments. I know you're stubborn, strong-willed. But... I thought you'd at least try to make an exception where I was concerned."
Dís shook her head. "I don't understand. I don't know what's happening to you. You were always... for all your faults, you were never a dwarf to make such compromises, to put your position over your kinsman. You were hard, yes. Strict. But you were also a dwarf who would fight alongside his own soldiers, defend the commonest of them with his life." She sighed, glancing at the law book she'd set on the table near her chair. "You would never have put gold above justice, above the wellbeing of your own people."
When Dís lifted her gaze to meet Dain's again, she saw surprise in his eyes, wide under gnarled eyebrows. A ruddy tinge crept along his neck and he looked away - only then did Dís realize that he was embarrassed. How long had it been since she'd seen that expression on her king's face?
"I... didn't know you thought so highly of me," Dain muttered, stroking his beard distractedly.
Had Dís been one to laugh at such things, she might have given in to the impulse. "Would I have agreed to marry you if I didn't?"
Dain considered briefly. "No. I suppose not." He leaned against the partition wall, most of his anger seemingly departed. "I would please you at all times if I could, my queen. But sometimes... you make it very difficult."
Dís had the distinct impression she was speaking to the real Dain now, or at least, part of him. As though he'd been encased within a shell, and now, she was breaking through. Even if only a little.
"I'm afraid this has become more than a matter of pleasing or displeasing me, my king. I am not a child that I can be placated with gifts and soothing tones. My concerns must be answered."
"As should mine," replied Dain soberly. "Why did you defy me?"
Dís hesitated. Wasn't that obvious to him? Didn't he understand? She found in herself a surprising desire for him to understand her motivations... to not condemn her for her actions, her loyalty. This dwarf, this king, the one that smiled or became flustered or shared drinks with her. This one, not the Dain that coldly sentenced miners to death for speaking out against unfair treatment.
"The sentence was to endure 50 lashes. He did so. And the healer-trainee had orders to treat him alone. That happened as well. I merely ensured he received such treatment that he didn't perish in the night." Dís looked up into her husband's face. "We have lost so many already - to war, to raids, to illness, to the dragon... How can we turn on our own now, and just let them perish, when a lesser punishment would be more effective? To kill Josrin would make him a martyr, and validate his words against you. I searched the records for some mention of an investigation of his complaints," Dís gestured to three large scrolls on her desk, which had occupied her most of the night, "but I could find none. Perhaps the accounts are in your study? If he spoke ill of their situation without reason, then surely it should be made known. Let the other miners tell the truth of the situation."
She didn't think this was the case, but it was a persuasive argument she hoped would keep Dain's interest.
"I had hoped... to avoid creating a martyr," Dain admitted. "If he died of his wounds, it would have reflected more upon his weakness than the punishment I ordered."
Dís shook her head again. "My King, you cannot hope to save this kingdom through such tactics. It is not the dwarven way, this... subterfuge."
"Perhaps you're right." Dain sighed, frowning distantly. "Not all those who counsel me do so with as much foresight or understanding as you."
He must have taken his latest course of action on the leading of his advisors. That much made sense. What she didn't understand was just how they'd prevailed upon him so completely. What was the nature of their game?
"Then perhaps I should counsel you more often."
Dain nodded slightly, his gaze still very far away. "Maybe you should," he agreed, but Dís barely heard him. Her mind was locked onto the current problem of the royal advisers. She admitted to herself that she hadn't paid overmuch attention to them outside of the few Council meetings she'd attended, but not all of the Council members were among the ranks of Dain's advisers, and not all of his advisers were on the Council. Dís had been more concerned with the doings of the Mountain, her treaties and laws, her people. Now she wanted to kick herself for the oversight.
When Dain sighed, she refocused on him, and noticed that he looked pale and tired, almost haggard. A prick of concern urged Dís to her feet, and she extended a hand toward him.
"Dain, you've not been yourself. Why don't you lie down for a while? I can-" She didn't get the chance to complete her offer. Just as her fingers brushed his wrist, Dain reacted, smacking her hand away with stinging force.
"You have no authority over me." His tone was harsh, a low snarl that didn't sound anything like how he'd been talking a moment before.
"Authority? No, my king, not at all. Please, sit down - I'll get you some tea." Dís wasn't sure whether to be angry or concerned, honestly. This sudden change seemed wildly out of character for Dain. It felt wrong.
"I don't need it." The dark, hostile tone persisted. "There's nothing wrong with me." Dís felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Was he going mad? She'd done nothing that would call for such a reaction. In fact, she'd been warm. Wifely. Wasn't that what he had wanted in the beginning, when he'd asked how to win her heart? Affection? Tenderness? She might've been tempted toward deep offense if she weren't so confused by it all.
Dís opened her mouth, perhaps to ask him why he was so angry, perhaps to insist that he rest, but she never got the words out. One of Dain's thick hands swept back, as though he intended to smack her clean across the face. The concept shocked her into silence, and though the blow never landed, the threat of it hung heavy in the air between them.
"You've said enough," snarled the king, and he took a step backward, toward the door. "Don't try my patience. Stay out of my way, if you know what's good for you."
When he'd gone, Dís took a moment to compose herself. Cold fear was attempting to seize control of her, and she knew only one thing would ward it off. Action. She had to find out what was going on, and she couldn't risk anyone knowing what she was up to. Moving swiftly into her secondary chamber - the room in which Nikû had stayed for the short time she'd been in Erebor - she changed into her bodyguard's old, faded traveling clothes. They wouldn't have been out of place on any common worker, and once Dís had pulled her hair back into a style she'd never before worn as queen of Erebor - severe and unadorned - and unbraided the hair along her jawline, as well as her eyebrows, she knew she scarcely resembled the refined and decorous figure her subjects would recognize. A bit of soot from the fireplace would strengthen the illusion, allow her to mingle with less risk of being recognized. She needed to find out everything Dain wasn't telling her, everything her own network of servants had either missed, or weren't in a position to see.
There was a secret passage from her chambers, as there was from each of the rooms in the royal wing, and it led down to the dining hall (someone must have had a sense of humor when excavating the passage). The passages all led to different places, except for the two main rooms - the king's suite and its immediate neighbor - which both led to the treasury. Dís' memories of those places were dim now, but her recollection was clear enough to dislike both the passage and its destination.
Now, though, as she emerged into the dining hall and mingled with the crowd, Dís banished those thoughts from her mind. There were more important matters at hand. She let the alias she and Nikû had developed take over, until it was Vere, not Dís, who collected her food and sat down with the miners who were getting ready for the beginning of another long day.
Their banter seemed natural enough, the typical conversations of miners concerning the work to be done, and to Dís' relief, she wasn't spared a second glance by any of the dwarves around her.
It was only minutes into the meal, however, that she had her first lead. One of the miners at the table adjoining hers, a chestnut-haired, hardy-looking youth, slammed a spoonful of stew back into his bowl with a displeased grunt.
"Stuff's worse 'an ever. Ya know what 'ey say, don'cha?" He lowered his voice slightly, leaning toward his comrades. "We're runnin' outta food stores. Don't wanna even guess at what's in this."
"Stop complainin'," another rejoined. "I've had far worse, and that's a bloomin' fact."
"Why's food running low, then? Where'd ya hear that?" The current speaker was smaller and thin-bearded, but had a sturdy, work-hardened look about her.
"I was in Josrin's crew," the first miner replied, voice hushed so Dís had to strain to hear him. "He knew a bit 'bout what's goin' on. Knew too much, I'd say. Heard what 'ey did to him, didn't ya?"
The female nodded. "Aye. Who hasn't?" Gravity settled over their conversation like a blanket of frost. Several of the group shifted uneasily.
The chestnut-haired miner sighed, shaking his head. "Not at all like it was s'posed to be, is it? Not like the stories."
There was a portion of the disguised queen that desperately wanted to know what sort of paradise they expected, and if it was the same one she'd hoped to be part of, but that information was not as important to her current mission as other things. Dís kept her mouth shut and ate the thin, somewhat oily stew the miners were provided with.
She had noticed no deficiency in the meals set on the king's table, but she agreed with some of the miners that this stew seemed sorely lacking. A shortage in the pantries was all she could think of to explain it with any degree of forgiveness. Nothing else of importance was said until the bell rang, iron clattering piercingly over the rumble of conversation to let all know the work day had just begun. She followed the miners, dropping off her plate and moving with them toward the shafts. A crew boss would notice an extra body on the ropes in the open shaft of the ancient gold mine, and enlisting herself would confine her too much for the day's purpose, so the dwarrowdam quietly slipped past the miners as they donned their harnesses and checked their tools. In a minute, she was wearing her own harness, this one laden with empty water skins. She would be among them, but not part of them.
Along with two others wearing similar harnesses, Dís made her way to the kitchen, where they filled their skins at the pump in the corner. The rhythmic splash of liquid into the skins wasn't enough to drown out the chatter of the cooks.
"When was the last time we had a nice fat boar, eh?" asked a dwarf with a thick beard, but no hair on his head. He looked at a suckling lamb laid out on the counter, waiting to be skinned. "I miss the taste of wild boar."
"Just be glad t' have what y'do. Nothin' good comes o' complainin'." The second cook was female, the wisps of her beard braided back into her hair at the sides. She shook her apron at him. "Nothin' but trouble."
"Maybe what we need is a bit of trouble."
Dís was listening so intently she nearly overfilled one of the skins, but caught herself in time.
The other cook hushed her companion with a haste that felt of fear. "I'll have no such talk in my kitchen," she scolded. When the first cook sighed, she touched his arm. "Keep your beard up, Terfun. Things'll get better. You'll see."
"Hope you're right." Setting his jaw resignedly, Terfun took up a knife and started in on the lamb, humming distractedly to himself. The conversation was apparently at an end, but Dís was left with more questions than she had answers. It was maddening, but she could always make a return trip later, after her skins were empty. Surely, it would happen fast enough with the mining crews.
Hefting the water, Dís flexed her knees. It was nearly half her own weight in liquid, and cumbersome, but nothing she couldn't handle. The trip back to the shaft took longer, but it was a good opportunity to process and plan. When she finally hooked herself to the ropes to lower herself to the miners below, she knew what questions she would ask. Her alias, Vere, had a bone to pick with Josrin, and needed to know why he'd disappeared.
"He owes me money, and ain't gonna get out of it that easy," she explained grumpily to the first miner who gave her a funny look when she asked where Josrin was.
"I wouldn't hope to see a coin of it," he said warily, glancing wonderingly at his fellows. "You must be the only dwarf in these mines not to know what happened to him."
Dís frowned, feigning confusion. "What d'ya mean?" The miner shook his head, exchanging a pointed chisel for a more flat-headed one.
"Said too much already. I've no wish to share his punishment." Dís couldn't get any more out of him, but there were others more willing to talk, when she found a way to broach the subject with less hostility, being careful not to attract the attention of the overseers.
"Terrible what happened to Josrin, ain't it?" she asked an older dwarf, busily engaged in sorting through a bucket of rock he'd chiseled. It might've been an awkward topic to broach out of the blue, but the miner sighed sympathetically, nodding.
"Aye. Made quite the spectacle of him, they did. Ah well. Probably better off where he is now than-"
"Hey! Water carrier!" The Iron Hills accent was thick, the tone harsh as it echoed down to them from the overseer's ledge. "Get a move on. No time for idle chatter down here."
"I'm movin'!" Dís called back, irritated with the interruption. "Don't get your beard in a knot." The older miner gave her a concerned look.
"I wouldn't say such things, young'un," he murmured. "The overseers have more power down here than anyone else."
That's what they think. Dís' thoughts had taken a grim turn, but she gave the miner a smile and exchanged his empty waterskin for a full one before nodding to him and hoisting herself up along her ropes.
Three different kinds of mine were open in Erebor. Tunnel mines, like the ones she knew from Ered Luin, that reminded her of Vili; surface mines, that were really just quarries, but fell into the same category; and shaft mines, like this one. Shaft mines were the most dangerous, but also had a reputation for high yield, so dwarves kept working them.
One of the overseers, probably the one that had yelled at her, met her at the top of the shaft. Dís was feeling surly, but knew better than to lash out at the dwarf for his ineptitude. She'd only just turned to move past him to a new set of lines when he grasped her harness and gave her a shove. Only his strong arm stopped her from falling over the edge and to her death. Dís' harness cut into her shoulders, the leather creaking ominously under the strain as she dangled from the overseer's hand, her feet braced against the edge.
"You test me," he growled, "and you'll end up like Josrin, you hear? No one mouths off to an overseer. Now get back to work, Blue Mountain scum, before I decide you've turned traitor." Hauling her back over the edge again, he gave her another shove, in the direction she'd been going anyway. Dís stumbled, then fell to all fours, shaking slightly.
It was tempting, the impulse to turn on him, pull her signet ring from where she'd tucked it away inside her tunic, and demand he plead for his life, having laid hands on the Queen of Erebor. Tempting, but not at all useful. It would destroy her ruse completely. Instead, she muttered an apology, quite possibly the most venomous one ever uttered, and forced herself back to her feet. Still shaking, but making a concerted effort to calm herself, she quickly attached her harness to the new set of lines, then turned to inspect the dwarf who had just threatened her life. He was short but brawny, his arms nearly twice the breadth of his neck, and his hair and beard were dark, almost black.
He scowled at her as she began to descend, then turned and spat over the edge nearest him, his attention shifting to another hapless target. "Keep your chisel moving! Keep it moving, or you'll catch it. One more time I see you slacking, and I'll put you on the night shift, too."
The first and nearest of the miners gave her a questioning, half-concerned look as she came to a stop beside him. She could tell he wasn't from Ered Luin by his braids, but his worried expression told her he'd been watching the episode from below. Dís shrugged, letting her gaze slide away from his to communicate 'yeah, it was scary, but I don't want to talk about it' as succinctly as possible.
"It's not all bad," said the miner encouragingly, and accepted the water she offered him. "Ya just caught him on an off day."
"I'm sure," she muttered, and exchanged the miner's waterskin for a fresh one. "Are they all like that, then?"
The miner shrugged. "Aye. You get used to it, though. After a fashion." He squinted at her in the dim light. "Haven't seen you before, have I?"
"I'm new," she explained flatly, hoping she hadn't inadvertently given him some spark of recognition.
He smiled faintly, nodding. "Not quite what you were expecting, eh?"
Dís shook her head slowly. "It was s'pposed ta be better here," she murmured, feeling the words as though they bared far more than she wanted them to. But it was a sentiment she'd heard so many times since her brother had left, that it had become her own without her ever needing to voice it. Erebor was supposed to be idyllic. Instead, it was becoming a trap.
The miner touched her shoulder gently, giving it a comforting squeeze before returning to his work before the interruption of his tap-tap-tapping could attract attention. Dís was surprised by the gentle strength of the miner's touch. It reminded her keenly of all she hadn't received as Dain's wife and queen, and it took great effort to force such distracting thoughts aside. Her stint in the mines was exhausting, though she reassured herself it was mostly the fact that she wasn't accustomed to such work, rather than that she'd grown soft.
She had seen what she'd come to see, and when at last her supply of water ran out, she returned to the surface with a crew of miners whose shift had ended for the day. The dwarves stared straight ahead, almost as if they were in a daze. None of them spoke, or in any way disturbed the almost eerie silence. Fatigue, probably, Dís reasoned. These miners had been at work since midnight in Dain's apparent scheme to keep the mines running night and day. Dís wondered if the Mountain's revenue had actually increased enough to even remotely justify such labor requirements, and what sort of wage these dwarves were receiving. If any.
"Well..." She tried to be as casual as possible, though it was difficult when speaking into almost total silence. "What're you lot makin' these days? Thinkin' of puttin' in for a crew what works the lower seam. Heard it's good pay. Better'an water carryin' anyhow."
She could hear the forced note in her own words, and tried not to wince. The strain sounded too much like falsehood to her sensitive ears. A miner to her right and slightly in front of her let out a bark of hoarse laughter.
"Lower seam's even worse," he grunted, his tone humorless and dry. "Wouldn't be worth nuthin' if I didn't git housin' an' food fer my sister an' her kid, well as m'self."
One of the others shook his head. "Someone's been tellin' ye stories. Good pay, my arse. An' if ye grumble about it, yer lucky if ye get less'n a good thrashin'." Dís hadn't gone into the lower seam. She hadn't supposed the miners down there would be facing conditions worse than those above, but something was rapidly becoming clear to her. All these dwarves were newcomers from Ered Luin. She could tell by their accents, the cut and cloth of their torn and dirty garments.
Dain was assigning her former subjects from the Blue Mountains to the most thankless and arduous of the already thankless, arduous labor. He was trying to break their spirits, weaken them until any who might still have strength to defy him were stripped of their last reserves.
It was all beginning to make sense. He was making slaves of free dwarves, and greed was only part of his motivation. This was madness on top of the madness she'd already experienced today. Had Dain really been so clever before at hiding his true nature? Had he never been who she'd believed he was?
"And you think I can find something you couldn't?" Kuran looked at his queen as though she'd asked whether or not she ought to dye her beard purple. She was still damp from her bath, and was in the process of putting her braids back in order.
"I think you can flirt with the cooks better than I can," Dís retorted, unable to keep a faint smile from her tone. "Just make conversation. See what comes up. I want to know if there's any substance to this rumor that our larders are running bare."
The warrior didn't look convinced, but he smoothed his wild beard with one broad hand, not offering any argument on the point. "And what will you be doing?"
"I'm going to go see my husband."
"You haven't slept at all, and it's nearly lunch-"
"Are you my confidante or my nursemaid? Go on. To the kitchens with you."
But going to see Dain could wait. As much as she trusted Kuran, she couldn't be completely open with him concerning her latest doings. As soon as she'd set her appearance in order, she went straight to the healer's ward. She found Óin was once more the healer on duty, though he'd doubtless taken some rest in the interim, since he seemed fairly fresh. The trainee was busy preparing bandages and splints (Dís noted now that a good many of the twenty or so patients were injured laborers), and hardly seemed to notice as she approached the old healer.
"How is he?" She nodded toward the cot where Josrin lay, bundled in blankets. He was very still.
Óin shook his grey head, his old eyes sad under tangled brows. "Not good. He might pull through, but only if he fights for it. Not sure he will." The healer's words weren't accusing, but Dís felt the sting of them all the same. Josrin might choose to fight to live if he thought there was something worth living for. If he decided to give up, it was because she wasn't trying hard enough to redirect her mad husband's stupid ambition.
"Hasn't he family? Someone that might remind him of good times?"
Again, Óin shook his head. "He's alone, as far as I know." There was a slight pause as he looked at her, as though weighing his options. Deciding what to tell her.
Alone. She knew that feeling well enough these days. And if not for family's sake, what, indeed, did Josrin have to live for? Certainly not the misery he'd left behind in the mines.
"Then I must appeal to him some other way," she said softly, moving toward the cot. As her hand came to rest, gently, on the miner's shoulder, Josrin twitched, his head moving into the pillow. He was still face-down, but his breathing seemed a little stronger than before.
"Josrin, can you hear me?" With an effort, the dwarf turned his face out from the pillow, blinking up at her as though the light hurt his eyes.
"He's disoriented," Óin offered at her back. "Pain potions."
Dís nodded. "Josrin, I need you to speak. Tell me why you spoke against the king." Her voice was hushed as she leaned over the cot, and what with the groaning and muttering of the other patients behind her, she was almost certain the trainee couldn't overhear.
"Why..." mumbled the injured dwarf. His eyes seemed vacant, but sharpened when he focused on the signet ring gleaming on Dís' hand. "M'lady," he breathed.
"Tell my why you spoke against the king, Josrin." Dís kept her tone gentle and her voice low. For a minute, the injured dwarf was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and gravelly.
"One o' my boys didn' make 'is quota. Overseer said the 'ole crew would be stayin' 'til quota was filled. King's orders. They'd been workin' all day... couldn' jus' twiddle m'thumbs." Josrin's words were a little slurred, but Dís attributed that to the potions he'd been dosed with to help the pain.
"Who was the worker?" Dís pressed, aware the miner might lapse back into unconsciousness at any moment. "Was he punished as well?"
Josrin's head rocked faintly from side to side. "Wasn't punished. Not that I saw. 'Cept to finish out the night."
"His name?"
"Bombur. Big bloke… red 'air." Dís shot a look at Óin, as though demanding an explanation. The healer looked very grave, but it was clear it hadn't come as a shock, this revelation that the poor cook had been sent to the mines. And not just the mines: the lower seam.
"A reclaimer of Erebor," she whispered, appalled, "sent to hard labor? How did this come about?"
Óin answered this time, his voice hushed, but hard and cold. "I believe 'twas Bombur that was caught discussin' the contents of the larder with another dwarf. Now 'e lives on a miner's wages."
Dís felt nausea roiling in her gut, disgusted by this newest revelation. How could Dain let this happen?
"What about his share of the hoard? He doesn't need-" She stopped when Óin shook his head silently, and Dís' blood began to truly boil. "Were none of you paid?"
The healer chuckled bitterly. "Not a coin. Ah, I didn't expect it, anyhow. Would it really make any sense, a king givin' vast wealth to those who'd been his rival's most loyal supporters?" Dís shook her head in disgust.
"Sense or not, promises are binding, and contracts are nonnegotiable. I'll see you have your share, if my husband hasn't completely vanished into whatever it is he's becoming."
Óin's face tightened with concern. "Oh no, milady. Ya mustn't mention a word o' this. Please. It'll do more harm than good, I know it."
"Then what shall I do to make things right? I cannot leave things as they are; it's not in my blood."
The old dwarf looked at her, a faint smile playing about his bearded mouth. "It does my heart good to hear it, Majesty, but I think there's naught ya can do for us directly." A cunning look crossed his face then, and Dís was reminded that dwarves didn't often live to the healer's age without knowing something others didn't. "Bombur's wife an' younglings might do with a visit, though. Poor 'dam could use a friend."
Dís considered briefly, then nodded. "I will do all I can for her, healer." She turned to the door. "Keep this good dwarf alive." She had taken Josrin's fate on herself, now he had no one else to look after him. A good, courageous dwarf had no business dying friendless and in despair. And, she reasoned, it was partially her fault he was in this mess, anyway. Her negligence had allowed this to go on. She'd been too occupied with playing Dain's game, taken in by his tender words and promises. She should have kept her wits about her, instead of allowing herself to be disarmed by him like a soft-hearted fool. No more. He had to be stopped. Óin bowed with surprising grace, tools clinking in his apron.
"On my honor, my queen. I'd be grateful for whatever kindness ya can do 'em."
Dís nodded and, remembering the old miner in the shaft, touched Óin's arm, trying to reassure him as gently and silently as she could. Leaving the healers' hall was a trial. Part of her insisted that she should stay and watch after Josrin. It was ridiculous of course. She knew little about medicine, and wouldn't be able to help in any case. The rest of her dreaded going to see Bombur's mate, because there was far too great a chance the other dwarrowdam would blame her (justifiably) for the king's actions.
That should have been the least of her concerns, considering everything else that was going on. She nearly shuddered upon learning where Bombur's family lived - perhaps the most badly wrecked portion of the living quarters, and cramped to boot. No priority had been given to repairs or expansion, and it showed. The hall was still partially filled with stony rubble, though most of the dragon's filth and anything else that was easier to cart away had been cleared. The door she stopped in front of was cracked and crudely patched with thin, weathered boards and some kind of oozy paste. She could hear the crying of several children, scarcely muffled by the damaged wood. Just how many dwarrows did the former cook have?
After some hesitation, she knocked. There was a slight reduction in the noise from the apartment within, and a moment later, a harried-looking dwarrowdam with a thin red beard opened the door to peer out at Dís. There was a youngster, no older than fifteen, whom she was blocking from getting out into the hall with her leg as she asked, somewhat louder than necessary, "Can I do somethin' for ya, ma'am?" The unmistakable Blue Mountains accent fell on Dís' ears like an accusation.
"I was looking for the wife of Bombur," she answered, but even as she lifted her hand to offer it in greeting, the other female turned away.
"Mam! A lady here ta see ya!"
As the queen scrambled to recover from her mistake (and her surprise - how had she not heard Bombur had an unwed daughter?) a second female approached the door and pushed it further open, issuing a sharp order in Khuzdul when the young male tried to escape into the hall. This woman was visibly older than the first, with a thick brown beard and a baby on her hip. She had a careworn look about her, but she smiled at Dís all the same.
"Your Majesty. We weren't expecting you. Dola, run put on the kettle, and see what Ly is crying about." There were at least three more dwarrows of various ages looking around their mother's skirts at the stranger in the hall. Their mother shooed them back to make room for their guest.
The room was spare and empty, and the fire burning in the hearth was low, and sputtered for lack of fuel as one of the dwarrows hung the kettle over it.
The children's mother introduced herself as Igrette, and clapped for her brood to quiet down.
"I must apologize, my queen, for the lack of furniture."
"It's no trouble."
Igrette swept her gaze forlornly around the room, as if only just realizing how a royal visitor must see her dwelling place, a place she was clearly proud of, since she kept it immaculately clean. "We... traded the table and chairs last week. With this latest turn, I've had to send my eldest son out to..." Her cheeks reddened slightly. "Out to beg."
"Latest turn?" Dís paused near the fire. "What do you mean?"
Igrette studied her momentarily. "No disrespect to you, Your Highness. I don't mean to complain. I understand... it's just the way things are." She sighed. "All the same, my husband, when he comes home at all, he's just... I'd hoped never to see him so. Our little ones- he feels he's failed them. Failed us."
She paused, turning to ensure her dwarrows were behaving. Clearly intimidated by the important-looking figure in the room, the children were lined up quietly on ragged straw mats against the wall, watching with wide eyes, the older ones bouncing and comforting the youngest.
She could see seven dwarrows, all told. The girl who'd answered the door at first seemed to be the eldest, and there were two boys near her in age. Two little ones, probably ten or twelve years old, barely out of diapers, sat on their older siblings' laps. The mischievous fifteen-year old male was standing quietly near his eldest sister, and Igrette held the youngest, a whimpering babe in swaddling clothes.
"Are these all yours?" Dís knew her tone was impressed, though the sad state of the dwarrows and their ragged clothes was almost physically painful to look at. Igrette glanced at her children and smiled faintly, a look of pride crossing her tired features.
"I've claimed them all, even if they're not mine by blood. Little Monun here was born just before we left Ered Luin," she bounced the baby on her hip, and the infant squirmed, gurgling happily. "Jula is ours as well," she nodded to the red-bearded female that had answered the door, now sitting with her siblings, "and our oldest boy, Igur... he looks just like his grandfather." Igrette's smile had turned brittle. Out begging. Dís couldn't imagine the indignity of it. Clearly, the eldest child was yet too young to work.
"And the rest?" Dís glanced over her shoulder, toward where she knew a servant would be waiting quietly in the hall. She would have a word with him in a moment. These children needed food, fuel for their fire, proper clothes. She wouldn't stand by and let them suffer. Not like this.
"Bombur has a kind heart," Igrette said softly. "He never could bear to see younglings go without when we could take them in."
"Eight dwarrows," murmured Dís, unable to conceive of how such a household could function.
"Twelve," corrected Jula, giving the youngling in her lap a squeeze. "There are twelve of us."
"Jula, that's not how I taught you to speak with your betters."
The dwarrow lowered her head. "Sorry, Mam." She glanced up at Dís. "But there are twelve of us. They're sick, is all. In the next room."
Dís shook her head in wonder. "Twelve young ones... And barely a scrap of food to give them."
"We get by." Igrette adjusted the baby on her hip, then leaned down to reach into a small crate near the fire. "Soup bones are cheap, and broth is always reasonable." She held up a wrapped parcel, bouillon cubes from Dale. Dís glanced into the crate and saw, too, a few pathetic bundles of dehydrated vegetables. How were they surviving?
"I will see you are taken care of," Dís promised softly, her heart tight with the knowledge this had been partially her doing. But she hadn't known. If only she had known.
"Your Majesty, there's no need-" began Igrette, but Dís lifted a hand to stop her protest. Whatever reason the dwarrowdam thought she had, it was moot in the face of her hungry children. She turned to the door and opened it just enough to speak with her servant.
"Please have supplies brought down here as soon as possible. Food, fuel, clothing, blankets. If anyone protests, show them this, and see it is done." Dís removed a heavy medallion from around her neck. Yes, it was more showy than her signet ring, but she felt the need to make a point. As the servant bowed and took the medallion, another dwarf approached, his footsteps slow and heavy.
"Adad!" The young male leapt forward before his mother could stop him, and in a moment, the red-bearded dwarf came into the light. His skin was sallow and loose, as though he'd lost a great deal of weight recently, but in spite of the heavy shadows under his eyes he smiled broadly, stooping to pick up the youngling.
"Dola! My little munchkin. You've been behaving, I hope?"
"Yes, Adad."
Bombur carried the dwarrow into his family's quarters and paused to bow to Dís.
"My lady. You look well."
Dís remembered meeting him once, when she'd first arrived. A cheerful, plump soul, who took great delight in food. It grieved her to see him so reduced. His clothes hung on him like they were hung on pegs, ragged and smudged with coal dust from the lower seam.
"I wish I could say the same," she murmured, throat constricted. What would Thorin think, if he knew she'd let his Company suffer like this?
Bombur shrugged. "It's nothing, really. I had plenty to spare." He made a curving motion over his midsection, indicative of his previous bulk. "It's my young ones I worry about."
"Adad's not been eating," Dola supplied, matter-a-factly. "He always forgets his lunch." Dís' stomach pinched with guilt.
"Rest at ease, Bombur. A reclaimer of Erebor and his family should want for nothing. I will see things put to rights."
Bombur looked puzzled. "You mean - the king's changed his mind?" There must have been something in the way she hesitated that spoke for her, because Bombur started to shake his head. "No, milady. Don't stir up the coals. We can survive, but if you were hurt, Thorin would never forgive me."
The red-bearded dwarf was so open about speaking her brother's name that it didn't register at first that he'd been mentioned at all. Dís had become accustomed to secrecy, and when Thorin was mentioned at all, it was in tones of awe and respect. Bombur spoke of him as though he were an old friend, familiar and esteemed.
"I won't come to harm. But I will see your family is provided for. If the king doesn't like that, then he can take it up with me." There was a measure of relish in the idea that Dain might confront her over this. It was as though that would be conclusive proof that he'd always been heartless.
Bombur looked somehow both concerned and relieved. "If... if you're sure. I don't care what more he does to me, but my family..." He trailed off.
"Will be just fine," Dís assured him. "You have my word." She didn't care if Dain punished her, denied her authority on the matter, ranted and raved and threatened. One way or another, she would see things made right.
Before Bombur had a chance to reply, the servant returned, carrying a large and obviously heavy basket. "I've brought some hot food in advance, my queen, since it may be an hour or so before everything else is ready." He handed the basket to Bombur, who swayed slightly beneath its weight in combination with that of his young son.
The servant seemed pleased with himself. "Anything else, Your Highness?"
"Thank you. That will do for now." Dís dismissed him with a wave, and turned to see most of Bombur's family crowded forward, looking on with astonishment. Igrette moved past them with a motherly cluck, throwing her free arm around her husband whilst somehow managing to keep the baby balanced on her opposite hip. Bombur blushed red, looking quite overwhelmed.
Dola squirmed in his father's arm, trying to reach the lid of the basket. "What's in there?" His eyes shone with delight. "Is it really for us?"
"You can wait until we get it inside," Igrette's tone was fondly scolding, and Dola subsided, pouting only slightly. Bombur looked at Dís as his wife started to usher him toward the fire.
"Will you be joining us, my lady?"
It was a kind offer, but Dís knew she had things to do. "Thank you, but no. There are other matters that require my attention. I will return, though, when I can. In the meantime, take your ease, and rest."
Dís felt partially inclined to do likewise. It had been a long day already, and a trying one at that, but her conscience forbade her even small comforts until she had done more to undo what her husband had done.
She went first to the kitchens, where she intended to inspect the storeroom herself, the cooks' protests unavailing. She shouldn't have been surprised that the place was guarded - and rather robustly at that - though the soldiers posted before the door were quickly persuaded to stand aside, lest they incur a healthy dose of the Queen's wrath.
"I need to see a full inventory," she said crisply, while the head cook sputtered and looked terribly uncomfortable. "Come now. Quick. Surely you must have an inventory."
The cook's hands fluttered uselessly around his rotund form. "I don't really... Your Majesty, do you really need-?"
"Yes, I do need." Dís was becoming impatient, and she let it show. There was little that irritated her more than incompetence, and this cook was doing a very good impression of it.
"I... yes, Your Majesty." With a miserable sigh, the dwarf fumbled at his belt for a big ring of keys that jangled clamorously as he unlocked the storeroom door.
The first thing that impressed Dís as she stepped through the wide doorway was the spaciousness of the place. Wall to wall, the torchlight danced on rows of shelves and tables and crates - a good many of which were empty. She noticed, too, the vast, empty spaces where skidmarks in the dusty floor revealed things that had been lately removed. Not long ago, by the looks of it. So the rumors hadn't been unsubstantiated. But maybe she was simply being misled by the size of the space; after all, there were hardly as many dwarves living here as there were in her grandfather's day.
"The inventory," she called back through the doorway. "The full sum. I need to see it." The papers, at least, wouldn't lie.
As Dís turned, intending to confront the cook, she saw him framed in the doorway. For a terrible moment, she foresaw a nightmare image of the door booming shut and trapping her in hot, muffling darkness. The cook, of course did no such thing. He stepped inside, and pulled a surprisingly thin volume from a shelf, beside two small sacks of flour. This he opened and nervously passed to her.
Dates, purchases, merchants' names and deliveries were marked down, amounts dutifully noted in their proper slots, but it seemed... incomplete. The letters were too neat, the numbers too perfect. Nothing had been blotted, scratched out or corrected. Dís could see that it clearly added up to what she could see before her, but it was too simple to just believe this. There were too many questions left unanswered.
"And this is the complete record?" She kept her skepticism to herself. It wouldn't do to let on how little she trusted Dain's lackies.
The cook nodded vigorously, his pasty skin gleaming with a thin film of sweat.
"That's all there is, Your Highness."
Or that's all you've been instructed to show me. Dís didn't think for a moment that this was the complete record. She could tell that the cook knew more, and as she closed the record book, her knife hand itched to introduce the blade to the space around the traitor's neck, just to tickle some of that information out of him.
It was tempting, but then the day's work would all be for naught. With a sigh, she placed the book back on the shelf and frowned at the cook. "Make up a list of your providers and have it sent to my study. I'll be having a word with our merchants. This is unacceptable."
The cook said nothing, but seemed to shrink in on himself as he nodded. Dís knew her actions would be reported to Dain, but hopefully she'd get to the bottom of what what truly going on before he had a chance to hinder her.
"I'll need that list within the next hour," she called over her shoulder as she moved to the kitchen's double-doored egress. "Don't test me."
She ran through her observations as she strode quickly to her study. Ledger too neat. Obviously not the way such things were truly recorded. Scripted, almost. The dust on the floor, scraped aside in several large patches where crates had been moved - and not just a few. It had to have happened all at once, else that particular evidence wouldn't have been created. The cook's reticence, and pathetic attempt at deceit. She wasn't sure what sort of scheme Dain was up to, but she felt confident someone would slip up. A machine like this had too many cogs for such secrets to remain secure.
The list came in twenty minutes, sent with a kitchen boy who bowed repeatedly and looked as though he'd faint if Dís so much as glanced at him sternly. No doubt the cook had said a few things.
"Thank you. You may go." The queen pored over the list of names as the dwarrow bowed again and gratefully left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
An ample list, to be sure, and interviewing them all would take some time. She'd have to select those who would be the most profitable use of her time. The brief descriptions would help in that selection process.
She was so engrossed in the list that she didn't notice Kuran's presence until he touched her shoulder. Dís jumped, splattering ink across her notes and hands. With a blistering oath, the dwarrowdam grabbed a rag and glared at her bodyguard, significantly less than pleased with him for startling her.
"Didn't your mam teach you to knock?" she snapped, aware that she was taking out her frustration on a dwarf who was (in this case) innocent.
"I did," rejoined Kuran with an amused smile. "You know, you didn't have to make all that fuss down in the kitchen. I could have told you all you learned and more, if you had waited."
Dís frowned at her ink-splattered hands, the rag smudging her fingers charcoal-black. "I would have hoped you'd have provided anything of relevance that you knew some time ago. Clearly, you thought the situation in the mines wasn't anything worth bothering me about."
Kuran shifted, his amusement fading. "I knew there was nothing you could do about it without compromising... our position. As you can see, I was right to be concerned."
Dís glared at him, still vigorously dabbing at the ink. "Why don't you trust me to know whether anything can or can't be done. I haven't compromised anything." She scoffed. "I have a ready defense for Dain when next he sees fit to confront me."
"And you think he's in a reasonable enough frame of mind to hear a defense?"
That brought Dís up short, but her face revealed none of her doubts. "I judge him to be sound enough. I know where best to press him."
Kuran seemed unconvinced, but it wasn't her intent to persuade him anyway. She sighed, tossing the spotted rag across the study. "Anything else you've been withholding from me that might prove useful, or shall I just go wring the rest of these secrets out of Dain himself?"
"You sent me to the kitchen to gather information," he reminded her, his tone now flat. "I was there when the Guard took the supplies from the larder."
Dís realized, with a humbling measure of chagrin, that she hadn't given him a chance to report on his findings. She'd been so concerned with getting him out of the way so she could work that she hadn't thought about what he might have accomplished or learned in the meantime.
"You might have said." She straightened in her seat, prepared to forgive all. Including the ink-stains. "Where did they take the supplies? Were the orders those of Dain, or his counsellors?"
"I don't know where the supplies were going, but I do know that they left the Mountain. The Guard referenced a Lord Gedin when they talked about their orders - nothing more about where they came from. But they took the supplies outside and left them in a specified rendezvous spot, with two young officers and a complete list. I couldn't follow them all the way without being seen, so I came back here to report."
Kuran's words were steady, the tempo neither rushed nor leisurely, but efficient.
"Lord Gedin." Dís mulled the name over. It didn't sound familiar at all. "Did you find anything out about him?"
Kuran shook his head. "Haven't had a chance to ask my contacts. I'll do that first thing."
"Smuggling food supplies out of the Mountain." Dís stood, pacing over to the fire. "Sending them to the Iron Hills? Why would he deplete Erebor's resources, unless it was to his advantage somehow?"
"I'll poke around after this Gedin, and see if I can find out who's taking these supplies, and where."
Dís ignored Kuran's voice, all her concentration bent on forcing her tired mind to run through possibilities. The food might be just that - supplies being sent to other people out of the goodness of Dain's manic heart. Doubtful, but possible. The food might be some sort of payment, an exchange for services yet unknown to her. If so, who was he paying? Who would value food enough to accept it as payment? Someone who didn't have access to a lot of food. Not the elves, then, because there had been no sign of hunger among them, and they had given generously to the citizens of Laketown and Dale as they started to rebuild. The Iron Hills, maybe, but none of the dwarves from the Iron Hills seemed particularly used to hardship - they had complained about the thin stew that morning as much as the rest. The men of Laketown, again, maybe. They would have motivation to accept the payment, but what would they be able to offer in return?
"Majesty?" Kuran was standing in front of her, waving a hand in front of her nose. Dís blinked, focusing on him again. "I think you need to rest before we do anything else about this."
The queen dismissed his concerns. "I won't be able to rest until I've figured out what's going on. I'd be better off at my workbench."
"I could procure a particular tea from the healers that might help with that."
"Doesn't work on me. I've tried it."
Kuran seemed impressed. "Alright, then. I'll trust you to look after yourself." He bowed lightly and turned to go, then paused, looking back over his shoulder as if having second thoughts. "Promise me one thing, Highness. You won't go snooping around anymore. You'll do more harm than good."
"Don't presume to know the future." Dís was mildly irritated that Kuran was telling her what to do, but she grudgingly acknowledged that the risk of the day's venture was more real, more immediate than she would have liked to admit. Doubtless, word of her interference in the kitchen was spreading, perhaps had already reached Dain. When she didn't reappear in the mines tomorrow, it was possible that the dwarves that worked there would notice her sudden appearance and equally sudden absence. Any number of conclusions might be jumped to, and very few (if any) of them would help her cause.
"Be on your way." The queen made a tired, dismissive gesture at Kuran. "Do what you can to find out more about Lord Gedin and where those supplies are going."
When the warrior saw that there was no further information forthcoming, he bowed again, and disappeared through the door, looking less than satisfied with their exchange.
It couldn't have been more than a handful of minutes later before there was a knock on the door. Heavy and insistent in a way Dís recognized instantly as bad news, and possibly danger. She stood quickly, glancing about the room as though searching for an escape. But there was none, and anyway that was a silly thought. She'd have to face him.
She smoothed her hair and dress, frowning at her ink-stained hands. "Enter."
The door opened quickly, and Dís was surprised to see no less than six guards standing in the space outside, armed, and dour-faced.
The foremost dwarf was an older, seasoned captain she'd seen a few times on duty, and heard referenced by Kuran once or twice. He'd never been particularly friendly, but he seemed honest enough, and was well-respected. "Your Majesty..." The captain hesitated, clearly disliking the news he brought. "I am afraid... I have orders for your immediate arrest."
"Arrest? On what grounds?" Though her tone was steady (and indignant) Dís' mind was utter chaos. She scrambled through her memories of the day, trying to figure out who would have known, who would have seen-
"You are being held under suspicion of treason, my lady, and..." the captain hesitated again, and she noticed that when his gaze flitted away from her, it was toward the guards behind him, "and suspected plotting against the King Under the Mountain."