"I'm sorry, I was–" she mumbled and then stopped because she didn't know what to say and why she was apologising. It's not as if the Dwarf knew she was considering sneaking into the King's bedchamber!

It would be quite a foolish plan to think of it. He probably wasn't even there!

"Master Eorwyn, I'm Steward Nyr, the personal servant of King Thorin," the old Dwarf said. He had pale blue eyes and a white orderly beard with three thick braids going down its middle.

"Pleasure to meet you," Eorwyn exhaled.

"Would you be so kind as to help me with my heft?"

Eorwyn looked down and saw a small basket in the Dwarf's hands. It looked hardly… hefty.

"Um… of course."

Eorwyn threw a quick glance at the clock. There were still twenty five minutes till her meeting with the King, and she could reach the Forges in fifteen. She just hoped helping Steward Nyr wouldn't take hours.

She stretched her hand, and he placed the basket on her palm. It weighed almost nothing.

"It's just some sweets, you see," the Dwarf said. "My arms aren't that strong anymore, my lady. I was fortunate to run into you."

"But of course." Eorwyn gave him a nervous smile. She turned to the passage and looked left and then right at its ends. "Where were you heading?"

"Into the King's rooms," the Dwarf answered mundanely, turned away from her, and headed towards the doors to the Royal Halls.

"Oh but– You see, Master Nyr–" Eorwyn minced after him mumbling. "It is quite late, and–"

"It's Steward Nyr," the Dwarf interrupted her as if not hearing. "Not Master. Never had the honour to finish my ranks, you see, and then the Orcs came, and my master, young Thorin's grandfather that would be, took me with him. And I was a lad then, and we fought together. And he was wounded then, and someone had to nurse him to health, and so I stayed in the halls, and looked after him, and then his son, and now Master Thorin."

He kept slowly walking, shuffling his feet, and Eorwyn pattered after, opening her mouth and closing without daring to put a word in. He grasped the handle on the door and opened it with ease. Eorwyn remembered how heavy the door leaf was, and she once again confirmed to herself she was being lured inside under false pretenses.

"Steward Nyr, I'm afraid–" she started, and then realised that he wasn't heading towards the stairs but opened the first door to the right.

It opened with a creak, and she saw a narrow flight of stairs going up.

"We will take the servant path, my lady. You'll have to forgive me," he said by no means apologetically.

Eorwyn had no choice but to follow him up the stairs.

"And Master Thorin is so preoccupied these days, you see," the Dwarf continued his monotonous speaking, slowly but steadily scuffling up. "All these important matters. The King of all Longbeards, by Mahal's mercy. No one would fit better, not that anyone asks me. I remember him as a tot. Always so dignified, even as a youngling. But you see, he has a kind heart. He used to find those pests everywhere, mousers. Loved them he did. And then I would come to his room, and there is another one. Skinny they were, hungry, and he fed them milk, and his dinner, and I says, 'You're getting too old for them pusses,' and he would pretend not to hear, and then you just hear, quietly so, 'Please, Nyr.' I never gave him away, of course. A kind boy, he was. Still is."

They reached the top of the stairs, and he opened another door. Behind it was a long narrow dark passage, and Eorwyn could see light escaping through a frame of another door in the opposite end.

"This way, my lady." The Dwarf pointed with his bony crooked finger. "You just give him the basket."

"What?" Eorwyn squeaked.

"The hour is late, my lady. It's time I repose. And Master Thorin was needing his dinner packed, you see, and was just waiting for this order, and you just give it to him. And don't mind his bellyaching. He was in a hurry, you see. Leaving somewhere." The Dwarf made a few grumbly noises. "Not that I would know anything, you see. But the dinner is packed, and the blankets, and suddenly it's all, 'Run, Nyr. Get me sweets, Nyr.' Sweet tooth he is, always has been. Except I always thought he didn't fancy currant bread, never touched it, I recall. And all of a sudden I was to make sure there was a loaf of it. Spicy currant bread." The Dwarf shook his head. "So he will probably bark a bit when you open that door, but it's only he thinks it's me coming, and he's late and pacing there, probably. So you go, go."

The Dwarf made an ushering gesture as if shooing a fly, turned around, and unexpectedly swiftly disappeared. The door closed behind him. Eorwyn doubted he locked it, but she saw she obviously had no choice but to move forward.

She exhaled sharply and marched through the passage. She had always been told that a bandage was to be removed from a wound in one confident move. When her hand lay on the cold stone of the door, her heart thrashed in her throat - and then she pushed and stepped ahead.

And then she winced away. The King stood right near the door, dressed in a cloak, buttoned to his chin, his face scowled in an utterly irritated grimace. And then his jaw slacked and the thick black eyebrows jumped up.

A pause hung in the room. And then Eorwyn blurted out, "I brought your sweets," and shoved the basket under his nose.

"Eorwyn?"

An odd shaky laugh burst out of her.

"Aye, it's me. Did you expect lady Turith?" Her voice veered hysterically.

"I expected Nyr, my manservant," the King said in a lost voice.

"He's gone to bed. He sent me here with your order." Eorwyn shook the basket. Some sort of unhealthy merriment was making her jest. "He caught me near the Royal Halls and sent me up." She looked around, giggled again, and added, "Straight into your bedroom it seems."

"Clever old devil," Thorin muttered.

And then the basket slipped out of her fingers, and she hiccuped and lunged ahead and threw her arms around his neck. He embraced her tightly, and his hot palm lay on the back of her head. Eorwyn sobbed.

"What is it, my heart?" he asked softly.

"Currant bread– Currant–" she choked out and pressed into him even more desperately. "You ordered my favourite currant bread… Oh Thorin..."

He started tenderly stroking her hair.

"We were supposed to meet in the Forges," he whispered, "Not that I disapprove of your miraculous appearance in my bedroom, but–"

"I told my friend, and– And she was beyond herself." Eorwyn's voice trembled. She was still hiding her face. "She said I couldn't be the Queen, that I was–"

"Why did you tell her?" the King interrupted her sharply, and his voice was irked.

It was the coldness of his tone that made her move away and look into his face. He was frowning darkly.

"She's my friend. My first friend… I've never had friends, and I was hoping at least she'd understand–" Eorwyn hastily wiped her tears. "We will be announcing it officially tomorrow, and I just needed… I don't know… Maybe I wanted to tell them myself, they are– were my friends. I never expected her to condone me. I was fearful, but then I still hoped–"

A small sad smile brushed at the King's lips, and he gently cupped her face.

"I'm sorry, my heart. Come, sit with me."

He stepped to a low bench at the foot of his bed and sat down. Eorwyn joined him. She sighed heavily and lowered her eyes. His warm rough palm covered her hands on her lap.

"We can stay here, no one will come in," he said. "Only Nyr does, but he clearly won't."

He chuckled, and Eorwyn laughed through her tears.

"He isn't deaf or senile at all, is he?" she asked in a nasal voice.

"Your guess is as good as mine." The King leaned in and kissed Eorwyn's temple. "There are things we need to discuss, my heart. And it has to do with your current woe as well."

Eorwyn gave him a questioning look.

"So it happens, my heart, that we can't announce our betrothal just yet. Circumstances arose that require me to remain unattached in the eyes of the people," he said calmly. "Let me explain everything to you. I am sure you will understand and support me entirely."