Chapter 29: Unexpected Tribute
Thanks to all who add, and to all my reviewers: Wynni, raeshell, AddieP09, HobbitPony1, Alice Helena, readergirl4985, Vanafindiel, Kaiya's Watergarden, Neewa, FlameLight5518, weliann, killthepain62, Wraithangel71, Fantasylover101, Iorieth, Guest, IceCoffee00, Guest, hizzle27, originalanonymouse, and Faylene Fortune!
Songs inspired by:
Faun - Ynis Avalach (The entrance)
Garmarna - Kyrie (Hanah's song)
Gjallarhorn - Minuet from Jeppo-polska (After the ceremony)
Faun - Rhiannon (Dancing at the feast)
Chapter 29 –– Unexpected Tribute
Hemery was not permitted to touch anything all day. Hanah, Sethie, and Híli made sure she was bathed, fed, and primmed without her having to lift a finger. Normally, this would have incensed Hem, but their fussing and chatter drowned out most thoughts and worries, so she welcomed it.
"Are these shackles?" Híli asked curiously.
Hem cast a glance in her direction. Sitting on a chair with her skirt hiked up to her knees, Híli watched her outstretched feet and the golden anklets swinging dangerously low on her small feet.
"Yes," Hem said at the same time as Sethie said, "No. Put those back, right now." Sethie waved her hand at the child, as if the motion would magically compel her.
"You can have them 'cause I'm not wearin' them," Hem said lazily from the bath tub where she lay submerged with her head and hands above the surface, a foot resting on the edge.
Híli sheepishly placed the pieces back onto the table. "Nah, they're too big anyway."
"Don't be too eager to grow up," Hanah told her daughter from where she carefully ironed Hem's silk dress. "You'll have your own gold soon enough."
Between having her nails cut, cleaned, and polished to a high sheen, to having her hair washed, combed, trimmed, and braided, and to having her skin scrubbed, dried, creamed, and pinched to glow rosily in what Sethie called a 'wholesome' way, Hem could not move except when prompted by the other women to do so. This was also strangely comforting, since it removed Hem's responsibility in her own appearance. To strengthen this feeling of security, she avoided catching her reflection in any looking glass to minimise the risk of self-scrutiny.
Dis had food brought, special delicacies prepared for the occasion, which Híli fed to Hem in small bites through the day. Fruit pastries, nuts, bread, cheese, honeyed ham, custard tarts, meat pies, and sweet tea. From time to time, Hanah and Hemery sang together, and Hem felt herself relax, sitting in her old room, watching the sunlight slide over the walls in ripples caused by the thick glass from the windows, as if it was filtered through water.
Late in the afternoon, Sethie poured Hemery wine before helping her dress. It might have colour her lips purple, but Hemery did not care. It calmed the last of her nerves.
When Sethie made the final touches to the dress, Hem hissed in pain. "My hair is stuck in the chains."
Though the gold rested between her dress and the sheer tunic, specifically to protect furniture and her person from any damage the coarse gold could envoke, strands of hair made its way down to wrap around the hinges and clasps that held the pieces together, tugging mercilessly on Hem's scalp.
"Delicate like a porcelain doll," Sethie muttered while trying to untangle her. Finally, she had to pull the fragile hair free from the necklace when the strain caused involuntary tears to well in Hem's eyes. "I'll have to braid it all. We can't have a crying bride before the king. Needn't further proof of his tyranny."
"Seth," Hem admonished but chuckled nonetheless. "I'm slave to none but your brutal hands."
Ordinarily, the future husband would meet his wife at the residence in which they would live, and they would enter together. However, Thorin was no ordinary dwarf. Therefore, Hemery would meet him in the throne room, in the heart of his stronghold, in front of hundreds of witnesses, out of respect for the king.
They made their way to the great hall by smaller side paths seldom seen by Hem. When they stood before the doors to the throne room, Sethie took the wine from Hem's hand and disappeared with Híli, leaving Hemery with Hanah and their guards. Hem heard the birds of spring echo from the domed ceiling in the entrance hall where they flittered between balconies. The silence belied the presence on the other side of those doors.
After a moment, music sifted through the wood. Harps, flutes, horns, and drums in a simple but enchanting melody. It was time.
The doors opened slowly to reveal the splendor of the throne room. The light was dimmer than usual, except for the plateau at the far end where Thorin sat which was lit by dozens of lanterns––hanging from the ceiling as well as from the walls. Along the walls above the galleries on each side of the path burned shallow basins of oil in clear, serene, high flames. The coats of arms, colours, and crests of the noble Ereborian families decorated the banners hanging from the ceiling and the tapestries along the walls, greatest of which was the sign of Durin above the tall, polished thrones of black marble.
The floor was packed with people, as were the balconies, but Hem was too nervous to register their faces. She only took in the narrow path before her. She had never noticed how far it was between the doors and the thrones, until now.
"Just say the word," Hanah spoke in a hushed voice. "And we'll call the whole thing off. Dwalin and I'll sort it."
Hem glanced at her sister and burst out laughing. Hanah smiled back.
"Gratitude," Hem replied, squeezing her hand briefly.
They schooled their expressions and turned back towards the entrance which they were expected to walk through several moments ago.
"All jestin' aside," Hanah whispered to Hem's left. "Just say the word."
With that assurance fresh in her mind, Hemery took her first step. She was almost glad of the weight of her costume now, for it helped her measure her paces and not rush, keeping her chin high and her back straight like Dwalin taught her long ago. She knew already that her shoulder would be killing her at the end of the night. That ache, too, helped keep her grounded.
She had not seen Thorin in his crown for a long time. It jarred her to see him in his formal robes and finery, gold around his neck and jewels on his knuckles. The look in his eyes, when she came close enough to make it out, was the same cool detachment he always wore in public, but there was a softness to his lips, half hidden beneath his beard, that spoke of contentment. Whether this ghost of a smile was produced by amusement at seeing her so uncomfortable or by genuine pride at the vision of his future wife, Hem could not say.
Dís, Fíli, Kíli, Balin, and several of the founding fathers of new Erebor stood in a line on the right side of the throne, guards behind them. On the left stood Dwalin with Sethie and Híli next to him. His countenance was grim but not angry. It seemed he had put on a formal coat––one of those that Hanah had unknowingly made for him and his brethren ten years ago––dark grey with red jasper, and even combed his beard for the occasion. Hem saw it as a victory.
When Hemery arrived at the steps before the throne, Thorin rose and came forward, holding out his hand for her to take. All stilled, and the music stopped.
Thorin spoke.
"You are welcome to enter my home, My Lady. Join me, share it, in blood and stone, in life until death, now and forever." His words were said in his kingly baritone, the one were his word travelled to every corner of his kingdom, were his word was law. The voice he used before an audience, for his spectators. But his eyes never left hers as he gazed down where she stood at the foot of the steps.
Then Hemery answered with the words she had learnt, relaxing her throat to speak clearly but softly, and it surprised her how far her lungs could carry her voice in the stone hall. "I will join you, My Lord, and share your home, in blood and stone, in life until death, now and forever."
With those words, he led her up the steps until they stood on the plateau, facing each other with their audience to Hem's right. Hanah took her place next to Dwalin, while her and Hem's guards went to stand behind them in a perfect line equal to that on the other side.
Only a few hushed murmurs and unbidden coughs reached Hem from the back of the room. As her eyes wandered nervously from Thorin's calm face, to their clasped hands, and to the floor and back again, she wondered what the people whispered to each other, what their thoughts were this moment.
Through the silence, Hanah's voice suddenly cut like a blade of velvet. She was accompanied by nothing but her own echo on the stone, singing an old hymn in Khuzdul she had learned by heart. Something about glory to the people who inherited the land of the gods, Hem was not sure, but the sentiment of reverence was clearly communicated.
As Hanah sang, Dis came forth to stand on Thorin's right, carrying a box. From inside, Thorin picked up two gold rings which he placed on each of Hem's middle fingers. The one on the left was adorned with a flat, round, dark red crystal. On the right, a dark blue of similar cut. Runes wound around the outside of the band––Hem recognised the first words from the Durin dictum.
Then Hemery mirrored his actions, picking up the two remaining rings, of the same design, from Dis's box and threading them on Thorin's middle fingers where they struggled for dominance over neighboring rings of cruder fashion––scratched golden hexagons and blocks of uncut citrine, smoky quartz, and amethyst. The ritual was concluded with Hemery gently leaning forward and Thorin gently kissing her forehead, thus confirming their acceptance of each other as husband and wife.
As Hanah's song came to a close, a loud hollering began in the throne room; people clapped their hands, stomped their feet, laughed, and shouted hurrahs and an array of other joyous exclamations. Hemery could not help but smile herself as relief flooded her. The worst was over.
New music started, and people rearranged themselves into long lines on the floor from the doors up to the plateau. Beside Hem, servants appeared with trays larger than barrel lids covered with small cakes. The size of a small chicken egg, the cake was made up of a pastry crust, its filling a smooth paste of sugar and nuts, and topped with a tough layer of caramel made of maple syrup and cream boiled together. On Thorin's left, the servants carried trays with goblets of wine filled to the brim.
The custom, Hemery had been told, was for the wed couple to treat their guests to food and drink, as a symbol of their good fortune and good will. This held a double significance at a king's wedding where the guests were also the couple's subjects because it symbolised the fortune of the kingdom and the good will of the king and queen toward their people, their willingness to feed them like metaphorical children. She found it bewildering that this ritual was in addition to the feast which would take place shortly afterwards. It seemed that the intimacy of delivering food directly from her hand into someone else's was of special significance.
So, like a mother, Hemery handed out cakes to each and every person who came to stand before her, while Thorin handed out goblets of wine. They would incline their heads toward the guest, and the guest would bow properly at the waist with silent thanks in return. The first few people were easy; Fíli and Kíli accepted the food and drink with a flourish, Dis with grace, Híli with zeal, Sethie with amusement, Balin with refinement, and Hanah with temperance.
Dwalin refrained from partaking, presumably because he neither saw Thorin as his master nor Hemery as his mistress. The guards were also excused from any involvement this evening as they were on duty and their devotion to their masters were implied if not understood. But all other present were expected to accept their generosity.
When Sigrid approached with her father, Hem felt the first flares of a blush on her cheeks. She did not know why. Probably because neither of them were subjects of Erebor, and it felt too strange to feed a king and a princess who ruled over domains other than Erebor. But they were guests, and in their case, the purpose of the treat would be seen as general benevolence. Plus, Sigrid always enjoyed participating in dwarven customs, for some reason. Hem noticed that Bain, though present, stood back and allowed his sister and father to experience the full extent of Thorin's hospitality without him. Sigrid and Bard's actions would absolve him of any duty to show respect. All knew of the animosity between him and Thorin; it was preferred that he did not engage personally with the newlyweds tonight.
Hem did not see any dissatisfaction among the guests, at least not among those she met personally; but then again, those who might disapprove of their king's marriage to a commoner of mankind would probably not attend the ceremony, let alone line up to receive wine and cake. She had not realised how much she dreaded today for that reason until she actually could see the joy in the room and be released from her fear.
She was surprised further when not only satisfied dwarven faces met her but also elven. Four of them, Hem saw, at the back of the room––they needed no greater vantage point than simply the level of their heads above the other guests. Two blond, two brown haired, all fair and dressed in shades of green. Hem reflected that they might be siblings for all she could tell them apart. She guessed two were women and two were men, but she was not sure.
The elves hesitated as the line of dwarves dwindled, but Hem raised her hand to them, offering a cake in the palm of her hand, beckoning them to her. They were guests, after all, and she did not want them to feel left out. Sigrid and Bard got cakes, so why not them?
Similar to a troop of guards on patrol, the elves marched confidently with their backs straight up to the bottom of the stairs before the throne, all the while glancing to the sides as if anticipating attacks. Then, with otherworldly grace and unnaturally long limbs, the foremost elf put one foot on the middle stair, bent forward his head and presented his hand to Hemery where she still held out her palm at the top of the stairs. She needed not reach far to deliver the cake into his waiting hand.
She expected Thorin to hand him a goblet, but this did not happen. Hem looked at Thorin, confused. He seemed to have no wish to quench the elf's thirst. At the corner of her eye, Hem saw Balin glare at the king and make hand gestures that were not so respectful or subtle. Hem knew Thorin did not like elves, but she was pleased to see he had enough sense to invite them anyway, as a kindness and a willingness to nurture Erebor's relationship with the Greenwood. However, she thought it twice rude of him to have them invited to this important occasion and not show them the same respect he showed others. Or perhaps Dis had handled the invitations as well; that would make more sense.
Pressing her mouth tightly in exasperation, Hem gently pried the goblet out of Thorin's hand and gave it to the elf with a smile. With the same preternatural handsomeness, he rose to his full height and backed away as swiftly as he had approached. She caught a scent from his featherlight hair, like grass in rain. Hem beckoned the remaining three elves as well, making sure each received a cake and a goblet.
"Save those for dinner," Hem recommended them as an afterthought before they returned to the crowd. The first elf bowed his head to her in acknowledgement.
Hemery let herself be led by Thorin's hand as they moved to an adjoined hall where an abundance of food was served. Swine and birds, roasted whole, lay in rows along the tables which were arranged like a horse shoe around a fire pit in the middle of the stone floor. The meat was accompanied by carrots, potatoes, pies, cheese, fresh bread, and a rich gravy based on cream and wine. Even fruit decorated the tables, though Hem had no idea where it had come from this early in the season. Barrels of wine and ale lined the walls, servants turning their taps and filling decanters in order to refill the goblets on the tables.
The guests were so many that Hemery could not clearly see the faces farthest away from her, but she noticed the elves were placed to her right, a dozen or so seats down.
Just as people were about to sit, the mood in the room high and the volume growing––talking, laughter, and music playing still––the doors opened once more to admit a party of dwarves. Hem hardly took notice before an authoritative, loud voice boomed in the hall.
"What's the meanin' of this?"
The hall fell quiet, suddenly. All regarded the newcomers. They were dressed in travel garb but no tattered robes or filthy cloaks––fine linen, velvet, thick leather, and expensive fur. The speaker, with more grey in his beard than red, stood with his hands on his belt and seemed unaffected by the tension his words created.
"Ye start the feast without me, cousin?" he went on. "Hospitality in this mountain really has gone to the dogs."
Hemery all but gaped in astonishment. Cousin? Hem knew no cousins of Thorin's. Except Dáin. Could this be––?
"And you're late, as usual," Thorin replied, not bothering to match the dwarf's volume. "Seeing as you only arrived to voraciously sample food and wine gratis, to the great grief of my kitchen, I took the liberty of ignoring your tardiness."
The stranger laughed as he strode forward, rounding the tables to face Thorin with only an armslength separating them.
"But I always come when called," he spoke, softer now. His voice, like gravel and tar, bore witness to the smoking of plenty a pipe through the years, or shouting––or both. "Is that not so?"
Thorin regarded him with the usual level of unimpressed for a moment before closing the distance between them and embracing the bold dwarf with a smile. They clapped each other forcefully on the back, then let go.
Immediately, the dwarf's eyes moved over the congregation, settling finally on Hemery. She would be hard to miss, standing there next to Thorin in her outfit, though she wished otherwise.
"My Lady Hemery," Thorin said, "may I present Dáin Ironfoot, son of Náin, king of the Iron Hills."
Hemery was not sure what to do but did what she could; she bowed her head in as much of a respectful gesture as possible, which became only a nod in the end due to the heavy gold on her head and the fabric straining beneath.
"It's an honour, Your Highness," she said.
"The honour is mine, My Lady," Dáin protested. "I must confess, word reached me of the lass who agitated Thorin's personal guard. I'm pleased as well as surprised to meet you in these circumstances."
Hem felt heat in her face and in her gut at that. She had all but convinced herself that Vannur had forgiven her for whatever mistakes she had made. "I'm sure my infamy is greatly exaggerated––"
"Nonsense," Dáin boomed again. "I have it on good authority that you, My Lady, and no other girl of men brought a member of The Red Guard to his knees in three moves."
Somewhere behind Daín, Hem heard Kíli burst out in laughter. Was Dáin talking about Steig? That was months ago. She had hoped the few who were there had forgotten about it. Apparently not.
"It is true," Thorin unexpectedly admitted. Hem's eyes cut to him. He knew and all? "Lady Hemery is not to be underestimated," he added, meeting her eyes with a gleam in his eyes.
Mortified at his knowledge that she had allowed Steig to provoke her and consequently assaulted him, she stuttered something resembling, "You're too kind, Sire," and looked down.
"So," Dáin bark suddenly, "ye said something about voracious gluttony," he reminded Thorin, slapping his shoulder.
With that, Thorin motioned for all to take their seats. At once, the merry music started up again, people's voices and slamming of cutlery filling the air. Dáin and his company were seated on the left side. Dis and her sons, whom he greeted fondly and loudly, sat between them and Thorin.
The dinner progressed nicely and painlessly for Hemery, except for her shoulder which did not agree with her choice of dress, her seat, or her stiff, formal posture. She would have rather sat with her legs crossed, leaning back with her left arm on the armrest to alleviate the weight. Hanah, who sat directly to Hem's right, discreetly moved food from her own plate to Hem's, hoping to spare her the humiliation of being seen having someone cut her meat for her. No one took notice. Except Thorin, of course.
He put his right hand on the back of her chair, turning toward her slightly to speak closely. "What is the matter? Why does your sister serve you?"
She sat stiffly in her seat, enduring the ache which the static pose produced.
"Nothin'," she replied truthfully. "It's just my arm. I still can't use it as much as I would like to."
He frowned at that but said no more. He could do nothing about it, so what was there to say?
More times during the dinner than Hemery could count, a guest would stand and hold a toast for the occasion, or sometimes just for the longevity and prosperity king, demanding all raise their drinks and promptly drain them. The speakers included Fíli, Kíli, Dis, and Balin, all of their old companions, Bard and Sigrid, and many others. Most of them she recognised, but not all.
Even Dwalin proposed a toast, albeit a short one.
"To Erebor," he offered gruffly, "and those in her heart who endeavor to be worthy of her." His eyes were upon the newlyweds when he spoke.
There seemed to be a unanimous confusion among the guests as to his meaning, but seeing as it was nothing principally wrong with the sentiment, all raised their drinks in salute. "To Erebor," they echoed. Hanah, who had a mild apple must instead of wine, touched the rim of her cup to Dwalin's and Sethie's before drinking heartliy, the three of them seemingly sharing an agreement with this particular toast than with the others. Hemery stopped trying to match the dwarves tempo after her first cup––which actually was her second of the evening––settling for a sip each time.
After an hour or so, Thorin and Hemery rose from their seats as servants presented them with a golden brown loaf of bread so big that it would not even have fit in the old oven at Dwalin's cottage, decorated with swirling braids of dough and scattered dried fruit and seeds. By their plates appeared small silver cups, the size of egg cups, holding a burning liquid. Thorin drew his sword––not the same Hem had used to cleave orcs with, she observed with relief––and with her hands enfolded with his on the hilt, they cut the bread in two to the great approval of their audience. This was another symbol of abundance, sharing fruitfulness and the tool with which to reap it.
Then they picked up the burning cups, blew out the blue flames, exchanged cups, and downed the contents in one go. Though Hem was careful to not put her lips to the cup, the liquid seared her throat and settled in her belly like an ember straight from the fire. She suspected it was that special Khazad brandy Kíli praised so highly. She could not distinguish between the quality of this craftsmanship and intestinal torture by hot oil which, according to Kíli, also happened to be a Khazad specialty, exercised only on rare occasions, similar to the brandy. Again, cheers erupted around them as Hem sat back down with intention to eat as much of that bread as possible in order to soak up the poison she had just ingested.
Everyone else seemed to have the opposite idea. People started to rise, heading to the clear areas around the tables to dance. Those who remained seated were of the mind to keep drinking. However, Hem was confident most could handle themselves, as opposed to her who would stick to solely eating for the rest of the evening. No more drinking, she vowed to herself––and to Hanah, just in case––and definitely no dancing in this dress.
As the night wore on, Hem felt more and more dazed by her drink and the food which she could not another bite of. The air was filled with music and laughter, louder and louder. Waves of heat came over her from the fires and the warm bodies moving in the hall. Her shoulder did not only ache but a faint prickling sensation also ran up and down her arm. She wanted to undress the layers of silk and gold. She wanted to lay down in peace and quiet.
Hanah had danced a few line dances with Híli before taking the child to bed. She had not returned. Hem was not surprised; Hanah was not particularly entertained by grand feasts, not after midnight anyhow. Fíli had been absorbed in conversation with Balin and their elven guests for some time. Fíli was always social, always the diplomat. Hem admired Fíli for it, glad that at least one Durin found it valuable to cultivate relations with their neighbors. Hem would not have the patience to spend time with drunk strangers for the good of the kingdom, but Fíli actually seemed to enjoy it. Kíli seemed to enjoy himself even more, never keeping still, talking to different people every time Hem spotted him in the crowd.
Kíli had tried to coax Hem to join him in the fray of the dance, but she refused with the argument, "I'll dance with you the day you wear the same dress as I," silencing him only for short limits of time. Kíli had then went on to tempt Dwalin to participate in the dance with the threat that some might think he opposed to the marriage if he did not. Dwalin answered with one withering look that conveyed clearly how much he cared about that. Soon after, Dwalin disappeared. Dís had also vanished in the festivities. Hem decided to not speculate whether the two incidents were related.
Thorin did not move from his chair all night but for short moments. However, he always had someone to his left, holding his attention. Although people had toasted and proclaimed their well wishes throughout the evening, people still came up to Hemery and Thorin to share a few words or indeed a speech of some sort, sometimes even asking favours. Hem was grateful that she was not required to do much but smile and nod; Thorin was their main target.
At the moment, he was roped into a discussion with a member of the merchant guild. Hem did not know his name, and she could not make out much of what they spoke of due to the clamour in the room. Hem felt great sympathy for Thorin then. This was what it was like for the king all the time, people pulling at his coat sleeve constantly, begging for attention. But Hem was not needed for this. She wanted to go to bed.
Sethie came tumbling down into the seat to Hem's right. Lips dark from wine and cheeks flushed from the dance, she smiled at Hem.
"You alright?" she asked. "You need to pee again?" Her smile widened.
At one point during the evening, after Hanah had left, Sethie had most graciously helped Hemery to a privy and held her skirts while Hemery relieved herself, to the accompaniment of their joined peels of laughter. Their slight intoxication helped them see the absurdity in the situation and found it most amusing.
"I'm really tired. Do you think I can leave soon?" Hem asked, leaning to her right so only Sethie would hear.
Sethie looked around. "Oh, yeah. It's getting late, now. Should be fine."
"You're sure?" The last thing Hem wanted was to make a mistake on her wedding day.
Sethie shrugged. "I've never attended a royal wedding before. But it's your day. The feast's in your honour. If there's one day when you can do what you want and go to bed when you want, it's today. Who cares what anyone else thinks? The ceremony's done. He can't change his mind." She broke into a giggle.
Hem had to laugh, as well. It was true––there was no going back now. It was done. The relief pulled the last of Hem's will to keep awake, and she allowed exhaustion wash over her.
Sethie ignored Thorin's company and stood to address him. "Sire," she said clearly and much more sober sounding than she was. "Lady Hemery is tired and wishes to retire." No request, simply informing him.
Thorin turned to Hemery. She tried to sit straight and keep her eyes open and alert in case he wished to speak to her before she left, but there was no doubt in her mind that she looked as worn as she felt.
"Of course," he said, taking her hand and frowning with concern. "Go. Rest." He squeezed her hand before letting go.
She stood then, with Sethie's help, and left with her guards. Sethie offered to come with Hem to help her out of her clothes before returning to the feast.
"So . . ." Hem spoke uncertainly to Sethie as they made their way to the third floor. "There's no expectation for us to . . . leave together?" she asked vaguely, referring to herself and Thorin.
Sethie chuckled. "No one questions dwarves' ambitions to drink themselves into a stupor. He'll join you later. No one is interested in what you do behind closed doors. Well, they areinterested, naturally. People always talk. But you know what I mean. They'll assume that everything progresses properly." She dismissed Hem's worry with a wave of her hand. "For all they know, you had too much to drink and are about to acquaint yourself with the porcelain bowl under your bed."
Hem frowned. "I don't want them to think that either," she said, unhappy.
"Or perhaps you and the king have already consummated your union in carnal intimacy so often and thoroughly that you need a good night's rest free from that dwarrow's greedy paws," Sethie offered as another alternative.
Hem gasped, horrified at the mere thought that some would believe so.
"How about that?" Sethie asked. "I can go on if this is making you feel better."
"Gods, no," Hem hissed. "You need to hush, right now. I changed my mind. I don't want to know what people think."
Sethie smiled, satisfied. "There's a good lass."
The royal chambers looked very much the same as last time Hemery ventured through them. Sethie helped her unhook all the gold she wore, placing the pieces in its designated box. She folded the hair lace, unwound the midsection, and unlaced the collar so Hemery could easily just step out of the dress when she was alone. Hem had sweated through her shift, from nerves and from the hot dining hall, so she washed quickly at a basin in the washroom after she cleaned her teeth and then changed into a fresh shift before bed. She noticed a few of her belongings there. Her dressing gown hung beside Thorin's. Her comb and hair pins sat in one of the cupboards. One of the wardrobes contained all her clothes and shoes. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go see where they put all her other things.
Hem carefully pushed open the heavy door to the bedchamber, then found herself just standing there in the opening, unable to enter. The flat, smooth coats of reindeer covered the stone floor. Bearskins on the bed. The mantel of the fireplace was tall enough to stand in, as all the others in Thorin's appartments, and its low-burning fire the only light source in the room. All other lanterns and candles were unlit.
Two armchairs sat on opposite sides of the fireplace, and a bench with extra blankets stood at the foot of the bed. A small desk with some writing paper and ink stood in a corner. Fine wool tapestries hung on the walls, depicting a high view of mountain ridges and valley formations in shades of blue and grey, as if one stood amongst the clouds at the top of a mountain at dawn.
Maybe she was making a mistake. Was she really meant to sleep in the king's bed? She was well aware they were now married, but it all seemed surreal, still. Perhaps there was another one of his rooms prepared for her as her own bedroom separate from his? She took a short turn to peek into the rooms closest to Thorin's main living area. All dark, just like before. There was no mistake.
Finally, Hemery entered the bedroom, adjusted the logs in the fireplace, and turned down the covers on the bed. As she debated on which side to lay down, she noticed one last thing that made her mind up for sure. She recognised her pillow, from her old bed, by its texture and scent. It was definitely hers, there on the left side of the bed.
The linen was soft and cool against her feet as she climbed in. The crackle of the fire was soothing in its irregular rhythm. Hem thought she would have trouble to sleep in a new place but drifted off after what seemed like only a few heartbeats.
She woke from movement in the bedchamber. The light in the room was much dimmer than when she fell asleep, but she could make out Thorin's shape in the shadows. Perhaps several hours had passed, but her mind was now muddled with sleep so she just lay still, her apprehension muted, and let sleep reclaim her.
After an immeasurable amount of time, she felt the covers stir. He seemed to have settled in, and she thought he was going to sleep when a graze as light as air brushed her skin. Her shift had twisted in her sleep, the neckline rising on the side she slept on while falling on the other, exposing half the rounded form of her left shoulder which suddenly felt chilly now her attention was drawn to it. She also detected the scent of brandy on the air, presumably from her bedfellow's breath.
Something precise––a fingertip, perhaps––traced a small shape on the slope of her shoulder down to below her collarbone. The touch was so gentle, a caress so fleeting and intimate, it left an ache in her heart when it stopped, fading from her senses like mist evaporating. An almost imaginary thing in the reality of its absence. Had it even been there, she wondered in the dark, in the silence, as sleep drowned her once more. The last thing she registered was a warmth enfolding her and something soft covering her cold shoulder.
