Algun stared at the clasp in her hand. She knew it. She'd chosen it herself. She'd spent half an hour comparing and appraising, picking up one after another from the goldsmith's tray. She'd then brought them to her shop and watched her best stitchmaster work his magic with a silk thread. She'd then picked up the undertunic and carried it to the backroom, placed it in the box to be delivered to the King - and brushed her palm to it, delighting in its smoothness. She'd laughed quietly then at the thought that in a few moons she'd do that again but that time she'd feel the hard lines and the warmth of his body through the satin.

Algun lifted her face and met the widened eyes of the girl of Men.

"Is this Thorin's?" Algun exhaled, knowing the answer.

"It's—" The girl's breathing hitched, and she bit into her bottom lip.

Algun once again looked at the clasp.

"It is, isn't it?" Algun said, a myriad of thoughts twirling in her mind.

It explained so much, to think of it now! The chickens on the cloak… and the hen moniker! The Royal Family dinner! And the undergarments the girl had been ordering and bashfully carrying away from Algun's shop!

"I thought it was Ein," Algun breathed out and shook her head. "I thought you— How could I have been so blind?"

She once again stared at the girl. The bookkeeper was blanched, her irises as if flooded by the blackness of her pupils.

"I— I don't—"

"I thought you'd agreed to help us out of your feelings towards Ein," Algun said. "He said— The way he spoke of you— And that preposterous story about you injuring him..."

Algun rose slowly and stretched her open palm with the clasp on it to the bookkeeper.

"Mistress Algun," the girl whispered and started rising.

Algun simply knew not what she thought so she raised her empty hand stopping the girl.

"Please, I need— I will see you in the morning," she said hurriedly.

The clasp slipped out of her hand, back onto the bed. She picked up her bag from the girl's table and rushed out.


By the time she reached her halls, she'd pieced together the events of the previous moons. She'd recalled the Winter Solstice dance, and she remembered his smiles of late, and his sunny mood, and 'the one woman' who'd, in his words, be affected by the scheme he'd agreed to participate in. And the woman escaping his halls in the early hours of the morning after the festivities! She had the hair of gold, they said. Algun thought of the copper locks of the small bookkeeper of Men - and suddenly unadulterated anger flooded her. He'd chosen that scrap of the girl over her!

And then immediately Algun came to her senses. Of course he hadn't! She was the one who'd ended their association, she'd chosen her craft over him - and he was free to love anyone he wanted.

And then she remembered the conversation she'd had with the bookkeeper regarding choices one had to make, sometimes between a man and a vocation. How could the girl have deceived and lied and misrepresented thusly then?! Algun had opened up to her, told her of the ache she felt, her melancholy when she thought of the days she'd been his betrothed! The girl had circumvented and duped Algun into confessing her utmost private anguish!

Algun pushed the door into her rooms and stormed in. Her hands shook in rage. She jerked her cloak off and threw it on the trunk that she'd packed for their journey.

What a snake, she thought. A double-face, conniving, self-serving viper!

And then a new wave of irk came. The harlot was no Dwarf! How could he?! Algun knew of course of the unions between Men and Dwarves - more and more Dwarves arrived from the East and spoke of their traditions - but he was a son of Durin! He was their King!

Algun was pacing the parlour, gritting her teeth.

Was he truly intending to put that tramp on the throne of Erebor? What did the beggar know of ruling a kingdom? What did she know about the Dwarven traditions and the centuries of their science, and art, and craft?

She was no one! Poor, obscure! Skittish like a dog who'd been beaten up too often. She had no will, no character, no strength in her!

And what could she possibly offer to him? To beguile him so?

There was no charm in her, no sensuality. She was all bones and angles! She was always scared, timid, and blubbery. She knew not her worth - and to be frank, Algun couldn't see any in her. She knew her numbers, but so did every single Dwarf in the Court of the Exchequer. And many were unattached maidens. If he wanted an abacus in his bed, he could have chosen better.

His bed.

His clasp was in the girl's bed. In the crumpled sheets, that had been hastily covered just before Algun and lord Bruni had come in, by the looks of them.

Had he spent the night? Had they— Did he— Even in her mind, Algun couldn't possibly name what the clasp's location implied. It was surely impossible!

Algun had known his touch. She had kissed and caressed him. They'd behaved with restraint, but she'd seen the glimpses of the fire that burnt in him. He was a man of flesh, ardent and robust. How would one like the weak, pale, sickly lassie from the fishermen village satisfy his hunger, his appetite?

Perhaps, it was pity, Algun thought. She'd heard of how the Company had encountered the girl on their quest for Erebor, how they'd saved her from goblins, and had left her in Mirkwood at the mercy of the wood wimps. She'd then found her way into Erebor as the scribe of the bargeman whom the dirty fishers called King. What nonsense! That wasn't what Kings were like.

Thorin Oakenshield was a King, by blood, by breeding, by his stature. The girl didn't… deserve him!

Algun had given him up - but not a day passed that she didn't think of him wishing for him to find happiness and an association that would fulfill his life. But not her!

She was no proper lover for Thorin Oakneshield! She was no wife for him - and even more so no Queen for Erebor! She was… unworthy!

Algun was a Blacklock. The Blacklocks didn't keep quiet when an injustice was happening, when they faced transgression or unlawfulness - except if she antagonised the girl now, she was in danger to lose her chance to help her friends in the Misty Mountains.

She made another circle around her room. She couldn't simply ignore this knowledge - but she also couldn't confront the good-for-nothing hussy! And more so, what good would come out of it? The girl would shake, and cry, and whine in her usual way, and her lips would quiver, and all her pitiful self would shrink. Algun hissed in vexation. What a pathetic yellow belly he'd chosen!

How? How?! she asked herself again and again. How could it have happened?

And then she remembered Ein. How his face lit up when he spoke of the wench, how his lips wrapped around her name, how—

That was what Algun had been planning to speak to the bookkeeper about - how the latter possibly didn't understand that she was encouraging his infatuation. And that if she indeed returned his feelings, and if he was the reason why she wanted to help the women in the first place…

And it turned out Algun couldn't have been more wrong!

She had come to the girl's room to ensure her happiness if indeed it lay with Ein. Because Ein - with all his merits, and his talents, and his virtues - was of low birth! And he had had his share of heartbreak, and the girl would have been such a consolation to him. There was no marrying into an old family for him, and he was always clear how he wanted none - so the marriage to this oddity, this outlandish rarity, a bookkeeper of Men at the court of Thorin Oakenshield, would suit Ein perfectly. They would fit so well together: the self-made Dwarf, who'd gained his title and his fortune by his sword, and a girl who'd been in the right place at the right time, who served two Kings and had none.

An unjust, disgraceful thought came to Algun, and she picked up her cloak and marched out of her halls. She'd go and tell Ein everything! It would change nothing. They'd still go to the Misty Mountains, and the women would get their papers, but at least he would have no empty hopes.

She was half way into his rooms when her sanity returned, and she froze in the passway. Where was she going? What had come over her? That wasn't her! She was Algun from the Blacklock clan. She was no vengeful termagant!

Suddenly a sob bubbled in her throat, and she leaned against a wall heavily. What was she to do now? What was she to do with this knowledge? How was she to behave the next day, when the four of them would ride out of the Lonely Mountain?


Dearreader,

Hahahaha, I totally would! :D My cat brings me stuffed toys, socks, my slippers (mostly the right one), washcloths, tubes of watercolours, painting brushes, elastics, pieces of Lego, and many many other things.