Bilba sat nervously in a chair that probably cost more than her apartment in Shire and wondered if perhaps she should have chosen to put up with Kyra after all.
When Ori had invited her to breakfast, Bilba had envisioned a quaint little café, like the ones she, Rosie and Bofur had often frequented back in Shire. Small, cozy places with worn vinyl seats and round tables. Tiny windows that let in the light and sounds of birds chirping from outside and muted the quiet clink of silverware and conversation from inside.
King's Landing was the exact opposite of that.
The restaurant was a sleek, multi-level building located on a rocky plot of land overlooking the ocean. The inside was dark and dimly lit so that it felt as if she'd stepped from the brightness of morning to the gloom of twilight. Circular, leather couches sat around what looked like marble tables and a live violinist paid quietly from a dais in the back corner.
Having never been before, Bilba had asked Cici to pick out her clothing. She'd felt worried she'd be overdressed in the resulting dress and heels but, now that she was here, she was mildly concerned she was underdressed.
Not that she would have fit in either way.
It hadn't really occurred to her that going to breakfast would be the first time she'd officially appeared in public. Or that the eyes of every noble would be on them as they were led through the dining room to a private room.
If it weren't for that private room, Bilba was certain she'd have turned around and walked right back out. There was simply no way she'd have been able to sit for any length of time with the weight of all those judgmental eyes on her.
The room itself was as larger than most of those cafes back home with black paneled walls, a black marble table and matching carpet. The only light came from the far wall, which was comprised entirely of glass from floor to ceiling and presented a truly amazing view of the ocean down below.
"So," Ori's voice broke into her musings, "what do you think?"
Bilba jumped pulled her gaze away from the window. A plate she hadn't noticed being brought in sat before her and her stomach rumbled at the sight of the piles of food on it. At least this wasn't one of those restaurants where they gave you a splash on the plate and called it a meal. "It's very nice," she said non-committedly, as she picked up her fork.
She frowned toward the door. Gareth was stationed just outside it, while Cerys stood inside. It felt awkward to be eating while the other woman just watched, but she'd already asked Cerys to join them and the offer politely declined.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Ori asked. "We could have gone somewhere else if you preferred. I just thought – here is already vetted, you know? Anywhere else we'd have needed to wait for security checks, and that would take time and -"
"And you were helping me avoid Kyra for a day," Bilba broke in with a small smile. "I know. I just didn't realize it would be such a—" she waved her hand as she searched for the right word. "Spectacle," she finished finally.
That was exactly the word for it. They'd have to take a convoy, with multiple cars and she didn't even know how many guards. Someone had clearly called ahead to let the restaurant know they were coming, and a veritable red carpet had been laid out with the owner and chef ready to greet her and escort her inside.
No one had been unkind, but the entire thing had left her stomach tied in knots. There was simply no way it had gone unnoticed. She had zero doubt that every news organization in town had been alerted to the fact she'd left the palace and the thought of having to face them when she left—
"You made a pretty big step up in rank," Ori was saying. "And Erebor is a lot larger than Shire. How many guards did you usually have in Shire? Like ten?"
"None," Bilba said without thinking.
Ori's mouth literally gaped, and she dropped her fork with a clatter. At the door, Cerys shifted, but said nothing. "None?" Ori repeated, dumbfounded. "How could you have had none?"
Bilba shrugged. "I had a large family, and most of them lived in the capital. I was about as far from there as you could get. Most days, I'm sure there were few who even remembered I existed."
"You didn't visit?" Ori asked.
Bilba tried not to flinch. "Sometimes."
She frowned and tried to focus on her food and not the dozens of reporters probably gathering outside, or the fact that she'd have to deal with watching Kyra fawn over Thorin at meals starting tomorrow.
Why had she thought leaving her room was such a great idea again? She'd love to just go for a walk, maybe visit Bombur and apologize for missing her first day of work, or perhaps see if she could find the college or even the ballet studio she knew existed somewhere in the town.
In Shire, she could have just done it. Here, it would be a whole thing, and even then she probably would have to check with Soren over her schedule and whatever it was she was expected to do for the day.
She absently chewed on her lower lip. She'd never actually promised Thorin she wouldn't sneak out again, just that she'd alert her security team before leaving. Perhaps if she could think of a way around that...
Or, a petty part of her butted in, she could also tell Thorin she'd give up sneaking out if he gave up prancing about with his mistress all the damn time. He'd probably personally escort her through the passageway on the beach if she were to do that.
Maybe she should.
The second the thought crossed her mind a sour feeling settled over her. Handing him off to Kyra…grated. Not because she wanted him, but just because of how much their relationship was flaunted. An outsider might think Kyra was still his fiancé the way the two behaved and the thought of sitting back and behaving like everything was fine while she was publicly cuckolded was just…degrading.
Ori asked her a question, and Bilba tried to pay attention. She soon became engrossed in conversation with the other woman but stayed careful about what she said. No doubt every word she spoke would be reported to Ori's husband and brother and the last thing she needed was either of them taking more than a passing interest in her.
The food was gone before she knew it and, after another half hour or so of idle talk, it was time to leave.
Cerys opened the door to the quiet sounds of the other patrons and Bilba tried her best not to panic. Already, she could tell there were far more people out there than when they'd first come in and she wasn't the least bit surprise to catch a glimpse of reporters gathered in the parking lot past the plate glass front windows.
You're a princess, she reminded herself firmly. It was imperative she make a good impression, and not just because of her rank or marriage to the crown prince. It was because every time she turned on the blasted TV it was to hear herself being compared to Kyra. She was always found grossly wanting. Every impropriety and misstep the other woman took was glossed over while Bilba was vilified for so much as breathing.
And that was before she had made any official, public appearances. The last thing she needed now was for them to see her falter. It would just prove the slander and lies in their eyes and pour fuel on a fire that seemed destined to burn forever.
Head high, she reminded herself as they headed out of the private room, back straight. Eyes ahead, pleasant expression. She had to tread the fine line between respecting her rank without appearing haughty or arrogant.
She was proud of herself. She didn't start shaking until they had nearly reached the exit. When the sheer number of reporters in the parking lot became obvious, along with their cameras and other equipment. Several of the male reporters looked quite large and she mentally cringed at the thought of one or more of them grabbing her and trying to drag her over for questions. It had happened more than once in Shire, and the resulting bruises had taken days to fade.
"Your Highness," Gareth spoke softly as they stopped just before the doors. "Are you all right?"
"Fine," Bilba said, voice shorter than she'd intended. She really wished everyone would stop asking her that. She could see the limo she'd ridden in parked at the curb just a few feet away but it felt like miles. There were guards that had closed around her the second she'd left the private room, and still more outside, but there'd been guards like that in Shire too, hadn't there?
Everywhere she'd gone while in the capital her grandfather had made a show of surrounding her with guards. Guards who'd done precisely nothing to keep her safe. If anything, experience had told her to be more afraid of them than of anyone they might have hypothetically protected her from.
Gareth pushed the door open and an involuntary, strangled noise escaped Bilba's throat. Heat washed over her, and black spots danced in her vision. She felt more than saw Ori next to her, Cerys behind them and Gareth in front. He stepped out and Bilba physically forced her feet to follow.
She could do this. She'd been through worse, much, much worse, and she'd never had a choice on whether or not she wanted to go through it. There was never any choice when her grandfather was involved.
Or, at least, there was never any good choice. Go forward or face the wrath of her grandfather for defying him.
Voices instantly assailed her, so fast she could barely make out the questions, though the ones she could understand seemed to follow a familiar theme.
"Your Highness! How do you feel about the prince having to break his engagement to marry you?"
"Your Highness! Is it true you have a volatile temper?"
"Your Highness! Did you plan this to force the prince to marry you?"
The car appeared in front of her, door already open. Bilba stopped in surprise at having reached it so soon. Past the car, the reporters were still shouting questions at her, but none of them were attempting to surge past the line of guards standing between them and her.
How very odd.
"Your Highness?" Gareth's voice made her jump. She gave him a shaky smile and slid into the car. As she settled into the leather, she felt the same mixture of relief and trepidation she always did. Limos had always been a blessing and a curse. The blessing was that the windows were tinted while the curse…was that the windows were tinted.
Ori got in, and Bilba was surprised to see her face was pale. Before she could react, the other woman leaned forward and grabbed her hands. "I'm so sorry! I never thought about reporters showing up!"
"It's okay," Bilba said with a tight smile. Gareth and Cerys slid in and the door shut, cutting off the shouts and rapid-fire clicks of cameras. She tried not to imagine what the stories would be. Probably something like "Princess Flaunts New Position" or else perhaps a montage of Kyra going to the same restaurant and a comparison of how she'd somehow pulled off breakfast flawlessly while Bilba had failed on every level.
The car pulled onto the street, more cars in front of and behind it, and left the reporters behind to write their stories, and spin them in whatever way they saw fit.
"What are your plans for the rest of the day?" Ori asked.
"I don't know." Bilba raised her head from where she'd dropped it against the seat back. "Soren has my schedule, but I have no idea what's on it."
"Probably not much," Ori said. "They'll probably ease you into things at first."
Bilba made a non-committal noise, and idly stared out the window as they drove back to the palace. There were people on the sidewalk, going to breakfast, wandering in and out of shops, or hurrying on their way to work. A few stopped to watch as the limos raced past before returning to their routines.
None of them had to worry about reporters, nasty rumors, unwanted husbands or ever-present exes. Once, she'd have been among them, hurrying on her way to grab a morning cup of coffee before heading to her first class of the day. Or maybe she'd be window shopping with Rosie or walking with Bofur back to the studio for an early morning rehearsal.
She might have stopped for a moment to watch as the limos rushed past, but she wouldn't have wondered about them. Wouldn't have fantasized about who was inside or what their lives were like. That had been Rosie, and Bilba had done her best not to disillusion the other girl.
Bilba had no need to fantasize. She'd already known what it was like and had been more than happy to have the life she'd led.
More than happy…
Ahead of them, the first limos pulled past the gates leading onto the palace grounds. Bilba watched through the windshield as they pulled up the long, winding drive toward the palace. A fairy tale castle to many a young girl no doubt. Her mind went to little Wynne and she bit back a smile. Moving into the palace must be like a dream come true for her.
Her grandfather's scheming had brought happiness to one person at least.
The car slid to a smooth stop and one of the guards opened her door. She allowed him to help her out and cast a regretful glance toward the gardens and, further down, the now closed gates leading out to the rest of the city.
Ori came up beside her while Cerys and Gareth took up position behind her.
To her surprise, Soren was waiting for her just past the entrance.
"Your Highness," he said with a bow. "King Thrain requests your presence immediately. I've been sent to escort you to him."
All the air left Bilba's body.
"Your Highness," a cold voice slithered in her mind. "Your grandfather requests your presence, at once."
"I'll go with you," Ori said next to her.
"I'm sorry, Lady Ori," Soren said, sounding not at all apologetic. "My instructions were to bring only the princess."
"It's fine." Bilba clasped her hands together in front of her and stepped closer to Soren. "Thank you for the invitation to breakfast, Ori. I'll talk to you later."
Ori looked uncertain, but there was little she could do about it.
"We'll get to work on setting up your security team, Your Highness," Gareth's voice reached her, and she nodded.
Soren turned away and she quietly fell in behind him, hands still clasped before her. She walked with confidence, or the appearance of it anyway, and kept her eyes fixed on nothing. A trick she'd learned long ago to avoid having to see the smirks, and smug looks on the face of her relatives as they watched her being marched off to the executioner.
If asked later, she could not have said where, exactly, the king's office was. She felt detached as they walked, her mind wandering to a different place where she didn't have to face whatever it was that lay before her. Where she was still in Shire, living in her apartment with Rosie and waiting for Bofur to pick her up for a date.
Back in Shire, before she'd met Bofur and Rosie, she'd take herself back even further. Back to before her parent's had died, when the only grandfather she'd known had been Mungo Baggins. He'd bought her first pair of ballet slippers and been front and center at all of her performances, alongside her parents. He'd always applauded louder than anyone, no matter how small or inconsequential her part.
Sometimes, if she tried very hard, she could still feel the rush of the breeze as he pushed her on the swings at the park or hear his laugh whenever she did something silly to amuse him.
The last time she'd seen him they'd been preparing to take a walk to the next town over. He'd taken her to the store to buy food and snacks to prepare a lunch to have along the way, and they'd spent the evening planning when they would leave the next morning, when they would return and where they would stop along the way. Bilba had even been given a little money to be able to buy a small souvenir or dessert once they arrived.
Everything had been ready, her clothes laid out and sack lunches waiting in the fridge. She'd had a sleepover that night at a friend's house, and had wanted to make sure everything was ready for when Grandfather Mungo came to get her the next day, so she could just get dressed, grab her bag and lunch and off they'd go.
The walk never took place.
Her parents had died that night and the shock of hearing the news had caused Grandfather Mungo to suffer a massive heart attack.
He'd lingered in the hospital for nearly a week.
She hadn't been allowed to visit.
They stopped in front of a large set of double doors, and Bilba pulled herself back to reality. As much as she didn't want to, there was no other choice when facing her grandfather but to exist in the moment. He did not respond well to her failure to pay attention.
The door opened and she tensed. Soren bowed low in front of her, said something she couldn't hear over the roar in her ears, and then stepped aside and bowed her in.
She entered and, for an instant, the room shifted and wavered into the one she was so familiar with in Shire. Her grandfather was obsessed with showing off not just his opulence, but also the impression that he was just a kindly old man. His office was homey with thick rugs, overstuffed bookcases and portraits of his family on the walls.
The sight had always made her nauseous.
The door shut behind her with a quiet click, and the room faded into the one she actually stood in. Rough, unfinished stone walls adorned with swords and weaponry. Cold rock under her feet. One, small bookcase with a few books stacked on it, and a large, rickety looking desk dominating the center of the room.
Her new father-in-law looked nothing like her grandfather.
Where her grandfather was usually near smothered in robes and jewels, the king of Erebor wore armor and the only jewelry he sported were beads in his hair and a few rings. Where her grandfather wanted to portray a false image of safety, it was clear that Thrain wished to convey one of threat.
At least he was honest about it.
Piercing eyes studied her, and Bilba dropped into a deep curtsey. Silence stretched, and she silently thanked ballet for giving her strong legs and good balance.
"Rise," the king said finally, his voice a deep baritone that was very similar to Thorin's.
Bilba obeyed. "Your Majesty." She was careful to keep her voice soft and fixed her eyes on the desk.
He made a harrumph sound. "At least you have some training, not that it prompted you to introduce yourself upon your arrival."
"My apologies," Bilba said quietly. Part of her wanted to point to the deception by the head housekeeper and head butler but she realized that Thrain must already know. Reminding him would most likely be seen as an insult, or as her making excuses.
Thrain muttered under his breath and leaned forward in his chair, bringing his arms and hands into her view as he rested them on the desk. They were gnarled and craggy, as was the rest of the him, a ruler used to hard work and getting into the muck and mire alongside his subjects. It spoke well of him in one aspect at least. Her grandfather would no more sully his hands than he would allow a perceived slight to go unpunished.
"Now that you've finally deigned to show yourself," Thrain said in a cold voice, "tell me, Your Highness, how it is that you and my son have been married a full month and have yet to produce a child?"
