Torunn was quite surprised to receive an invitation to a small celebratory dinner five days later. It was a greeting feast for the arrival of Dain Ironfoot; and Torunn twirled the parchment in her hands.

"What is it, namad?" her younger sister Torva asked, sticking her nose where it didn't belong, as was her habit.

"An invitation for dinner to the Royal Halls."

"Oh, with the King?" The voice of the nonsensical girl grew breathy.

"Aye, and with Lady Dis, and the King's Uncle, and his viper of a wife," Torunn bit back, stuffed the parchment into her desk drawer, and stomped out of the room. She had been in quite a dark mood these days. Torva continued blathering something behind her, but Torun was having none of it.

What was the point of going, she thought - to see the King ogle the treacherous redhead? To see Lady Dis glare daggers at everyone at the table? Or perhaps to enjoy the company of Lady Ingva, the King's former paramour and now his brother's wife?

She had a day to think it over, which she spent barking at her engineers, and then apologizing. She was almost certain she would not go, but then another note came with a courtier to her study in the Forge Halls. It was from the King, with 'Hope to have the pleasure of seeing you tonight,' in his angular confident handwriting. Torunn stuck her tongue at the parchment, crumpled it, and threw it into the hearth. The cursed piece of paper emitted a satisfying huff, and died in agony.

Eventually, she put on her most provocative dress; asked her maid to brush her hair additional hundred of times, to make it even glossier and smoother; put on her mother's best jewellery; and headed to the Royal Halls.

"You look so fierce I expect you to be hiding your favourite throwing knives in that bodice," her mother commented when Torunn passed her in the parlour. Torunn couldn't help but snort.

"I'm not fierce. I am feeling... disagreeable."

"As always," her mother answered, with a warm laugh, and kissed Torunn's cheek. "Show them the fires of Mahal's forges."

Torunn winked in response, picked up her skirts, and headed out, with her head held high.


In a small parlour, they all stood around a large fireplace, with glasses in their hands, talking. Lord Dain was not there yet, but the rest of the good company was there - Lord Thorin, his wife, his sister, and her sons, Lords Balin and Dwalin; and of course Lady Ingva. Torunn had never met her. She had to say both Heirs of Durin had an excellent taste. Lady Ingva was a beauty, given she looked exhausted and mournful - Torunn remembered that Lady Ingva has just born Lord Kili's son, and they said the delivery was complicated. A long journey from the Blue Mountains with a small babe couldn't have been easy, either. There was something weak and helpless in her appearance.

The King stepped forward and stretched his hand to Torunn in greeting. "You came. It's such a joy to have you here!" Torun wondered if he was mocking her, and narrowed her eyes at him.

"The pleasure is all mine," she drew out.

Soon everyone was pretending to enjoy an amicable conversation, each acting just as Torunn had expected. Wren clung to her husband's arm. She was looking pale. The Dwarf was oblivious to anything. Lady Dis would give death stares to the redhead, her older son, her brother, and Lady Ingva in turns. The latter would twitch, and take another sip from her glass to hide the forlorn expression on her thinned wan face. Kili drank too much, and was trying to engage Lord Dwalin in a conversation about 'the glorious Quest for Erebor.' Lord Balin was softly saying something to Wren.

And then the doors flew open, and Lord Ironfoot stomped in.

"Cousin! Cut my beard and use it as a washcloth! You bastard!" He rushed in, and grabbed Lord Thorin around his middle. The embrace was so fervent that it seemed Lord Thorin's feet had left the ground at least twice. "You old dog, what is this rubbish about you hiding for ten years, and coming back with a wife and a sprog? I thought the King had gone mad here!" He clapped his hand to Lord Fili's shoulder.

"You could have let us know! A small letter would suffice, you swine!" he continued roaring. Apparently, Lord Ironfoot didn't require any response to his shouts. "So, where is she? And the boy! I need to see the boy!"

And then Lord Ironfoot looked around the room. His eyes predictably lingered on Torunn. She waited for the explosion with vengeful glee.

"Wren," Lord Thorin said, and wrapped his arm around the redhead's shoulder. "This is my cousin, Lord Dain Ironfoot of the Iron Hills."

And here Torunn was not disappointed. Lord Ironfoot eyes roamed the woman's small frame, and his orange moustache bristled.

"Are you mad, cousin? She's a Long One, and a twig for that matter. It's like a bug in a dress!"

The silence rang in the room, and Torunn watched Wren's face grow red.

"You need to show Lady Wren some respect, Uncle," the King's low voice came, and everyone looked at him. He looked positively livid.

"What? Why are you the one grabbing an axe, boy?" Ironfoot asked, and then squinted one eye. "What's in it to you?"

"Good question," Lady Dis muttered, making sure everyone heard her.

"What is it, sister?" Ironfoot turned his face to her. "Speak up! What venom are you spraying there?" Lady Dis' opulent chest heaved in an indignant gasp. Torunn was enjoying her evening more and more with each passing moment.

"And this one?" Ironfoot asked. Torunn was finally noticed, it seemed - or more precisely acknowledged, since it was impossible not to notice her in this dress, and with this cleavage. "Tell me it's that Ingva you two have been fighting over like mad dogs?" Lady Ingva made a small sad noise. Torunn had trouble stifling a laugh. "Or to be honest, you were the pups whose mother decided who gets the bone."

The King made a small step forward, his fist clenched.

"Why are we tolerating these insults?" Kili asked in a voice trembling with rage.

"They aren't insults, if they are true," Lord Dwalin suddenly boomed; and Torunn whipped her head to look at him. She knew he'd never been fond of Lord Dain - but here he seemed to agree with the Dwarf wholeheartedly.

"This is Lady Torunn, daughter of Andvari," Lord Balin stepped in, diplomatic as always. He reminded Torunn of those narrators that show up at the end of puppet plays for children, to explain the moral of the story. "She's an engineer in charge of the renovations of the Erebor forges."

Lord Ironfoot took Torunn's hand and shook it firmly. She saw an approving masculine twinkle in his eyes, and she gave him a small bow.

"I've met your grandfather, Frar. A jolly good forge master he was. And your grandmother, Agda, was it? What an excellent smith." Torunn smiled wider. "Something tells me this one chooses herself, isn't she?" Ironfoot threw to Lady Dis, and walked to the table with drinks. Torunn sipped her mead.

"So, your boy, Thorin? Where is he?"

"Thror is in his rooms. You shall meet him tomorrow, at breakfast," Lord Thorin said calmly.

"Thror, eh? What would the old king say to it?" Lord Ironfoot said.

"That I was fortunate to father a child at my old age." Lord Thorin apparently remained unruffled by his cousin's words. The King didn't.

"Shouldn't Lord Dain choose his words more carefully?" Lord Fili gritted through his teeth.

"Oh Maiar, it's all my fault," Wren breathed out; and Torunn almost rolled her eyes. Not everything was about the redhead, surely. "I shouldn't have shared my worries..." Her voice dropped to whisper, and then died out completely, while the lips continued moving.

"Are you peeking into another man's drams, Fili?" Ironfoot took a generous swig of his beer. "I don't see Thorin rushing to shield his slip of a yusth!"

"While he should be!" Fili snapped, and turned an enraged pale face to his Uncle. "But it seems you care not, Uncle," he sneered, and Lord Thorin took a step forward as well.

"Oh please, no..." Wren whispered.

"You just keep quiet," Lady Dis hissed at her. "It is all your fault! And you're making it only worse!"

"Stay out of this, namad!" Lord Fili growled, keeping his eyes locked with Thorin's.

"Have you gone rabid, the two of you?" Ironfoot boomed a disdainful laugh. "To fight over this urm!" Torunn wondered if Wren knew the word. After all, 'worms' would hardly be discussed in those history volumes she was studying. "Good thing, the marriage doesn't count! Just a joke it is, nothing more!"

That was when Lord Thorin swirled and placed a crushing blow into his cousin's jaw. Lady Ingva gasped loudly. Lord Fili stood taking sharp inhales. Kili's eyes were shifting between the participants, widened and tense.

"I'll tell you one thing, cousin," Lord Ironfoot muttered, wiping blood from the broken lip off his beard. "You haven't gone frail from age, that's for certain." He then turned to the King. "Do you want to take a swing too, boy? You seem to care a lot what is said about the lass."

Muscles danced on the King's jaw, but he didn't move. Wren was inspecting Thorin's knuckles, dabbing them with her handkerchief.

"What is wrong with you all?" Lady Ingva suddenly exclaimed, and wriggled her white hands in front of her.

"Calm down, Ingva," Kili finally found someone to order around - and pay attention to him, for that matter. "It is just jesting."

"Is it now?" Ironfoot scoffed. "I was dead serious. A sickle wean, and from Men? No match for an Heir of Durin. And no decorum will tell me to shut my gob about it."

"Will another punch shut it?" Lord Thorin asked. He looked both amused and enraged at the same time.

"I'd rather have some of that stew your sister is so proud of. Alright, Dis?" Ironfoot then grabbed his mug from the floor where it had flown when he was hit; and he walked into the adjoin dining room.

"Could I go back to my room?" Lady Ingva asked in a weak voice, but everyone else was already following the honourable guest. Torunn finished her drink and hurried up.