Thorin eyed Dwalin, sliding his feet across the mat to keep his body facing his opponent as the other man slowly circled in.
Dwalin's arm flew out, hand angled like the blade of a knife and aimed directly at Thorin's nose. Thorin blocked the blow and pivoted on the ball of his foot, twisting and sending his opposite leg up in a punishing blow.
He felt Dwalin block it, and then use an arm to lock the leg in place. A second later the man's foot hooked around Thorin's ankle and then he was landing on the mat with a heavy thud. He grunted in annoyance, pulled his legs up, planted his hands on the mat behind his head and pushed back to his feet in one easy move. Dwalin, who'd fallen into an at-ready position, dropped into a crouch and moved back in.
Thorin made a sound that would have been at home coming from an enraged animal, and went on the attack.
The two had already been going at it for a while. Thorin's naked chest was slick with sweat and the sleeveless t-shirt Dwalin wore was drenched. Both were heaving for oxygen and were sore and bruised from blows much harder than standard for simple sparring. Dwalin never held back, while Thorin...
Thorin was simply pissed.
He'd been angry for so long now he sometimes forgot what it felt like to not be angry. Ever since the Thain had made his idiotic demands, and ever since he'd seen the look in Kyra's eyes as he'd broken her heart.
The wedding a week ago, held on a date Shire had demanded, had been the very date he and Kyra had set for their own wedding. All of it had been planned and in place already, reception hall, vendors, the guests had all been invited. It had been a royal wedding, preparations took months and they didn't stop just because the Shire was making absurd demands. No one had truly believed it would turn out the way it did. Thorin hadn't truly believed it up until the moment he'd found himself at an altar facing a complete stranger.
Once he'd arrived in Shire, he'd demanded to see the Thain to personally relay his feelings on Shire forcing the date. Gerontius had gone wide eyed and shocked, insisting he'd had no idea and, indeed, everything had been taken care of, and planned, via proxies. Every letter, meeting, every rejection of every plea to have the marriage on a different day, had been with someone other than the Thain.
Even so, Thorin had no doubt the bastard was lying.
There was simply no way he'd not heard of the problem with the date, not when every news agency in Erebor, and many in Shire, had reported on it. It wasn't feasible that the man could be so blind about what was going on in his own kingdom, or the one he aimed to ally with. The Thain had been exercising his power to make a point, to show he could, or simply because he was a bastard and enjoyed acting the part.
And Thorin was just... so... angry about it all.
Since returning to Erebor, he'd dragged Dwalin to the training rooms every day and fought until he was too tired to move. At first, others had been there, to watch or work out on their own. As time had progressed, and it had become clear Thorin wasn't just sparring, they'd slowly drifted away.
Now it was just the two of them, doing their best to kick one another's arses. The red mats under their feet were slick from sweat, forcing them both to stop every so often to reapply chalk to their soles to avoid slipping. They were nearing the end of this current match, both near to collapsing, and it was just one of many, many, many such matches over the last week and Thorin's anger hadn't diminished.
If anything, it had intensified.
The room was lined with mirrors and Thorin caught a glimpse of himself in one as they moved, dark bruises lining his body from prior matches and red areas promising new ones. Tendrils of hair were escaping the low ponytail he'd pulled it into, his eyes held a wild look and clear exhaustion lined his face and dragged at his limbs. Â
Not exactly the image most people had of the Crown Prince of Erebor.
Some days, the bouts had ended explosively with one or the other getting the upper hand in a sudden attack targeting an opening or weakness brought on by fatigue or sheer laziness. Sometimes it ended when Dwalin decided it had gone on long enough and simply refused to fight anymore.
Today, it ended by mutual, unspoken agreement.
Dwalin threw another punch, stumbling in exhaustion and accidentally overreaching. Thorin grabbed his arm, crouched and used his body weight to throw the other man over his shoulder and onto the mat behind him. Erebor's Chief of Security rolled easily to his feet and, just like that, they both knew the fight was over.
They headed to the nearby bench where Dwalin grabbed a bottle of water while Thorin ran a towel over his face.
"You going to hit the showers?" Thorin asked. He snatched his own bottle of water and guzzled from it, before dumping the rest over his face and shoulders. They were off the mats now and on the wood flooring and he idly dropped a towel down to mop up the water that made it that far.
Dwalin snorted. "Some of us don't have the luxury of getting to our duties any time we want, your Highness." He wrapped the towel around his neck and took another swig of water. "And Ori would have my head if I didn't check in with her before heading off."
Thorin chuckled, imagining the diminutive woman who had one of Erebor's toughest and most intimidating warriors wrapped around her little finger. "Tell her I thank her for the loan of her husband."
That earned him a longsuffering sigh before Dwalin headed out, grumbling under his breath the entire time. Thorin put little stock in it. The two of them had been friends since childhood and while Dwalin might complain and mutter, Thorin knew the other man's friendship and loyalty were unwavering.
He gathered his towel, water and bag and left through the second door in the room. This one led to a bank of showers, all currently empty as no one wanted to be anywhere near him at the moment.
He stripped down, tossed his things onto one of the long benches lining the industrial styled area, and stepped into one of the showers. They were arranged in long banks, a simple wall separating each and no doors. The floors were all tiled and fitted with drains to siphon off the excess water. Large rubber mats ran the full length, lowering the risk of the palace getting sued for providing an unsafe environment for its employees.
He turned the handle and ice-cold water sputtered out, pattering down on him in barely a drizzle before slowly gaining strength. The temperature felt fantastic on his heated skin and he leaned forward with a sigh, resting a forearm on the wall and dropping his head on it. His other hand he kept absently on the shower handle. The water streaming down his back began to heat, relaxing sore muscles and relieving some of the tension that seemed permanently set into his shoulders.
This whole thing was just such a mess. Nowhere was this fact more on display than in the press and on social media. Erebor had lost its collective mind over Shire's meddling. They had just taken the kingdom back from Smaug, only to now find themselves taken advantage of by a tiny kingdom of little global impact. The palace, and his father in particular, had been heavily criticized both for getting into the contract in the first place and for not somehow, someway, finding a way to get out of it. The fact the deal had been reached by Thror without input or knowledge of anyone else in the family didn't seem to matter.
Thorin had been largely left out of the criticism, as no one believed he'd wanted to break off his engagement to marry a random princess he'd never met.
Kyra had received only pity. She'd always believed in having a public presence and had long been known to accept every invitation she could to charity events, to speak at schools, visit nursing homes, and the like. She'd once spent a day at a local animal shelter cleaning out cages and taking care of animals in an attempt to encourage more people to volunteer. The people of Erebor adored her, as well they should, and had not responded well to seeing her hurt.
Especially not when the woman now in Kyra's rightful space was apparently doing all she could to prove she was nothing more than a typical spoiled princess whose only thought was for her own entertainment and pleasure.
Bilba Baggins. Thorin couldn't bring himself to think of her as Bilba Durin, and doubted he ever would. That last name should have been Kyra's, would have been had circumstances been different. Thorin thought back to seeing the Shire princess on the stairs, cocky and unrepentant at having to be dragged back from partying with her cousin's stolen credit card. That, of course, was after her rampage through the halls of the palace, reportedly destroying whatever she touched in the mother of all temper tantrums, brought on by Eru only knew what.
He didn't know how the press had gotten wind of those events. He certainly hadn't told them but the very next morning the press in Erebor had been reporting on it, news shows had been discussing it and the palace had reported he was being swamped with requests for comment. None of the Shire reporters had mentioned it, oddly enough, and he'd chosen to keep his peace, preferring to simply get through it all, board the plane and return home as soon as possible.
He'd arrived to a crowd of angry protestors, who apparently hadn't truly believed what was going to happen any more than he had, demanding action but unsure of what that action should be. After getting back to the palace he'd thrown himself back into his work, and sparring with Dwalin, ignoring all interview requests and calls for comment.
That didn't mean he hadn't paid attention. Bilba Baggins had spent her last week in Shire not quietly visiting friends or trying to leave a legacy, but in having a good time. She'd shopped, given interviews of little to no substance leading to press speculation about her intelligence, driven people out of an amusement park by showing up unannounced and, apparently, managed to spend a hundred thousand dollars in a single week. The media had likened her to some of the more notorious of Erebor's nobility, and not in a positive light.
Thorin had no idea how she planned to behave once she arrived in Erebor but he did know she wouldn't be spending at the rate she currently was. Shire was already doing its best to leech all the money from Erebor's Treasury, they didn't need a spoiled little princess doing the same. Thorin had already spoken to his father and Balin and they'd decided she would not be given access to an account of her own. If she wanted money she would have to ask for it, and justify its need. He had no idea if she'd throw another of her tantrums, or react the way he'd seen spoiled nobility react in Erebor when denied something they wanted, but he had no intention of putting up with any theatrics. He wasn't the only one in the royal family and the last thing he wanted was her disrupting the peace, or being a negative influence on some of the younger, more impressionable members.
"I think you should just throw her in the dungeon and tell everyone she was kidnapped," an annoyed voice stated from just outside the shower and Thorin felt an amused grin tug at his lips. Speaking of impressionable members of the royal family...
He straightened and tilted his head back into the spray, before looking to his left.
His little brother was leaning against the wall, arms crossed and desperately trying to look as cool and unaffected as possible. At sixteen, Frerin was right in the middle of a growth spurt that no amount of food could keep up with. It had left him tall and gangly, with clothes that never seemed to fit quite right even with a professional tailor on staff. He wore his hair, lighter than Thorin's and without the irritating wave that caused reporters to speculate he permed it, shoulder length and generally tied back in a low ponytail.
"Just which 'she' are we talking about?" he asked, grabbing the soap off the small ledge it sat on.
Frerin gave him a frustrated look. "Don't act like that. You know which one. That woman. You can get rid of her and then you can marry Kyra like you're supposed too."
"No one's getting thrown in the dungeons." The water had heated up to just below scalding, right where he wanted it. It went even further toward relieving the tightness in his shoulders. It wouldn't last, but he would enjoy it while he could.
Frerin scowled. "Do you know what Kyra did while you were off doing that stupid farce of a wedding? She went to the hall you two were supposed to get married in and sat in the front row holding her dress. I heard Dis talking about it."
Thorin sighed, focusing on the wall and grimacing at the way his heart clenched. He didn't comment on Frerin apparently spying again. The kid hung out with Nori far too much. "I did know that," he said quietly. Dis had told him, angry at the injustice, though she'd appeared to feel remorse about it afterward. He knew he'd never have heard it from Kyra. She'd been trying so hard to not add to his distress, as if her pain somehow didn't matter when, as far as he was concerned, it was the only thing that mattered. He knew it was partly that she believed it would still somehow, someway, work out for them. The other part, however, was simply Kyra being Kyra. She never complained, and rarely got angry. Not even when it would be well deserved. Not even when no one would blame her. Like Thorin, she had stayed completely silent on the matter in the media, refusing all interviews and giving a quiet "no comment" to every question.
"Sorry," he heard Frerin mumble. "I didn't mean to be a jerk."
"It's fine." As much as Thorin was Frerin's older brother, Kyra had always been like an older sister. She'd been present at every birthday and holiday, traveled with them on every vacation and seeing her hurt was as bad for Frerin as if someone had hurt him or Dis or any other member of the family.
Thorin shut the water off and stepped out, taking the towel Frerin offered with a nod of thanks.
"So," Frerin hesitated, before pressing on in a rush. "What are you going to do? You're not just going to let this stand, are you? You and Kyra belong together. You know you do."
He sounded so earnest, and so trusting. As if his older brother could fix things simply by virtue of Frerin's faith in him.
Thorin had no answer for him so, instead, he simply dried off and dressed quickly in the jeans and t-shirt he'd come down in. Once he got back to his room, he'd change into something more befitting the numerous appearances and other duties he had on his schedule for that day.
Once he was done he threw everything into his bag, grabbed the handles and tossed it over his shoulder, holding it loosely in place.
"You have to do something," Frerin insisted, pushing off the wall to stand close to him. As Thorin started to move toward the door his brother reached out to grab his arm. "It's not fair!"
Thorin sighed and put a hand at the base of his brother's skull, pulling him close to rest his forehead against the teenager's. "It rarely is," he said gently.
And, with that, he left the room.
It was some time later that Thorin stood in front of a full-length mirror in his bedroom in dress slacks and shoes and a crisp, white shirt. He pulled a tie around his neck, fitting it under his collar and knotting it quickly. He'd decided against a waistcoat, which had led to a brief search through his desk drawer to locate an appropriate tie clasp. After using it to link his tie to the placket of his shirt, he pulled the jacket on, buttoned it and headed out into the rest of the suite. It included a kitchen for when he felt like cooking, a library, weight room and dining room for when he chose to eat in. His private room opened into a space originally designed to be a public receiving area for meeting with guests and visiting dignitaries. As Thorin rarely ever met with anyone in his rooms, he'd changed it into a living area complete with a massive flat screen television and fully stocked entertainment center.
As he headed toward the large double doors leading out, his eyes flickered toward the closed door on the other side of the room, and the anger started to rise once more. The doors opened into what was intended to be the private bedroom of the Crown Princess of Erebor.
Rooms that, by right, should have belonged to Kyra.
They'd been so close to their own wedding, and her officially moving into the rooms, that he'd already given her permission to design them as she wished. She'd spent hours in there with professional designers, picking out paint, fabrics and furniture. Literally every square inch of that room bore her signature.
Brimming with fresh agitation, he grabbed the handles to the doors leading out and wrenched them open, only to immediately freeze in place.
Kyra was standing in the middle of the hall, waiting for him. As always, the sight of her brought a rush of love and affection, lately tinged with pain and anger. Not anger at her, but at Shire and the Thain and everything that now seemed set against them.
As he pulled the doors closed behind him, Kyra smiled brightly and stepped forward. She was tall, nearly eye level to him, with a medium frame. Her strawberry blonde hair was straight and worn shoulder length and she had green eyes that that were complemented by thin framed glasses. She wore a tailored, turquoise dress suit with matching pumps and a white blouse under the jacket.Â
He immediately opened his arms and she ran into them, squeezing him in a tight hug before releasing him and jumping back to hold up a tablet. "I have your schedule for the day."
Thorin raised an eyebrow. "Since when does one of Erebor's finest ambassadors carry around the schedules for pampered royalty?" he asked in amusement.
She rolled her eyes. "You're hardly pampered, and I'm far from one of the finest ambassadors."
"I think I can safely say the entire royal family of Erebor begs to differ," Thorin said dryly. Kyra came from a long line of ambassadors that had willingly followed the family into exile, and kept up their duties while gone. They had worked out treaties with other kingdoms, strengthened alliances and worked out contracts for food and supplies for Erebor's refugees. If Thorin's grandfather had swallowed his damn pride and sent one of them to Shire, instead of doing it himself and trying to keep it secret, Thorin had no doubt they wouldn't be in this mess.
They headed down the hall, Kyra chatting about his schedule as they walked. Her voice was light and cheerful, but Thorin had known her far too long believe a minute of it. She'd lost weight, was pale and black bags under her eyes gave away her sleepless nights. Her hand was gripping the tablet so tight her knuckles were white and the device was shaking slightly in her grip.
Stopping dead in the hall, Thorin gently pried the tablet loose and set it at their feet before taking her hand in both of his to lightly massage it.
Kyra dropped her head. "Sorry," she whispered. "I should be better than this."
"I don't see how," Thorin said. "I've been kicking the crap out of Dwalin every day myself."
She gave a short smile. "Way I've heard it, it's gone the other way a few times."
"Spurious lies," Thorin replied with a straight face.
She looked up and gave him a hesitant smile, that faded instantly when she spotted the monstrosity on his ring finger. The rings they had picked out together had been simple silver bands. Thorin had designed her engagement ring, a ribbon of sterling silver that came together at the top in a filigreed swirl. In the openings of the band he'd set clusters of her favorite stone, sapphires.
She was still wearing it and he had no intention of asking her to remove it, much less return it.
"My father was concerned about a reporter getting a picture of me without it on," he explained. "I've been ordered to wear it." He grimaced. "You know how he is about the royal family's image."
"He's not wrong," Kyra said, forcing a smile and tearing her eyes away from the ring. "Erebor prides itself on its honor."
Noise came from the end of the hall and Kyra tensed and jerked her hand free from his, just as a servant bustled into view. Kyra started walking again and Thorin retrieved the tablet and fell in beside her, struggling against the resentment of no longer being able to so much as touch her without the risk of idle tongues wagging. "Perhaps someone could point that out to Bilba Baggins."
Kyra's brow furrowed as she reached to take the tablet back from him. "I wish there was some way to make the press lighten up on her."
"You're not suggesting we censor the press, are you?" Thorin asked wryly.
Kyra gave him a withering look. "Of course not. Just it would be nice if they stopped talking about her as if she were somehow the second coming of Smaug."
"She's done little to prove them wrong." They reached the end of the hallway and, without thinking about it, Thorin took her hand to help her as they descended the grand staircase. It was massive, and sported an elegant curve. The stairs were white marble, as were all the floors in the palace, with a wide gold and purple brocade runner in the center. The bannister was a mass of silver, gold and bronze worked ribbons, beaten and molded into designs depicting Erebor's victory over Smaug and the reestablishment of the kingdom some six years prior. All three metals had been twisted together for the handrail, which was a bitter note of contention for some, Thorin had been informed, as it apparently made sliding down them next to impossible.
Kyra rolled her eyes. "She's a fairly typical, spoiled noblewoman. It hardly makes her as bad as Smaug."
Thorin shrugged. "Perhaps not, until they compare her to you. Even the best of us look woefully inadequate."
Kyra looked away but not before Thorin saw her face turn bright red. "You're ridiculous," she huffed with affection.
They reached the ground floor and began to walk across the cavernous foyer toward the doors to exit the palace. They were equally enormous, and built from solid, thick iron. The original ones had been oak, carved and inlaid with gold, but after Smaug had destroyed them without trying it had been determined that perhaps security might forego aesthetic in the rebuild, if they ever got the chance.
They reached the front doors and Kyra stopped, disquiet. "You still don't plan to meet her plane when it arrives tomorrow?"
"I have other obligations." His duties hadn't stopped when he'd been forced to go to the Shire. They'd happily piled up in his absence and he'd been desperately trying to get back on track, while fielding new responsibilities as they cropped up, since he'd returned.
"There are going to be protestors." Kyra hadn't released his hand and looked up at him, worry in her eyes.
"It's not as if we plan to throw her out on the tarmac and make her walk to the palace," Thorin responded in exasperation. "Dwalin is handling security and Balin will meet her." He frowned. "Of all the people in Erebor, I wouldn't have thought to see you defending her." The slightest hint of hurt crept into his voice as he spoke and Kyra's expression turned amused as she caught it.
"I'm not telling you to go all Prince Charming on her," she said with a small smile. "I just don't think she deserves to be vilified for being spoiled. Can you imagine the chaos if the press decided to go after every noblewoman, or nobleman for that matter, with a penchant for being silly, selfish, or a spendthrift?"
"I think we all bear responsibility for our actions, and the consequences," Thorin retorted. Kyra gave him a dry look.
"I think a lot of the blame has more to do with the Thain rather than her," Kyra insisted. "They're targeting her because she's going to actually be here, while he gets to sit back in his own kingdom."
Thorin had a feeling they were targeting her for the way she was portraying herself in the press but he kept his peace about it. He pulled the main door, the heavy object balanced so perfectly it slid open as if it weighed nothing. "You might not think that if you read some of the theories floating about."
"You mean the one where she was in love with you and concocted the whole thing herself to land you?" Kyra asked incredulously. "I'd have expected a little more throwing herself at you if that were the case."
"Then maybe she just wants the title, or wealth." Thorin pulled her hand onto his arm and led her out onto the wide front entrance. It was carved from white stone, large enough to hold dozens comfortably, and held up by two statues carved to look like past kings of renown. Shallow stairs ran all three sides of the platform, leading down to where a limo waited for them. Several other cars were parked in front and behind the limo and Dwalin was leaning against the hood of one, waiting for them.
Past him were the front lawns and gardens of Erebor, featuring an assortment of statues and rock pools. Several of the areas featured enormous geodes pulled from the mines Erebor was known for, cracked open and displayed so that when the sun hit them they were a burst of sparkling light and crystal.
The front gates and fence lay much farther off but, even from where he stood, Thorin could see the long rows of reporters who'd been camped out for what felt like months now. Ignoring them, Thorin led Kyra down and handed her into the limo before sliding in after her and pulling the door closed.
The windows were heavily tinted and a dark partition separated them from the driver, leaving them in their own, small, private booth. The back was fitted with a television, sound system and small area with food and beverages for longer trips.
Kyra settled on the bench next to him, tablet on the seat between them. As the car started, the television across from them snapped on automatically. It was displaying one of the morning talk shows, the graphics at the bottom showing the discussion was about him and Shire, as it had been on every talk show for months now.
"You have to at least admit," one of the hosts, a younger man with light colored hair and glasses, said, leaning forward in his chair, "The Prince has traded up. Princess Bilba is damn hot."
Kyra gave a small gasp beside him and Thorin swore viciously, lunging across the bench to snap the damn thing off.
When he settled back down next to her, Kyra was focused on her hands, which were folded in her lap.
"Kyra," he started to say, only to shut up as she cut him off.
"It's okay," she said softly, focused on her fingers. "It's not like that's the first time I've heard it, or even the sixth." The slightest hint of bitterness crept into her voice before she added, "Anyway, he's not wrong. She is very beautiful." She idly worried at the cuticle of one nail. She had a bad habit of biting her nails and kept them all cut short to try and break the habit. "I heard she's in ballet, so she's probably graceful too." She looked up, and the shine in her eyes and redness to her cheeks made Thorin want to go punch the idiot tv host. "Was she? Graceful?"
Thorin thought back to the only time he'd seen Bilba Baggins aside from at the altar. He had thought she was graceful, at the time, but that didn't mean she held a candle to Kyra.
"I suppose she was," he said, gently, "and she's pretty enough, but a lot of girls are pretty and graceful. You-" here he took her hands in his, "are beautiful, and graceful, and kind, smart, generous, and humble. There are a thousand girls out there who have the looks, but very few who have the substance. You've got both, and that's a rare thing."
Kyra's entire face went beet red and she looked down, one thumb rubbing lightly over the back of Thorin's hand. "I wish we'd just done what you wanted," she whispered, voice nearly inaudible. "If we'd just eloped back then..." she gave a shaky laugh. "Your father would be so mad, but we'd have been married and no one would have been able to pull us apart."
Thorin didn't answer, because there was truly nothing he could say that would in any way make it better. After a second, Kyra's shoulders slumped and she settled back into her seat. Thorin didn't respond to the way she wiped her hand over her eyes, knowing she wouldn't appreciate it, but he did pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and hand it over to quiet thanks.
They sat in silence as the cars pulled out slowly through the front gates. They were swarmed at once by reporters, shouting questions at the car, but soundproofing had been installed that left it little more than a faint, muffled noise.
Thorin settled down, crossed one leg and his arms, dropped his head against the headrest and shut his eyes. He didn't mention to Kyra that he'd asked Ori to search through old records and law to see if there was any way to get out of the marriage, and alliance, without threatening the honor of Erebor. The last thing they needed was to give the other kingdoms cause to not trust in Erebor's ability to keep its promises. They'd only been back in power six years, after having been in exile nearly twenty. He and Kyra had been small children when the kingdom had fallen, and had watched their families fight to keep a good name as they relied on the charity of others.
If he could get himself, and Erebor, out of the mess his grandfather had left them in he would, but it would have to be done delicately. Ori practically lived in the library already and had been in charging of organizing the mess left behind by Smaug who, apparently, hadn't been much of a reader. If anyone could find something, she could, but he wasn't going to mention it to Kyra until he knew for sure. The last thing he wanted was to get her hopes up, only to crush them again.
He opened his eyes and absently watched the scenery pass by outside, feeling his spirits lift at the sight of his people happy and secure as they went about their day. Exile had been hard for everyone, both those who'd gone with his family and those who'd been scattered to the other kingdoms and struggled to start new lives. Seeing them now, with a home to call their own once more, made the struggles and hardships they'd endured worth it. Things weren't perfect, and they were still working on establishing alliances with kingdoms like Gondor, where they had zero inroads with which to approach the matter, but it was far better than it had been before the exile.
The car rounded a corner and he spotted the restaurant he was supposed to meet Dis at for breakfast. She liked doing the occasional public appearance, and by public she meant somewhere vetted, secured and with carefully selected people who'd undergone full background checks beforehand. The place would be effectively shut down for most of the morning but the uptick they would see afterward in customers wanting to be near where royalty had been would more than make up for it.
The outside of the building was already crawling with security and several streets had been blocked off, with ample notice given beforehand so people could find other routes.
The car slid to a smooth stop and Dwalin pulled the door open. Immediately an ocean cooled breeze washed over him and the smell of salt hit his nostrils. Distantly he could hear the clang of ship bells and a light, early morning fog, clung to the ground.
As Thorin got out he felt his shoes crunch on the sand scattered across the parking lot, carried in on shoes from the nearby beach. It would normally be a few more hours until tourists came out in force but, with word of their appearance, crowds were already gathered behind barricades waiting for them. They began to cheer as soon as he got out and he grimaced as the flashes of cameras held by the press went off.
The crowd began to shriek and scream as they spotted him and he put on what Kyra had always called his official face as he waved at the crowd and turned back to help Kyra out.
She frowned at him from inside the car. "I should probably just wait here, or go back to the palace."
"Nonsense," Thorin said, bracing one hand on the roof of the car. "We're still friends, and you're still an ambassador. You have every right to be here."
She looked unconvinced but took his hand and allowed him to help her from the car. As Thorin straightened and turned, he heard shrieks from the diner entrance and then saw twin blurs rushing at him.
They slammed into his legs a second later, resolving into his nephews, Fili and Kili. Kili, six and born around the same time the kingdom had been retaken, threw his arms up and shouted, "Swing me, uncle Thorin! Swing me!"
Thorin obediently went to one knee and put his arms up, flexing his biceps. Kili shrieked and wrapped his hands around Thorin's upper arm. He stood, lifting the small boy off his feet and grinning as Kili kicked his feet above the ground. Thorin began to sway in place, moving his arm so that the little boy swung back and forth gently. Kili shrieked as if it was the greatest thing in the world.
Raising an eyebrow at Kili's brother, Thorin asked, "What's wrong, Fili? You don't want to join in?"
The small blonde gave him a withering look. "I'm ten. Swinging is for babies."
"Ah," Thorin said, smiling as, next to him, Kyra did her best to disguise a laugh as a cough "I see."
He spotted Dis in the doorway, waiting for them and carefully put Kili down only so he could crouch and let the small boy clamber on his back. Using one hand to brace Kili, he held the other out for Fili, who gave him a suspicious look before carefully taking it as if Thorin were handing him a jeweled scepter.
Then, with a nod at Dwalin who'd taken up a spot next to him, the lot of them headed inside.
Somewhere, thanks to the time difference, Bilba Baggins was spending her last night in Shire, no doubt sound asleep and giving him as much thought as she'd done the entire week.
For the moment at least, Thorin decided to do his best to return the favor.