Eorwyn laughed awkwardly.
"It's just… a silly jest. Something King Thorin had said a long time ago, and now it's just a jest– Well, not that the King can be silly–" She stumbled and cleared her throat. "A long time ago it had somehow come to me saying that I was no plump hen. And so he– he ordered me a cloak with chickens on it."
Mistress Algun stood staring at Eorwyn, who now felt even more ennerved.
"Just his idea of humour, I suppose," she muttered.
"I feel that I know King Thorin quite well, and I can't say I imagine him having a sense of humour– this sort of sense of humour," the needlemaster said slowly, her eyes roaming Eorwyn. "It's quite an intimate metaphor, I have to say."
Eorwyn felt blood rush away from her face.
"What is?" she rasped out.
"Comparing a woman to a bird. In Dwarven culture it's quite a gesture. My Aunt and grandmother call me kurkaruke, 'a little raven.' For the hair colour and to honour our clan's insignia. Comparing you to a hen–"
"He didn't!" Eorwyn exclaimed, hearing herself how panicked her voice sounded. "I said I was no plump hen, and he just–" She couldn't come up with anything else to say and shied away.
"You see, Master Eorwyn," the needlemaster started, as if carefully choosing words. "It's possible that there could be something you don't see in the King's attitude towards you, some elements that you can't decode because you aren't familiar with the intricacies of the Dwarven relationships," Mistress Algun said and stepped closer.
Eorwyn's heart sank. Not only it was possible that the needlemaster had guessed something, the thought of which made Eorwyn draw a sharp breath - but it also seemed she was intending to warn Eorwyn. And this also filled Eorwyn with fast growing irritation. The behaviour was too similar to Amri's to Eorwyn's liking.
"Giving you a pet name - if it has happened of course - and buying you gifts," Mistress Algun continued, "and inviting you to the Grandstand… and now I see you in the company of the princes–"
"Mistress Algun! What a pleasure!" Prince Kili, it seemed, had finally stopped bickering with his brother, and now Eorwyn and her conversation companion were observed. The dark-haired prince sauntered to them. "You look radiant today! You must have had a restful and invigorating night!"
"Kili!" the second prince hissed behind him as if in warning.
Eorwyn quickly looked between the two young men in confusion - and then she remembered the rumours that had been spreading in Erebor, and the meadmaker's apprentice from earlier on who'd informed Prince Fili of them, and that it was indeed Mistress Algun who had allegedly been the latest visitor in the King's bedchambers.
"Kili uzbad-dashat! Master Fili!" Mistress Algun's face expressed the impeccable mixture of polite joy and dignity. Eorwyn suppressed an envious sigh. She could never be that confident!
"I see you aren't wearing my work." The needlemaster cocked a brow and gestured around the princes with a graceful movement of her beautiful white hand. "No long doublets, no slits on the sleeves, no arched embroidery? You clearly have not purchased these in my shop. You're attired by my rival, Master Jaspur. I'm insulted."
The princes burst into a cacophony of reassurances and excuses, all in half jest. Meanwhile, Eorwyn thought back at the dark burgundy attire the King wore today: the doublet, perfectly fitted to emphasize his stature, was longer than those of most Dwarves; there were narrow slits on the upper halves of his sleeves, showing the white silk underneath, just a peek of it, and only when he crossed his arms on his chest in his habitual gesture; and finally, the arches of the rich gold thread embroidery on his chest, carrying his distinct pattern, usually adorning most of his outer garments. The King clearly wasn't attired by Master Jaspur.
"Mistress Algun, you simply must join us in the Grandstand!" Prince Kili exclaimed and then he folded his hands in a dramatic begging gesture in front of his chest.
"I assure you it is a most unfortunate idea," Mistress Algun answered with a silver laugh.
"No, no, no argument!" The younger prince waved his hands in the air. "Amad will be so happy to see you! To say nothing of Uncle–"
"Kili!" Fili once again tried to interfere.
Mistress Algun shot the blonde prince a cheeky side glance.
"Forgive my brother," Prince Fili said and shook his head. "He knows not how to behave in proper company."
"Only more reason for me to stay away," Mistress Algun said pointedly, and one corner of her charming little mouth that reminded Eorwyn of a tight rose bud curled up in a smirk. "Less chance that some sort of a secret might get out, or some rumours might start."
Eorwyn felt rather left out - and deservingly so. She could never sustain the flirty, light banter that the needlemaster shared with the princes. Mistress Algun played her part masterfully: she wasn't denying anything, but neither she was confirming any of the hidden meaning behind the princes' suggestions and implications. If Eorwyn didn't know the truth, she'd be the first to assume that there was some sort of an inner circle joke the three Dwarves in front of her were sharing. For an instant she had to remind her dimwitted self that it was her who when sitting in the Grandstand near the King was harbouring the juiciest of gossips.
She assumed that no one would notice if she just walked away, and she simply did. The day had just started, and already she was exhausted. She simply couldn't understand why the King had insisted on her coming to the Grandstand; and even if she could see some sort of political prudence in it, she was bewildered that he'd insisted on her sitting with him. It would have made much more sense for her to join the sons of Fundin, based on her current position and her previous association with them. She had been put in unease by lady Dis' behaviour - but not as much as by trying to restrain herself near the King. She just couldn't quite remember how she'd behaved around him before she had to behave.
Oh how sweet it would be to misbehave, she thought. To sit closer to him, to touch his hand, to put her head on his shoulder. She could just imagine having him so close, to let the spicy smell of his skin to caress her nose... or to caress his skin with her nose, her libido suggested. An untimely memory of rubbing the tip of her nose to his throat jumped to her mind. The uneven bottom line of his beard, her lips following, sliding on his warm skin… Her hand lying on the back of his neck, under the heavy silky mane… Her other hand cupping his jaw, rough whiskers of the beard pleasantly scratching her palm…
"Master Eorwyn!"
She exhaled, this time in almost irritation. It had been a much more rewarding pursuit - to let herself daydream, while slowly plodding back to the Grandstand - than to make herself smile politely, to turn around, and to greet yet another person calling out to her–
She froze with the aforementioned polite smile stretched on her face - and stared at the King.
"Enjoying the spectacle?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.
Eorwyn blinked and looked back at what she'd been seemingly staring, while in actuality recalling kissing the King's neck. Several bare-chested wrestlers were warming up before the next bout near the arena. Their strong wide bodies glistened from sweat, thick hair covered the chests, muscles bulged on the arms and calves. They were also throwing cocky remarks to each other, bordering on crude, but still clearly amicable. A small group of maidens and lads stood nearby, gawking, giggling, and murmuring between themselves. Clearly, Eorwyn could be easily mistaken for one of them.
She hummed noncommittally.
"Have you abandoned my nephew - or both of them - for the sake of a better entertainment?" he asked, even more sardonic notes weaved in his low voice.
"They've abandoned me for the sake of Mistress Algun," she answered and shifted her weight between her feet.
"Well, they are young. What do they know?" he murmured, and Eorwyn's eyes flew to his face.
It had seemed to her he'd been displeased with something in her behaviour all morning, and she had been so concerned with preserving their secret and with keeping the decorum that it was hard to remind herself that she'd done nothing wrong, and that his vexation was his to handle and to solve. So she'd worried and she'd tormented herself - and here he was, standing in front of her, watching her intently, with some sort of dark glow in his eyes.
