Bilba dragged herself from the depths of sleep like one clawing up the sides of a very deep well. When she finally forced her eyes open she felt groggy, her arms and legs weighed a ton and she was entirely confused about where she was.
A few minutes passed as her body worked its way to full consciousness, and Bilba frowned as she realized she still didn't recognize the curved, cream colored ceiling overhead.
She pushed up carefully onto her elbows, and immediately felt her heart sink as memory crashed in.
She had so been hoping it had all been a terrible dream and she'd wake up safely back at home with Rosie obsessively watching news footage of royals and Bofur knocking on the door to take her out for coffee and a walk in the park.
With a sigh, she got up and grimaced. Her hair was lank and sticking to her face on the side she'd been sleeping on and she felt generally grimy and gross. All her belongings were packed in the cargo hold, including the rest of her clothes, so she couldn't change but she decided to at least shower and try to freshen up a bit. The last thing she wanted was to appear on the Erebor news looking like a bedraggled waif.
She glanced at the clock on the nightstand to find she'd slept a full eight hours and still had a few left before they arrived at Erebor. Plenty of time to shower and, hopefully, find something to eat before her stomach decided to stop asking politely and simply begin snacking on her spinal cord.
She wandered into the attached bathroom, and rolled her eyes at the opulence. It was a plane after all, meant to get you from Point A to Point B. Was it really necessary to have a Roman-style, marble and glass walk-in shower and an adjoining spa?
A flash of guilt hit as soon as the uncharitable thought crossed her mind. Wasn't she the one afraid she'd be trapped in Coach, surrounded by reporters for the entire flight? She should be happy they'd sent this plane, public relations stunt or not, and not gone the route her mind had feared
She closed the door, gratified to see it had a lock as she didn't fancy anyone accidentally, or otherwise, walking in on her, and undressed. She folded her dress carefully and stepped into the shower. It took her a few minutes to figure out how the thing worked but, once she did, she quickly decided she had been missing out in life.
The shower was amazing. It had multiple jets lining the walls, with strong enough pressure that she was sure she wouldn't have to sit under the spray for half an hour in the hopes shampoo would eventually give up and leave on its own; and anti-slip tread whatsit in the floor that served a dual purpose as a foot massager.
She'd intended to take a quick shower but ended up standing under the spray for a good fifteen minutes simply relaxing instead. It was only the eventual thought that she was on a plane and thus had a finite supply of water, particularly the heated variety, that finally got her moving.
The shower was already stocked with soap and shampoo, both of which thankfully had pleasant, neutral scents and washed quickly, before the shower convinced her to just stand still again, for another few hours.
Once done, she regretfully turned the water off, stepped out and grabbed a towel from a stack sitting on shelves near the door. After that it was a hunt through the drawers of the massive vanity until she found a blow-dryer and, with a cry of joy, a straightener.
It took forever to dry the wet mass on her head, and even longer to straighten it, but it was the best she could do. With everything packed she had no access to her hair products and, without them, it was straightening or risk it frizzing out to several times its size upon drying naturally or by the blow-dryer. It'd be bad enough once she reached the humidity of Erebor, situated as it was right on the water, and the last thing she wanted was to give Beatrice an excuse to send her a mocking email. Her cousin made it a point of pride to always look flawless, and made it a further point to constantly declare what an utter failure Bilba was in the same aspect.
She didn't even see her cousin very often and yet, somehow, someway the woman always seemed to know any time Bilba had a spot on her shirt, mismatched socks or a hair strand out of place. Given her grandfather's current penchant for turning the media against her, Bilba had a feeling if she miss-stepped her arrival he and Beatrice would make a meme out of it and send it circulating online.
The Durins, who considered honor and appearance and name so important, would be mortified and certainly lock her in a tower then, if they hadn't decided to already.
The thought of her uncertain future once she arrived in Erebor erased the relaxation she'd gained from sleeping and the shower in an instant. Her gut clenched and, in the mirror she'd been fixing her hair in, Bilba saw the faint smile she'd been wearing slowly fade from her lips. Around her the silence, which she was usually able to ignore through long years of practice, seemed to yawn wide, threatening to swallow her whole in an instant if she let it.
Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, Bilba dropped her eyes. She unplugged the straightener, set it on the counter with a hard clatter, dressed quickly, and left the room. She retrieved her laptop and headed out into the main living section of the jet.
Once there, she kicked her shoes off on a whim, letting her feet sink into the plush carpet, and set the laptop on a glass topped coffee table bolted to the floor in front of a cream-colored couch running along the wall. It was set before an entertainment center with massive cupboards on either side filled with all manner of DVDs, games and what appeared to be the latest version of every game console currently in existence.
The movies were an eclectic mix, suggesting the tastes of multiple people had gone into choosing them. There was no way to tell which were Thorin's, if any, but she did spot a few she knew, and liked. Choosing one, she loaded it into the player which, thankfully, was simple to figure out. Pretty soon she had the menu screen up, music swelling through the space as it waited for her to hit play.
Instead, Bilba dialed it down until she could barely hear it, sending a nervous glance at the door into the rest of the plane as she did. So far, no one had bothered her and it was her hope that, if she stayed quiet and out of the way, it would continue. Her grandfather had always been eccentric in when and how he would come after her but one way to guarantee such unwanted attention was for her to do something to remind him she existed. She'd learned a long time ago that the best way to deal with him was by staying as quiet and out of the way as possible. If she were very, very lucky that approach would hold true here as well.
She went into the kitchen after that to make herself a sandwich. She could cook, having learned through necessity, but didn't feel up to preparing a full meal. After cleaning up after herself, she dug out a soda from the fridge and returned, gingerly, to the couch. She'd left condiments off the sandwich and had picked a soda that was clear so if anything spilled it wouldn't leave a stain on the couch or the white carpet underneath.
She settled back to watch her movie, pausing only long enough to return to the kitchen and wash the dishes she'd used and replace them, as well as head back again to make sure she'd left the bedroom and bathroom as spotless as possible.
Eventually, a check of the clock showed they should be nearing Erebor so, with her stomach churning and her body tense, Bilba put the DVD back, shut down the TV and player and headed into the front of the jet. A few crewmembers passed her as she headed up but none of them gave her so much as a second glance.
She settled into a window seat again, placing her laptop on the table in front of her. Directly outside the window, the rising sun had lit the ocean below in a firestorm of color matched only by the sky as it tried desperately to compete. There were no clouds to block her view and she tried to imagine the various sea creatures they were probably flying over, swimming fathoms below where there were no worries over alliances, forced marriages or the possibility of being locked in a tower forever.
A slow sense of panic crept over her at the thought of how close they were. She simultaneously wanted it to never come, and to just be over with, all at the same time. A chill ran over her and the sandwich she'd eaten turned sour in her stomach. Would anyone notice if they did lock her away? In Shire, eventually someone would have noticed. The public at large had held no real animosity toward her, just simple apathy. They might not have noticed her disappearance right away, but she was certain, or at least hopeful, they would have noticed one day.
The press would certainly have noticed, eventually, and would have asked questions. Her grandfather controlled most of the news in Shire, granted, but he didn't control everything. He couldn't hold down every reporter, every small newspaper and station, not without showing his hand. Someone would have started questioning it and if the public had caught wind, it would only have grown.
But that was all back in Shire now. Would the public in Erebor care one way or the other if she were to disappear? Would the press question it?
Leaning forward, she grabbed her laptop and powered it up, fingers shaking as she pulled up her online server and ran a search on her name and Erebor.
She immediately wished she hadn't.
Her eyes went wide and she could feel her body tensing as her eyes ran over articles, filled with awful, hateful things about her. Seeing a few videos, she fished out the headphones Bofur had given her that she'd shoved in a pocket of her dress, and hit play on a roundtable discussion about the personal and political ramifications of the Heir's forced marriage.
It made her sick.
Literally. She could feel nausea bubbling up her throat, the acrid taste of acid in the back of her mouth. A light sweat broke out on her forehead and her body began shaking as the vile words flowed from the headphones.
The people of Erebor hated her.
It was not too strong a word. If anything, it wasn't nearly strong enough. She'd known they wouldn't be happy, one would have to be an idiot not to know that, but this? This was so much worse than anything she'd ever imagined. She was reviled. Loathed. Detested. Whatever the word, that was the feeling and, possibly, more than that.
They were angry at the old king, Thror, for getting them into this mess, but he was dead and gone past their reach. They were angry at her grandfather for forcing the issue, but he was in Shire, and a king, so also past their reach.
Most of all, however, they were angry on behalf of Kyra. The more Bilba read on the woman, the more she felt her shoulders slump in resignation. She'd never thought to gain the love of the royal family or the public, but had hoped to at least gain their respect. Reading about the woman she was inadvertently, and unwillingly, replacing Bilba could see there was no chance of that ever happening.
Thorin's ex-fiancée was freaking perfect. Not classically beautiful from the pictures, but certainly very pretty and always put together even more flawlessly than Beatrice. Bilba couldn't find a single picture of the woman with so much as a hair out of place. Her clothing was always immaculate; her manners were poised; she always knew the exact right thing to say at any given moment; she attended, and was invited, to every charity benefit and dinner. In addition, she was a diplomat with a number of impressive negotiations and achievements under her belt.
The people loved her, had watched her grow up, and sighed in happiness at the fairy tale romance between her and Thorin Durin. Spotting a thumbnail picture of Thorin and Kyra at a function before her grandfather got involved, Bilba pulled it up and winced at the adoration practically spilling from Thorin as he gazed at the other woman.
Eyes suddenly burning, Bilba slapped the laptop lid closed and shoved it off her lap. She curled up as best she could on the seat and looked out the window, trying to discretely wipe a traitorous tear off as it threatened to boil over from her eye.
She would have no safety net in Erebor.
No apathetic public to eventually wonder where she'd gone, no neutral press or, at least, no small-town reporter or station hoping to make a name by questioning where she'd gone. No Rosie and Bofur to try and raise a stink over her disappearance. Oh, they might try in Shire but she highly doubted her grandfather would let it go that far, and it certainly would make no difference in Erebor.
She was the other woman in Erebor. A homewrecker for all intents and purposes who'd burst onto the scene and destroyed a romance for the ages.
They would probably celebrate her disappearance.
Her breath hitched and she mentally cursed as her eyes filled more than she could handle and a few tears spilled out against her will. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she curled on one hip, drawing her legs up to more fully face the window. The last thing she wanted was for the crew on the plane to see her crying. They'd probably mock her for it, or tell her she deserved it for destroying the Prince of Erebor's fairy tale engagement.
She could always try to tell them her side. About how it had been all her grandfather's doing and she'd had no part in it. How she'd been happy where she was, and had lost her own romance that, while not as long or maybe as deep as Thorin's, had been every bit as real.
She could, but she highly doubted they would listen. She was the outsider, a stranger bursting into a home and demanding help for a papercut while a family member bled out on the floor. She was never going to reach them, not now anyway when they were still at the height of their outrage and looking for someone to blame. The only thing she'd achieve was angering her grandfather, endangering the alliance and the safety of her friends, and drawing unwanted notice.
Notice.
Behind her, she heard a crewmember walking down the aisle and stiffened, but the person simply moved past and was gone into the back of the plane.
Bilba chewed on her lower lip, and wrapped her arms around her torso as her breathing began to slowly return to normal.
Maybe...maybe if she did the same thing in Erebor that she'd done in Shire? If she just stayed out of their way, disappeared on her own in a sense, didn't cause any problems or fuss...maybe they'd leave her alone? It had usually worked back home where, granted, there hadn't been the hate and vitriol but, still...
If they'd just give her a chance. A chance to prove she didn't want anything. That she had no designs or interest in Thorin Durin, or his throne or power or anything else and she just wanted to be left alone.
She hadn't checked into colleges and dance studios in Erebor's main city out of fear she'd find there weren't any, but maybe...if there were...
Maybe she could get a scholarship or financial aid like she'd done to get into Bag End University, and maybe she could find a small dance studio that would let her join and maybe...maybe...
It was an awful lot of maybes, and they all centered around the Durins giving her a chance to prove she could stay out of their way. For all she knew, they planned to march her straight into the palace, into a tower, slam the door behind her and leave her there to rot.
It's what her family would have done, had done, a few times. They'd only let her out for fear of what the public might say if they ever woke up enough to notice.
There'd be no such concern in Erebor.
Still, if she were given the chance, she didn't plan to squander it. It'd be an opportunity to start over, away from Shire and without the threat of her grandfather looming over her. There wasn't much left he could do to her, and certainly not with her in Erebor and him in Shire. He could still go after Rosie and Bofur or a few of the other people she'd met while at Bag End University but she doubted he would care enough to do so. As long as she kept her mouth shut, whether by her own choice or the Durins, and stayed out of his way he'd have no reason to come after her, or her friends.
In the distance, outside the window, a flicker of light caught her eye and Bilba shifted on the seat, pushing up a bit to try and get a better look. It grew steadily closer until she saw what looked like a long ring of bright, silver buoys bobbing quietly on the water. Each held a long, narrow spike jutting up toward the sky. As they bobbed, she could see flickers around them, prisms of light flashing in the sun like so many multicolored facets.
Arkenstone.
Erebor's most zealously guarded secret, and the reason they'd been able to retake the kingdom. No one knew who had created it, or even how exactly it worked, so closely did the Durins protect it. There had been nothing about its development during the exile, not so much as a whisper amongst the various spy networks.
The first anyone knew of it was when the Durins and their allies had launched a surprise attack on their stolen kingdom. They'd arrived at night via ship, evading Smaug's forces through subterfuge and still unidentified help from the inside.
The forces had arrived wearing personal shields the likes of which no one had ever seen. Bilba had watched the video from the battlefield six years earlier, as it seemed everyone had It had been global news, the exiled Durins declaring war against the usurper of their throne and fighting to take it back. For days, the focus of the world had shifted to Erebor, eyes glued to the news feeds. Bilba had been at one of her many private schools and remembered the television wheeled into the room, broadcasting live footage and updates of the battle. It was quite literally history in the making, the war over the soul of Erebor.
It had been no contest in the end, not with those shields. They'd glittered like the prisms she was seeing now, making it easy to tell who was on the Durins' side and who was on Smaug's. Nothing could penetrate them, making the forces of the Thain and his allies near unstoppable. They'd taken back their mountain, and driven the enemy from their homeland. Smaug had been struck down by Thrain and, just like that, the kingdom had been restored to her rightful rulers.
The world had exploded after that, every kingdom demanding the technology for themselves. When Erebor had refused, a global conference had been called, to discuss the threat Erebor now posed to the other kingdoms in possessing such technology. Bilba had found it ironic. When Erebor had fallen, every kingdom had distanced itself, and refused to help retake it, but once Erebor had done the deed themselves suddenly everyone wanted to be involved.
In the end, a compromise of sorts had been reached. Erebor had put the buoys in place, self-shielded to prevent sabotage, and capable of creating a domed shield over the entire kingdom, effectively ensuring she could never again be taken by outside forces. In return, the royal family destroyed all personal shields, as well as any data concerning their creation. They agreed, reportedly, about the dangers of such a device falling into the wrong hands as well as the concern other kingdoms had over Erebor having such a strategic advantage that they did not.
There was no way, of course, to prove Erebor had done as they'd promised and, naturally, the presumption was the creator was still around and could easily make more but it was the best anyone could do. Anything further would give grave insult to Erebor, treating them as if they were some sort of real and present threat, just waiting for the opportunity to invade.
In the end, it came down to Erebor's honor. As long as she held herself above reproach, and behaved in a way that made the royal family appear to be utterly trustworthy, honorable, and in possession of the highest moral values and ethics, then no other kingdom could push the continuing existence of the Arkenstone shield. No one could argue for the name of the creator or insist the technology be shared with the other rulers.
The plane passed over the buoys, winking in the sun beneath her. All had large lights on the tips and Bilba saw the ones directly below blink on suddenly, a brilliant red, undoubtedly triggering a sensor in the kingdom itself to let them know something was on its way.
They were beginning to descend and she lifted her eyes to watch as Erebor itself came into sight.
It was so very different than Shire, she thought as the kingdom rapidly came into view, enlarging from a distant shape to a defined landmass.
Erebor, unlike Shire, was an island or, more accurately, a group of islands. The largest, located on one edge of the group, was where the palace and main city, as well as several others of various sizes, were located. The landmass was enormous, dwarfing all of Shire and big enough that, were you to live far enough inland, it'd be easy to forget you were on an island at all. There were several fresh water lakes and a river system, partly natural and partly manufactured, ensuring water made it to every part of the landmass.
Several of the other islands housed smaller cities or towns, all of them connected by wide roads capable of supporting heavy volumes of traffic. As they drew closer, Bilba caught sight of a small, rocky looking island on the far outskirts of the primary cluster. There was no road connecting it and none of the boats currently bobbing in the water were anywhere near it.
Gundabad, Bilba remembered from her studies. Home of a violent, warrior race known as the Orc. They had long considered themselves the sworn enemies of the Durins, and pretty much everyone else, but Erebor was closest so they started there. They had rejected every overture of peace ever offered and, during the invasion all those years ago, had allied themselves with Smaug. When Erebor had been retaken by the Durins, the Orc had been driven back to their ancestral home where they had, so far, remained quiet. If she recalled correctly, Thrain had tried to make still another overture of peace by extending Arkenstone around Gundabad but they had rejected it, trying to claim Erebor was attempting to somehow cage them rather than protect them. Thrain had moved the buoys in response, locking them out of its security perimeter. Since then, they'd attempted, on occasion, to destroy, steal or sabotage the buoys but couldn't make it past the shields, or the equally shielded chains locking the buoys to the ocean floor and ensuring they stayed in place.
The plane began to bank and a light flashed overhead, telling her to put her seatbelt on. Bilba obeyed, straightening in her seat once more, but kept her eyes locked outside the window.
As they passed low over the city she caught sight of the palace, and gave a quiet gasp of surprise. She'd seen pictures, of course, and even video but could now see none of it did it justice.
The palace was built on the top of a tall, solitary hill at the edge of the city, backing onto a part of the coastline. It dwarfed Shire's palace, a thought which brought a burst of amusement at the memory of how proud her grandfather was of the place, covering the entire top the hill in acres and acres of stone, glass and sheer ostentation. The sight of no fewer than six towers brought a jolt of fear and Bilba quickly jerked her eyes away to focus on what seemed like miles of gardens and walking paths. The hill curved at the sides and was sheared flat in the back, forming a cliff down to the water below. As they flew over Bilba caught sight of a very narrow strip of sand, bordered by rock on both sides, and wondered if it was used as a small, private beach for the royal family.
She had no more time to contemplate as it, and the palace, were quickly behind them as the plane made for the airport. Several minutes later, as she felt the slight bump of the wheels on the tarmac, she nearly let out a sound of protest. Her heart was hammering in her chest as they taxied to a stop, her breath freezing in her lungs and she was so tense she worried she might not be able to get up at all.
A large part of her wished very much she could stay on the plane, and perhaps it would behave like an amusement park ride and take her back to where she'd begun. Somewhere behind her came the sound of the door opening and the smell of the ocean hit her, followed closely by a rush of much colder air than she'd been expecting. She'd looked up the temperature in Erebor before she'd left but could see now she'd failed to take into account how the wind passing over the cold waters of the ocean might affect it. The air bit into her bare arms and legs, letting her know just how poor a choice she'd made in wearing a sundress.
She could almost hear the scorn such a poor decision was likely to bring about in the press but was surprised to feel little concern about it. After all the things that had already been said about her, having her fashion choices criticized was rather trivial.
"Your Highness?" the voice sounded annoyed, and was said through gritted teeth as if pulled out by some great effort.
Bilba looked up at the slender woman standing over her, dressed in the same uniform the other crewmembers wore. "Yes?"
The sound of her own voice startled her, and it occurred to her the last time she'd spoken had been in Shire. Once, before she'd met Bofur and Rosie, it had been quite common for her to go days without saying a single word. She'd been used to it then, and now she would get used it to it again.
"If you're ready to disembark?" the woman raised an eyebrow, and her tone was snotty and more than a little sarcastic. Bilba guessed she'd been standing there a few moments without Bilba realizing it.
"All right." Bilba undid her seatbelt and gathered her laptop again, clutching it against her chest like she'd done back in Shire. The woman had already turned her back to walk away, which proved a blessing as it meant Bilba didn't have an audience as she stood, only to have a wave of dizziness wash over her and nearly send her back into the seat again. She braced herself with one hand on the table, grimacing as her legs buckled for an instant before she could lock them into place again.
She could do this. She'd done it before, just recently in fact after her grandfather had locked her in the tower for her little tantrum after the wedding.
She could do this. Even if it was the last sight she'd have of freedom.
Her grandfather would be watching, she told herself firmly, and she had no intention of letting him see her falter.
"Why weren't you in the car?"
The words her grandfather had thrown at her, hinting at something she'd long suspected but been unable to prove. He'd destroyed her parents, in every way imaginable, for no other reason than spite. Because they'd had the audacity to fall in love. Because her mother had the audacity to make her own choices in life.
Anger ignited in her veins, burning away, for the moment at least, the fear and tension. If she were very lucky, perhaps it would see her all the way to the end.
Taking a breath through what felt like a straw, she put steel in her spine, gritted her teeth and lifted her chin. She strode forward, keeping her eyes forward with the intent of looking past the mob of reporters undoubtedly waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. She didn't have Lila or the other territorial Shire reporters here but, hopefully...her mind faltered on what, exactly, about her situation could be considered hopeful. She finally decided to simply ignore it and forced herself out the door of the plane and onto the first step of the waiting stairs.
She expected a mob, screaming voices and the flashes of cameras in her face.
What she got...was nothing.
The bottom of the stairwell was empty, as was the space around it. Overhead she could hear the distant chop of rotor blades and a glance upwards revealed a number of helicopters, all giving the jet a wide berth and so far up she couldn't make out the writing on them to tell what news agencies they were from.
The tarmac itself was deserted but for a long limousine. A man in a black suit stood on one side of the open back door while a short, elderly man with a thick white beard and hair stood on the other side.
Bilba was so utterly thrown off by it all she simply stood there, mind trying desperately to reorient itself to not having to brace against a crowd of angry reporters dragging bulky equipment with sharp corners. She still had a few bruises from the ones in Shire but most were hidden under her clothes, at chest level where cameramen, holding their cameras at waist level to change location or shot had shoved against her and, on a few occasions, darn near cracked a rib or two.
A breeze wrapped around her, lifting her hair and wrapping her skirt around her legs, and Bilba raised her eyes to see the back gates and fences of the airport. Past it, the ocean spread out in all directions and she sucked in a sharp breath, briefly mesmerized by the sight.
Someone cleared their throat pointedly, and she jerked and saw the elderly man had moved to the bottom of the stairs.
"Your Highness," he said formally, bowing at the waist. "I've been sent to escort you to the palace, if you're ready."
"Of course." Bilba ducked her head, feeling her face heat with embarrassment at having kept the man waiting. If it were her grandfather, he'd have sent someone horrible to collect her, wanting to make sure she understood how truly unwanted she was. She had no idea if the Durins had done the same but wasn't about to take a chance by treating the man in any manner other than absolute formality and as near perfection as she could get. He would report to the Durins on her just as those in the Shire palace, all the way to the cleaning staff, had reported on her to the Thain. She'd never found peace in visiting a palace, and didn't see it starting now.
She moved down the stairs carefully, using one hand on the handrail to keep her balance. Tumbling down the stairs and landing with a splat on the ground would probably cause her to die of embarrassment on the spot.
She highly doubted perfect Kyra would ever have such a thing happen. According to how the papers described her, Bilba imagined the woman probably floated from planes on a beam of pure sunlight, to the sound of a chorus of angels heralding her arrival.
The thought was beneath her, especially considering the woman had to be in tremendous pain over her broken engagement, but Bilba still had too much anger in her to feel shame. She would, she imagined, later, but right then all she could see was the woman being darn near sainted for her suffering by the press and public while they prepared to burn her at the stake.
It was unfair, and she got that. She knew the problem was her grandfather, and her own bumbling inexperience, but it didn't make it any easier to swallow. Right now, she was angry enough, if no longer stupid enough, to go on another destructive tantrum. So, really, if she wanted to engage in a bit of self-pity then she damn well would.
She certainly knew better than to expect pity from anyone else.
The elderly man was speaking, but she hadn't been paying any attention and had no idea what he'd said. He showed her into the back of the limo and climbed in to sit on the bench seat facing her. As he shut the door, Bilba was startled at how completely the sounds of the airport from outside were shut out. The compartment must be near soundproof. A trill of fear cut through the anger as she recalled the windows had been tinted as well, making it impossible to be seen from the outside.
Why? The only time her grandfather would resort to an utterly soundproof car with windows this dark would be if he wished to threaten someone, or have them threatened by someone else. In Shire, he'd sent her in a limo with enough tinting and soundproofing to make it look to the public like he cared but, this, this sort of a car would only ever be reserved for one thing and one thing only.
Instilling fear, without worry about being seen by the public or the press.
She'd seen others get into such limos.
Once they'd returned, they had never again spoken a word against her grandfather.
Bilba had been inside one, once and only once. It was just after she'd written an essay on her grandfather at school, innocently describing how he really was instead of how he liked to portray himself.
She hadn't known any better.
Her parents had died only two months earlier.
She'd been ten.
When she'd gotten back she'd quietly informed the teacher she'd made it all up, and had silently stood and listened as her grandfather spoke of her imagination, and acting out due to her grief.
How it was being dealt with and wouldn't happen again.
It hadn't.
The elderly man was talking again but she couldn't hear him over the loud roaring in her ears. Clutching her laptop so hard the edges dug into her arms, she pressed against the door of the limo as it pulled away, pressing her forehead against the glass to look outside. Her breathing was shallow, heart thudding in her ears, and it took everything she had to not show any of it.
Her grandfather did not approve of showing emotion, except fear when in his presence, and that was like showing weakness to a snake about to strike. Not showing fear was bad too, but at least it earned her a tiny modicum of respect, of wariness. Showing weakness, however, that was a death sentence. She would never come back from that.
Just like her grandmother had never come back.
The thought came entirely out of left field, blindsiding her from out of nowhere and her mind wrenched away from it, so fast it nearly gave her mental whiplash. She bit back a silent curse.
Yavanna, where had that come from, and why now of all times? She gave her head a slight shake, as if it could somehow physically dislodge the memory from her mind permanently, and focused outside again.
They were approaching the gates of the airport, and now she saw the reporters, and the crowds past them. Protesters, hundreds of them, if not thousands, lining both sides of the streets. Many held signs, most directed at the Thain or Shire in general but some at her. The white-haired man was speaking again but she didn't hear him, attention focused on the crowds as the car made its way out onto the street. There were barricades lining both sides of the streets, and armed guards standing before them, in full riot gear, facing the crowds head on.
Bilba tensed as they left, expecting the crowds to rush the car, and some tried, only to be shoved back aggressively by the guards.
Her eyes caught on a few of the signs as the car picked up speed, accusing her of all sorts of awful things. Some had a grain of truth to them, as lies often did, such as those accusing her of having been in a real relationship with Bofur, as if that meant anything. They'd both been single and it had ended with her marriage, willing or not.
One sign, in particular, that she spotted just before the car sped up enough to blur all the words accused her of being little more than a harlot, which was simply ridiculous. She'd never been with anyone in that way, Bofur included. They'd kissed of course, but never taken it farther. Both had been focused on their schooling, and Bilba on her ballet and their relationship had just never seemed to lead that way, regardless of how often they'd found themselves alone in one another's company. She and Bofur had been...comfortable, and easygoing, without pressure or expectation and perhaps it had lacked the passion or whatever it was that Rosie insisted relationships should have, and did have according to the movies, but Bilba had been content. She might love romantic movies, but they were just movies. Real life did not always afford passion. Sometimes, it simply provided companionship and there was nothing wrong with that. She'd loved Bofur and been satisfied in how things were between them. After a lifetime of being almost always alone, it had been far more than Bilba had ever expected to have.
The car started to slow and she saw a gate being opened ahead of them. Past it the way was clear of reporters or protestors, the road inclining sharply as it started its way up the hill toward the palace. There were gardens and paths on both sides and Bilba felt a longing to walk them and explore the various plants and flowers. She spotted several hedge mazes, fountains and at least one gazebo she'd love to curl up in with a good book. They also passed a number of statues and large rocks that had been split open to reveal crystal interiors, some already sparking as the sun hit them.
The car slid to a stop in front of the entrance to the palace, featuring two large statues of what she assumed were ancestral kings, and white stone steps leading to a front porch like area that could probably easily fit an entire orchestra if one were so inclined.
The sight of the iron doors, more at home in a dungeon than a palace, brought another sense of disquiet. She was about to find out once and for all what they planned to do with her, and the thought made her want to run in the other direction as fast as possible, all the way to the ocean to swim back home if she had to.
Where her grandfather would promptly lock her up in one of his towers before shipping her right back to Erebor again.
She sighed, wishing, not for the first time, she could have been born as a normal girl in a normal family, and not a pawn on the chessboard of a madman.
A door closed and she jumped and turned to see she was alone in the back seat. The elderly man, she realized, had been speaking most of the way to the palace but she'd been far too nervous, and distracted by what was going on outside, and her own nerves, to pay any attention. It had probably simply been threats of what would happen if she didn't obey, like what her grandfather would have done had positions been reversed and a Princess of Erebor come to Shire. The elderly man hadn't tried to hurt her, however, so she took that as a positive sign. Her grandfather would have slapped her or pinched her or something, just to show he could, but maybe here if she shut up and kept to herself...
She started to reach for the door handle, only to gasp in surprise as it was pulled open by the limo driver. The elderly man, who she was sure must have introduced himself at some point meaning she couldn't ask his name now without revealing how little she'd heard, waited at the foot of the steps again, this time leading into the palace.
Bilba followed him quietly, through the iron doors and onto the marble floor of the palace itself. From there it was up a grand staircase and then down so many halls and around so many corners she doubted she'd ever find her way back. At first, her stomach was in knots as they went up, but once they reached a certain floor and she saw no signs of further staircases, she started to relax fractionally. If they planned to give her a room of her own it meant she'd have her chance, an opportunity to prove to them she could stay out of their way just as she'd done in Shire with her grandfather. It hadn't done her much good in the end there but that was because she'd been a pawn and he'd called her into play.
Here, she was just Bilba and of no particular use to anyone.
"Ah, here we are," the white-haired man said, leading her through a set of doors and into a room she barely took note of. He stopped in front of another door set in the wall. "I'll leave you to get settled and relax a bit."
Bilba nodded, and then stood awkwardly as the man stared at her, apparently expecting something but she had no idea what. Finally, he gave another bow and excused himself, leaving the room and heading back into the hall.
Bilba grabbed the handle on the door, pushed it open, and promptly felt her jaw drop.
The room beyond was larger than her apartment. In fact, she was certain it was larger than her grandfather's room in the Shire palace. This couldn't be right. They couldn't have meant to put her here. Hoping that being in the wrong room wouldn't be held against her, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
Unlike the marble she'd been led across so far, the room was carpeted in a plush beige, up to a pair of marble steps that spanned the back of the room. These led to a marble slab upon which, to her surprise, rested the boxes containing all her belongings. Apparently, this was the room she was meant to be in after all.
Windows lined that wall, giving her a view of the ocean outside while two glass doors in the middle appeared to open onto a balcony. Thick, burgundy curtains framed the doors and windows, and matched the canopy, pillows and blanket on the Queen-sized bed. The furniture was done in a darker wood and an area off to the side featured a burgundy couch facing a large TV and entertainment set. Gold accented the room in various throw pillows and frames around artwork featuring plants, as well as in the vases and other knickknacks about the room. Clearly, someone had been going through a love of burgundy and gold when they had designed this room. It wasn't to her taste, but it was beautiful in its own right.
The attached bathroom looked very much like the one on the plane with the exception that the spa was bigger and set into the floor like a small pool, and she nearly clapped her hands in delight at getting to have a shower like the one from the plane all to herself.
Deciding to examine the room she'd been led through initially, she went back out the door and found herself in a large living area complete with another entertainment center and a full kitchen. She explored it for a few minutes before heading toward a door opposite hers, on the far side of the room. She pulled it open, and instantly slammed it shut again, heart jolting in her chest.
It had been another bedroom, a man's bedroom from the decor, and one clearly lived in judging from the clothing items and other personal belongings she'd seen strewn about.
Feeling a sudden sense of panic, Bilba turned on one heel and nearly ran back into her room, slamming the door shut behind her and fumbling the lock closed. After, one hand still on the lock and the other on the door, she sagged against it, resting her forehead on the wood and shaking slightly.
Thorin Durin. It had to be Thorin Durin's room. There was no reason to put her in a room adjoining a man's unless that man was the one she'd unwillingly married.
What in the world had possessed them to do that? She'd expected a closet at best, and the tower at worst. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought they would put her in the quarters for the wife of the Crown Prince of Erebor.
She barely remembered him from Shire. Everything had been such a blur, all light and sound and chaos. Even during the interviews, when she'd technically spent the day with him in the room, she'd barely looked at or acknowledged him. She had the vague impression of him being tall and she knew from photos he had dark hair and was unfairly attractive but that was about it. Her mind went back to the photo she'd seen online, of him gazing in adoration at Kyra.
Yavanna, but he must hate her.
Even more than the people of Erebor did. He had to despise her and now they'd put her in the room he'd expected to one day have Kyra in?
Wait. Almost woodenly, Bilba straightened and walked over to her laptop. Opening the lid, she called up a search engine and typed in a short query.
What is Kyra Lundair's favorite color?
The screen blanked for a second, and then happily provided her the answer, courtesy of the woman herself being asked it in an interview.
Burgundy, followed closely by gold.
Bilba nearly threw up.
They'd put her in another woman's room. Kyra's room, designed and personally decorated by her. Why? To punish her? Make sure she didn't lose sight of how much suffering Shire had caused?
Remind her of her own inadequacy?
The room was beautiful, and every inch what Bilba would have expected the room of a Princess to look. It was nothing like how she'd have done it. She preferred lavender and cream, more rustic looking furniture, and artwork featuring landscapes over portraits of plants and pottery. Her vision would look perfect in a simply country home, but not in a royal palace, in the room of a Princess.
Suddenly unwilling to be in the room for another minute, she pushed up and nearly ran to the balcony doors, shoving them open, and darting outside.
"Oh," she whispered, as her feet hit the marble of the balcony. In front of her stretched a waist high railing comprised of slender balusters and a wide, flat top. Past that lay a stunning view of the ocean. She caught sight of another balcony on the far side, probably for Thorin Durin's room, but thankfully empty. On the far end of his balcony, and the far side of hers, the rock walls of the cliff rose, craggy and filled here and there with bits of moss and other plant life.
A thought occurred to her and she leaned over the balcony railing, holding on by her hands under the edge and lifting her feet off the ground to get a better view.
Down below was the thin strip of beach she remembered seeing from the plane as they'd soared over. Waves lapped on the shore and she made a mental note to find out the tides and check if they ever came in far enough to cover the sand.
The sand butted up against a rocky slope jutting out from the cliff face and Bilba very nearly shrieked in joy at the sight of stairs leading up from the beach to that slope. She followed them to a flat landing carved out of the rock, where the stairs restarted but branched, one leading up to Thorin's balcony and the other up to hers.
She leaned over farther, spotting where the steps stopped at the base of the corner of her balcony, near the rock of the cliff, and scrambled back to go take a closer look. It only took a few seconds to find the latch in the stone railing that swung out a small section to allow access to the stairs.
There was no railing to them but the slope was gentle enough that she should be able to traverse them without too much difficulty. Kicking her shoes off to provide better purchase, Bilba stepped out and noticed that a number of the steps were cracked or in poor condition. She wondered absently if anyone even remembered they were there. The exile had been long after all and, though she didn't know him, she still somehow couldn't imagine the Prince caring enough about the view of the ocean to come out and look long enough to see the stairs. There were no chairs or tables on his side, suggesting he didn't make much use of it.
The stone was cold under her feet, almost as cold as the air around her, but Bilba barely noticed as she lightly skipped down the steps, arms out slightly from her sides to keep her balance. She reached the landing, and noticed the rest of the stairs down to the beach were in even worse condition than those above. Still, she should be able to make it if she were careful and at least she didn't have to worry about cameras if she were to take a tumble here.
She picked her way carefully until she stood on the beach itself, toes digging into the sand. The area was shaded, the cliff walls blocking out the sun except for, she imagined, a thin slice of the day when it was overhead, but she could see its light on the waves just past where the walls jutted into the ocean.
It was a perfect, isolated little cove. She looked over her shoulder and noted the landing would be hidden from overhead, even from the rooms above hers, unless someone were to lean over and look directly down, and why would anyone bother to do that? She could just picture herself curled up in a chair on that landing with a good book and a pitcher of lemonade, feeling the sea breeze on her skin and listening to the crash of waves on the shore.
Oh, but she could be happy. If they left her alone, if she could prove to them she wouldn't be any trouble.
She could be happy here, if they just let her.
She picked her way back up to that landing and settled on it, feet on the first step beneath, and stared out to sea, sighing as the first sense of peace she'd had in a while settled over her.
It was decided, she thought. She would do her very best to be invisible, as much as she'd ever been in Shire and maybe, just maybe, the Durins would let her be. They hadn't put her in a tower, which was a blessing she'd never expected and one she knew could be rescinded if she stepped out of line.
She didn't plan to screw up. She would be the quietest, most unnoticed, royal anyone had ever seen. Maybe, if she were good enough, the Durins, and even the public and press, would do the one thing she'd always wished her grandfather would do, forget she'd ever existed.
Maybe then she could make her own choices, start her path over again, find her way in a new place without the constant threat of her grandfather hanging over her head.
Maybe.
Just...maybe.
"You're sure?"
Balin nodded, bowing his head respectfully as Thrain spoke. "Yes, your Majesty. I was very clear about the time."
Thrain frowned, settling back in his seat until the wood creaked. Around him, the rest of the royal family sat in silence, empty plates before them and covered dishes waiting to be served lining the center of the long table. "And you waited how long?"
"Several minutes," Balin replied. "And I knocked quite loudly. There was no response."
"It's possible she just fell asleep," Kyra said quietly from where she was sitting on Thorin's left. Directly across from him was the seat she'd used to occupy, now empty with still another place setting. Thorin had not been looking forward to it being occupied. "It was a long flight, and it's a significant time change between Shire and Erebor."
"She slept on the plane," Thorin almost growled. He'd already been given the report by the head stewardess and pilot. The pilot had little to say as he'd been in the cockpit most of the time but the stewardess had reported the Shire Princess had been standoffish and borderline rude, locking herself in the living quarters and not coming out until the plane descended. They had checked on her at one point to find her sound asleep in one of the bedrooms.
"Still," Kyra insisted, "it's a big change."
"I did knock quite loudly," Balin said, the slightest hint of defensiveness in his voice. "And it wasn't so very long after showing her in. I informed her half an hour, if she fell into that deep a sleep in that amount of time-"
"The fact she fell asleep at all suggests she had no intention of coming down," Thorin cut in.
"That isn't fair," Kyra murmured beside him, but Thorin simply shrugged. He wasn't in the mood to be fair. Life certainly hadn't bothered being fair to him, or Kyra, of late.
"She probably expects a personal invitation," Frerin suddenly chimed in. "I was watching the news. One of the crew said they had to personally ask her to get off after the plane landed and then she made Balin go up to the stairs at the door. I was looking outside when they got here, too, and she made-"
"Someone open the door to the car for her?" Kyra asked. "That's called expectation of basic manners, your Highness." There was the slightest hint of censure in her voice and Frerin's mouth snapped shut, cheeks reddening in embarrassment at the rebuke.
"Still," Dis broke in, gesturing for one of the servants lining the wall to come forward and begin serving. "We can't wait forever." Her eyes flickered to Fili and Kili, sitting one either side of her and nearly salivating as they stared at the covered dishes.
"Fair enough." Thrain waved a hand at Balin to dismiss him. Generally, he and his brother, Dwalin were invited to later meals as they were related to the royal family, but breakfast was always reserved for the immediate family. "If she fell asleep then she can join us for the next meal. If not-"
"Then I have no intention of issuing her any personal invitations," Thorin said shortly, reaching for his napkin and pulling the heavy cloth through the ceramic ring around its middle. "She's an adult. She can figure things out for herself."
Balin gave a short nod and left while the rest of them dug into the food. As they did, Thorin frowned at Kyra. "I still don't understand why you insist on defending her," he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear him.
She shrugged, eyes on her plate. "It's not me being as altruistic as you might think." He saw her frown, and a flash of what looked like mild guilt flashed in her eyes. "I figured if I befriended her she wouldn't mind so much if I wanted to stay around you all." She nodded toward the table at large. "I'm not family, after all. I shouldn't even be here, especially not-"
Thorin reached over to grip her leg for a moment in reassurance. "You've always been family, and you always will be. You have every right to be here."
She gave him a weak smile, a sheen of moisture in her eyes, before she got control of herself and focused on her food again.
Thorin turned to his own plate and tried very hard not to think about the unwanted guest currently staying in rooms that should have been, and were as far as he was concerned, Kyra's.
"Did you happen to catch the name of the crewmember on that interview?" he asked Frerin, hoping to change the subject and get his mind onto other topics.
"No," Frerin said, eyebrows drawn together as he tried to remember, "but I'm sure it'd be easy enough to find out. Why?"
"Because he's going to fire him," Dis said shortly, handing a full plate to Kili and grabbing another to put together for Fili.
Thorin gave a short nod. He didn't care who the royal had been on the plane, or what had been said in the interview.
Erebor did not employ people who prattled about the private lives of the royal family to the press. Period.