Freya heard her daughter shift her feet, saw she was slouching, turning her bracelet on her wrist, her attention wandering during the long eulogy.

"Do not fidget," she whispered to her. "Stand up straight. Remember who you are."

She saw Enya draw herself up, her face composed. As Thror finished his speech the heavy lid of the intricately carved tomb was placed over her husband's body. Freya felt the weight of that stone as if it had landed on her own shoulders. With her husband laid to rest, now the fight would begin. It had not been lost on her that the Seven Families had met first in Erebor to consider the succession before even coming to the Iron Hills. She was not about to hand the throne to some unknown cousin, not when her son might still be alive, and if it was proved he was dead she planned to rule herself. The thought made her smile, she would show the families that a woman could rule as well as any man.

Freya felt a hand on her arm and looked up to meet her brother Durin's eyes. He had arrived just before the service and they had not had time to speak. The sight of him always gave her a bit of a turn, he looked so much like their father. The same eyes, the shape of his face. Except for his hair, which he wore shorn short on the sides, and the long beard tucked into his belt, it could be Thorin himself standing before her.

"We need to talk," he said quietly.

"We have a few hours before the wake," she replied, keeping her voice low.

The King of Moria nodded. "Your apartments, in an hour. I will tell Thror." He moved off to greet the representatives from the other families.

Freya and her daughter began the long walk up from the crypt to the palace above. Lining the passages were many citizens of the city, all bowed soberly as she passed. King Borin had been popular with his people; he had been a hard man, uncompromising, but a just and skillful ruler who had brought much prosperity to the Iron Hills. Today had made her remember him when they had first met, so handsome and gentlemanly. When they were courting he was always bringing her little favors and complimenting her dresses. He had quite swept her off her feet, and her father had thought it an excellent match. Now it made her sad to think about. She had dreamed of being loved the way her father loved his warrior Woman – absolute, unwavering, a love that only grew stronger as the years passed. Kaylea Wolf warned her that this King of the Iron Hills could never love her that way, but Freya had been young, and headstrong, and thought her father's mistress was wrong. It was many years before she finally admitted to herself Kaylea had been right.

As they came to her daughter's door, the girl suddenly turned and embraced her, sobbing quietly into her dress. Freya hugged her and let her cry. Her daughter had been very close to Borin, in the same way she had been close to her own father. Having fallen out of love with her husband years ago, her own eyes remained dry.

"Shush now," she told her, after a long moment. "You must put on a brave face tonight, do your family proud."

When she approached her own apartments Freya saw a familiar figure step out of an archway and bow to her: Tivan, the King's Bard. While Borin had never been a great lover of music, Freya could sit and listen to the bard sing for hours; he had such a beautiful voice. She also never tired of looking at him, so young and handsome, with his sparkling green eyes and mane of yellow hair. He had become a good friend and confidant over the years, always ready to cheer her with a smile or a happy tune when she was feeling low. Sometimes the looks he gave her made her heart flutter, and she had to remind herself she was far too old for girlish crushes.

"Tivan, have you come to play me a tune?" She asked, acknowledging his bow with a nod.

"I will certainly play if you ask it, your majesty," the bard replied. "I know today was a hard one, I came to offer you my shoulder, if you have need of one."

"Thank you, but you know today is the end of my grieving for my husband," she said with a smile. She put her hand on the door and was about to go inside when a sudden thought struck her. She turned back to the bard. "Why are you here, really?"

Tivan looked surprised. "As I said, to offer my support. I want you to know you can count on me, whatever you choose to do."

"You already know I have renewed the search for my son," Freya frowned. "Why come to me on the day my husband is laid to rest?"

Tivan looked at the floor. "I am sorry if I am intruding, your majesty." His eyes came up to meet hers, he gave her an impish smile. "Please forgive your poor servant, but do remember him if you happen to need some company later this evening."

Freya opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. Surely he didn't mean... "Oh, away with you, silly boy!" She told him. "Go and practice for tonight!"

The bard winked at her and bowed low with a wide smile. "As you command, my queen."

Freya closed the door to her apartments and leaned against it, closing her eyes. She and Tivan had engaged in their fair share of banter over the years, but that was all. His manner was somehow different tonight, but he couldn't possibly be serious. I'm old enough to be his mother, for Mahal's sake! Freya shook her head. He has to be teasing.

Freya admired the dress she had ordered for the wake in the mirror as her handmaids helped her get ready, glad this was the last time she had to wear her mourning clothes. Her dressmaker had remarked that at least she had the figure to wear white. Freya worked hard to keep a slim figure, ever over her mother's objections. Queen Shurri had been the very picture of Dwarven beauty and had fussed at her to eat more and fill out her dresses, but she preferred to be thin and fit, like Kaylea Wolf, who she so admired. When she was little Freya dreamed of being just like her: strong and fearless, wise and beautiful, riding off to great adventures on her black horse with her great grey wolf. Thinking about her brought up thoughts of her father. The loss still pained her, though he had been gone almost fifty years. She knew Thorin had given his life to save Middle Earth, and he had died with Kaylea beside him. That is how he would have wanted to go, in battle, with the woman he loved, but still she missed him fiercely. She so wished he was here now to guide her.

A knock on the door disturbed her reverie, it was her oldest brother Thror. She motioned a servant to let him in and get him a drink while she finished dressing. When she had dismissed her maids she went into her sitting room to join him. He had gained some weight since the last time she saw him; he had always been a bit on the heavy side, unlike his athletic younger brother. His countenance was also more like their mother's, the slightly upturned nose and oval face.

"Where is Durin?" She asked, taking a seat next to him.

"Still taking the measure of the other families, I presume," Thror replied. His younger brother was a far better politician than he was, he could put his finger on the pulse of a problem almost immediately. "How are you holding up?"

Freya smiled. "I will not give up the throne of the Iron Hills without a fight."

Thror nodded. "You should not have to fight for it, in my opinion." He frowned. "I think a few of the families will support you."

"Let us hope my son is found," Freya said. "That will take the fire out of their furnace." She turned at another knock, her brother Durin. He stepped into her sitting room and gave her a hug.

"It is good to see you, sister," he said, looking her up and down. "Even in white, you are a vision. How are things in the Iron Hills?"

"Prosperous," Freya answered, going to the sideboard to fetch her brother a drink.

"I've been sounding out the other families," Durin said, settling himself on the couch. "The Ered Luin will not support you."

"Because I am a woman."

Durin smiled. "That is part of the reason, but not all of it. It is because of our father."

"Because the Seven Families do not want the children of Thorin Oakenshield on the thrones of all three of the richest kingdoms," Thror said quietly, almost to himself.

Durin nodded. "I cannot tell yet what the Grey Mountains will do, they should support you because of our mother. I think we can woo the Forochel, but the Blue Mountains are pushing hard for this cousin. They do not want to wait on the search for your missing son."

"Why? What is their interest in the Iron Hills?" Freya was mystified.

"That is the question to which I do not have an answer yet, but I will. We need to know how this cousin on the throne benefits them." Durin looked into his glass thoughtfully. "The cities of the Ered Luin have been losing population ever since Erebor and Moria were reclaimed. It is all villages of Men along those mountains now, perhaps they have finally admitted their cities are unsustainable."

"Our people do not easily abandon their works," Thror said gravely. "Those cities are many centuries old, the first of our people in this land. I cannot believe they would abandon them unless some great calamity had befallen them."

Durin waved his hand dismissively. "The same calamity has been felt by us all, Dwarves are simply not numerous enough to compete with Men."

"It would have to be more than that," Thror frowned at him. "The only reason they would leave is if they were driven out, if the cities were suddenly uninhabitable."

"But if something has befallen them, a great sickness or their halls have collapsed, they need only ask for help," Freya said. "We would be happy to offer them a home amongst us. There is no need to conspire for the throne."

"Unless they are playing a different game," Durin said.

"What do you mean? They want something from the Iron Hills only the crown will grant them?" Freya frowned at her brother, trying to fit the pieces together in her head. The crown would mean command over all in the Iron Hills. Her eyes went wide. "Do you mean they want my army?"

"With their own forces and the fabled might of the Iron Hills, they would be strong enough to take Erebor, maybe even Moria," Durin met his sister's eyes, his face grim.

"You cannot be serious!" Thror exclaimed. "The army of the Iron Hills would never march against their kin in Erebor!"

Durin shrugged. "We are only discussing possibilities." He turned toward Freya. "Have you arranged a marriage for your daughter yet? You may be able to stall them if they think they have a chance to put one of their princes on the throne."

"My daughter is barely of age!" Freya was shocked her brother would even suggest such a thing.

"We are trying to avoid a war. You may need to offer them something."

"My daughter is not going to marry someone she does not love," Freya crossed her arms and glared at her brother.

Durin laughed. "Did you love your husband? Did Thorin love our mother?"

"Don't you love your wife?" Freya shot back.

Durin shrugged. "Love has very little to do with it. She is from a distinguished family, she has given me an heir, she gets all the jewels and dinner parties she wants."

"Peace, brother!" Thror exclaimed. "We all watched our father endure a loveless marriage, our sister simply does not want her daughter to repeat his mistake."

Durin glared at him. "It was not a mistake. The other families would never have accepted half-breed children as the heirs of Durin, they would have marched to war." He tossed back his drink and held up his empty glass. "But enough ancient history. Tell me what steps you have taken to find this missing son of yours."

Freya looked pointedly at Durin's glass until he got up himself to refill it. She was a little annoyed that her brother seemed to think of her as a servant. He was king of the richest and largest kingdom of the Dwarves, but she was a Queen, too. "I have sent riders in all directions, to spread the word. I have offered a large reward for news of his whereabouts, enough to get Men looking for him as well as Dwarves. There is no news yet, but it is early days. I wish I had some idea where he went."

Freya leaned her head on Thror's shoulder, he put a hand on her knee. "He will be found," he told her.

"I only hope he is found alive," Freya said wistfully. She hoped that he would be, but knew she must be prepared for the worst. "When he left Borin sent many Dwarves to search for him, and they never found any sign. All I can think is we must be looking in the wrong places."

Durin snorted. "Where do you look for a Dwarf has no interest in forging or working metal? Perhaps he has found work as a fishmonger."

"Durin, be nice," Thror told him. He disliked the way his little brother sometimes talked down to their sister. Durin had never been able to get past how their father had favored his only daughter. Even though Thorin had handed him the crown of Moria over his eldest son, Durin still liked to needle her. Thror had never had his brother's ambition, his father had told him from the first he would succeed to the throne in Erebor and he had tried to do his father proud. All he had ever wanted for his little sister was to be happy. He hoped however this ended that she found joy again, it had so long been absent from her life. He was about to further admonish his brother when there was the sound of bells from the halls below.

"Time for dinner," Freya said, getting to her feet. "Let us present a united front."

From his place in the gallery Tivan watched his Queen as she made her way into the long dining hall on the arm of the King of Erebor. He had not seen that dress before, she must have had it made just for this occasion. High-waisted, elegantly embroidered and adorned with tiny white gems that sparkled in the lamplight, she outshone all the other ladies of the court. The Queen was always reminding him she was an old lady, but she was barely a hundred and twenty and looked much younger. Tivan remembered well the first time he had seen her, back when he was plying his trade in Moria. He had happened to be near the gate when the carriage from the Iron Hills arrived. Curious, he had gone to offer a hand to the occupants, unprepared for the beauty who set her hand in his and stepped down from her seat. He remembered every detail, her slim figure, her dark hair caught back in a single braid, her clothes elegant but unadorned, so different from other noblewomen. But it was her violet eyes that had practically stopped his heart, so full of kindness, and steel, and deep sadness. She had smiled at him, leaving her hand in his just a moment longer than was really necessary. That smile inspired him to write some of what would become his most popular love songs. Later, he even got to sing a few of them for her at one of the King's feasts. When the King of the Iron Hills made him a sizable offer, Tivan agreed at once. He would have done it for much less, to have such a beautiful muse.

As she crossed the hall the Queen looked up at Tivan. He was rewarded with a small smile, before she leaned over to say something to her brother. The tiara of white stones she was wearing tonight reminded him of the one she had worn when he painted her portrait a few years ago. Those were some of his happiest memories, they had talked for hours as he painted and after remained close friends. Tivan secretly hoped they might one day become more than that, it had not taken him long to see that she and the King were estranged. But while they often traded good-natured banter, the Queen was careful that nothing improper passed between them. She had no doubt taken a lesson from her father's rather scandalous behavior.

The grand hall was full to bursting with the royal guests who had come to see the King laid to rest. The tables groaned under platters laden with all manner of delicacies, casks of fine ales and great slabs of meat, the fine crystal and silver reflecting the light of roaring hearths. Freya took her place in the King's seat, with her brothers on either side, and raised a toast to begin the feast. The Queen did know how to make an impression; the three children of Thorin Oakenshield seated together at the same table. Let the other kingdoms chew on that. The bard knew he was not alone in wanting to see her take the throne of the Iron Hills herself. He was not so sure her son was even interested, if he was still alive.

Tivan had known Nain when the prince came to Moria years ago. The two of them found much in common, as neither was interested in traditional Dwarven pursuits. For Tivan it was his music, and his painting. For Nain it was books. The prince had an encyclopedic knowledge of Dwarven history and could talk for hours about the families and how they all fitted together. The two of them would walk around the city and Nain would point out carvings and talk about their meaning. Tivan liked to tease him he was going to be the only Dwarven king known for his library instead of his treasury. Nain seemed ambivalent about a crown; he never talked about it, only about his desire to see all the kingdoms and learn their traditions. He would never discuss why he had left his home, Tivan had heard the rumors it was about a woman but it was really not his business.

Early one morning after he had been in Moria for several years Nain knocked on his door dressed as a common tradesman, the hood of his homespun cloak over his head. He was going west, he said, to see the kingdoms of the Ered Luin, would Tivan come with him? The bard had done more than his share of living in the rough, and his star was rising in Moria. He did not want to give up his comfortable life for months of sleeping on the hard ground out in the weather. Nain seemed disappointed, but he understood. In parting, he asked Tivan to swear an oath to tell no one where he had gone. The bard thought it was an odd thing to ask, but he valued their friendship and swore. That had been fifteen years ago.

As the evening wore on, the bard and his fellow musicians strolled about the hall, playing requests when they got them and entertaining the guests who were soon gathering in groups, as was the custom at Dwarven parties. They had many requests for love songs from the ladies, Tivan's fellow musicians often teased him the women wouldn't even look their way when he was around. Tivan always collected a few room keys with his tips, though he had not used one in many years. Throughout the evening the talk of succession seemed to be on everyone's lips. There was much speculation about how quickly the armies of Moria and Erebor would march to support the Queen. It gave the bard a shock, he could not believe there was talk of war already, when the renewed search for the prince had only just started. He was glad to hear Lord Trond, who commanded the armies of the Iron Hills, loudly declare his loyalty to the Queen. "I will do all in my power to make sure she remains on the throne," Tivan heard him say, to much nodding and agreement from the lords who made up the King's Council.

Long past midnight, after his part in the wake was over, Tivan took a stroll through the quiet streets as was his custom to relax after a night of performing. He strolled out to the rampart over the gate, paused to look at the foothills marching off to the south. It was a pleasant night, but the air had the chill of winter soon to come. He felt his purse heavy on his belt and decided to count out his tips, knowing he had done well this evening. As he was organizing the coins he felt someone approaching and was startled to see it was the Queen. She had set her jewelry aside and was wearing a fur-trimmed cloak over her white gown, closed tight at her neck against the evening air.

"Your majesty," Tivan jumped to his feet, bowing low.

"It seems we are both restless tonight," Freya smiled at him. "Now it is my turn to apologize for disturbing you."

"You will never in your life have reason to apologize to me, my queen," Tivan said quickly. "I was just thinking how much this view would be improved by your presence."

Freya laughed. "Careful! You will make me blush," she leaned on the rampart, looking at the view. "Perhaps I needed your company tonight after all."

Tivan joined her, careful to keep a respectful distance. "I am honored to aid you in any way I can."

They stood for a moment in silence, a cool breeze came up over the hills, bringing the scent of brown grass and damp earth. Freya straightened and pulled her cloak closer about her. Tivan had to grab the stone to keep himself from stepping over to put his arm around her, to pull her close to his body's warmth. It was not his place to touch her without permission.

"My brother reminded me that you knew my son when he lived in Moria," the Queen said. "I remember you talking about it before. Tell me again, what did you do together?"

Tivan was happy to talk as long as she would listen. He told her about the walks they had taken around the great city, about Nain's fascination with the history of their people, how he had made a particular study of Freya's father, the great King Thorin Oakenshield.

"I think he knew everything your father ever did," Tivan said.

"Not everything," Freya replied. "There were years he spent in Dorsai, Kaylea's land. We do not know what he did there, only that he was changed by it."

"Changed? In what way?"

Freya took a deep breath, her eyes far away. "My father was a very hard man, but I could always sense the little bit of softness he held deep inside. When he came back from the Dorsai it was gone. He had become like her, steel all the way through."

Tivan had always been curious about Kaylea Wolf, he knew many songs about her great deeds, most spoke of her great beauty but little about the warrior herself. "What was she like, the King's Woman?" He asked.

"She was all the things you have heard, and many others besides." Freya smiled at the memory. "It is hard to know where to begin. She was so very different from anyone I have ever known."

"Is it true she was like one of the Elves?"

"Kaylea was a bit like them, like she came from some other world. Not the same world as the Fair Folk, though she was as beautiful as one. Hers was about the deadly arts, about training to perfection. She commanded armies in her own land and when she spoke men jumped to obey, even in silks you could tell she was a deadly fighter. And she was as wise as a wizard, she had a way of knowing what you were thinking and she would ask questions that always cut straight to the heart of the matter. When he came back from her land, my father was the same."

This made Tivan remember something else about Thorin Oakenshield, the rumors that Kaylea had used some kind of magic to stop him from ageing. "Forgive me, but wasn't your father quite old when he went to her land?"

Freya laughed. "Yes, he was near three hundred. But until the last time I saw him, my father never looked older than a Dwarf of eighty. He was truly deathless," her eyes grew sad. "Until he died."

Again, Tivan had to stop himself from laying a hand on hers, to put his arm around her and comfort her. "I am sorry, I did not mean to bring up painful memories."

"It was quite a long time ago now," the Queen voice was wistful. "But I still miss him every day."

"I do not think you can ever get over the death of your father," Tivan said. "Nor should you."

Freya turned toward him with a weak smile, she laid her hand on his and gave it a quick squeeze. "Thank you," she said. Tivan grasped her hand and held it for a moment before she pulled it back to adjust her cloak around her. "I think I will turn in now, thank you for the company."

"My queen…," Tivan began, before he could stop himself and instantly regretting it. His heart was pounding from the touch of her hand. Freya was looking at him, waiting for him to go on. He shook his head. "It is nothing. Sleep well."

The Queen was studying him closely now. "Tivan, this is the second time today you have given me reason to questions your intentions. I command you to speak plainly."

Tivan knelt down on one knee, his head bowed. "I beg of you, do not ask that of me, your majesty. I am forever your faithful servant. Please forgive me if I have let our friendship make me forget my place."

Freya paused, studying him for a long moment before answering. "Very well, I will let it pass this time. But once more and I will have you speak." She turned and walked back toward her rooms.

Tivan took a deep breath as he rose to his feet. He chided himself for not being in better control of himself, the last thing he wanted was for Freya to send him from her presence. He made his way back to his quarters thinking that it had suddenly occurred to him he might know where to find Nain. He wanted to do it himself, for his Queen. It would mean leaving the Iron Hills, but he might not have to be gone for long. Lying in bed that night he fell asleep imagining the smile on his Queen's face when he returned with her long-lost son.