I am alive! I promise, I had no intentions of waiting almost 5 months before posting again. Between work eating up all of my time and my BF moving in, I haven't had much time to focus on writing. No guarantees of when the next one will be posted, but hopefully it won't take quite so long. I'm definitely out of my writing groove, so please excuse any errors/weird bits that make no sense. Enjoy and let me know what you think :)
"Our scars make us know that our past was for real"―Jane Austen,Pride and Prejudice
The sun was high above the mountain top before Dis finally decided that she could no longer put off the inevitable. Deep in her stone-walled room, she remained huddled under her quilt, glaring at the maids working to light oil lamps that dotted the room. "Fix this," Thorin had demanded the night before. "Tell Signi the truth."
Throwing back her blankets she rose and plopped down in front of her vanity in a huff. Her maids scurried away to avoid the Durin temper that was rumbling beneath the surface. Dis paid them little mind. It was her brother who would be receiving any wrath she felt.
Really, she thought as she combed the snarls out of her hair and beard, he ought to be more appreciative of her help. Mahal only knows when he would ever get the guts to begin courtship himself. Now that Signi had a proper received a proper gift with Thorin's name attached to it, she could quit denying that the king was fascinated by her.
A knock on the door interrupted Dis' thoughts. She was not aware of the exact hour, but it was far too soon for visitors. Tying the sash to her blue dressing gown, she headed across the room to answer the door. Signi, to her surprised, was standing on the other side, book in hand.
"Good morning," Dis said brightly, her eyes glued to the familiar book. "Do come in! I will have the maid bring tea right away."
"There is no need," Signi interrupted. "This is a short visit. I came to return this book that you seemed to have misplaced."
Dis cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. The nerve of the girl was both amusing and infuriating "What makes you think I 'misplaced' that book? I have never seen that particular book, and I haven't the faintest idea how it got in your hands," she said in her loftiest tone.
"I somehow doubt that," Signi smirked. "It was not difficult to trace it back to you."
With a sigh, Dis seemed to deflate in the doorway. Beckoning for Signi to follow, she retreated to her parlor and sat on one of the blue sofas. Signi sat across from her and tossed the book on the table between them.
"So you figured out that it came from me. How so?" Dis asked.
Signi's smirk seemed to grow at Dis' confession. "The gift was suspicious from the start," she explained. "Neither of the Thorins would give me such a thing, and neither has a reason to send a gift."
"Neither Thorin?" Dis asked in confusion. "Oh surely you did not think –"
"It didn't specify which one," Signi muttered, her cheeks growing flush.
"But the note!" Dis cried. "The note should have made it obvious."
"The note only made it obvious that it was you or Balin who sent it. The king knows better than to send me a book like that. And why in the world would he send me a gift? He has no intentions that include surprise presents. It was definitely not from him."
"Don't be so sure about the king's intentions," Dis chuckled. If only Signi knew what Thorin had prepared for her. "If it was obvious that my brother did not send it, how did you know it wasn't from Stonehelm?"
The redness in Signi's cheeks deepened as she tried to formulate an answer. "Stonhelm would be ridiculous enough to send a book of poetry to a lady, but he would never dare try it with me. We have known each other since we were babes; he has no intentions of pursuing a romance between us. All of his actions seem to be in direct response to the king's foolish behavior."
"Stubborn," Dis corrected sharply. "My brother's hard-head may be as impenetrable and single-minded as Dain's battle goats, but he does not participate in the childish games of that young dwarf lord."
Signi rolled her eyes and scowled. "I do believe it was the King, not Stonehelm, who has forbidden me from helping the workers from Dale. It was the king who has ordered me to remain locked away in the mountain away from Stonehelm and the soldiers, and yet he turns to his council and declares that this is not the kingdom of isolation created by his forefathers. If it is not games that he plays, then why is he so concerned with my involvement with my childhood friend?"
Dis' sigh, long and deep, was reminiscent of her brother's after a long day in council meetings. Signi was not wrong in her opinion, but she was not accurate either. The princess did not know what had specifically caused the rift between Thorin and his young cousin, so discreet he had been in ejecting Stonehelm from Ered Luin, but she knew that the king was justified in his actions. Stonehelm was both a crook and a rake, but his handsome features, fierce skill with an axe, and smooth silvered tongue made him a most appealing dwarf.
"Thorin may not be the fool you think him to be," Dis said slowly, her blue eyes holding Signi in a fixed gaze. "But he hasn't the first clue in dealing with dwarrowdams. So long has he been a father to his people, providing a home and protection to the largest population of dwarves in all of Arda, he has not taken a moment to learn about interacting with those closest to him. His first instinct is to protect the ones he loves, and he will go to any length to make sure they are safe from all the dangers of the world. Even if it means locking a dwarrowdam away in the mountain to protect her from her own ill-planned efforts of generosity. I suggest that you give him a chance to explain himself before jumping to more conclusions."
Signi did not answer. Glaring down at her knees, she avoided looking directly at Dis. "Speaking and listening has never been a strong point for the two of us."
"Mahal Almighty, that is the understatement of the year," Dis muttered. "Let's not dwell on this nonsense any longer. Clearly I can't tempt you to turn a favorable eye toward my brother with just book of poetry."
Thorin had purposely timed Bard's arrival at Erebor's main gate to occur just before the noonday bell. It was at this time that fat lords trotted down the stairs to take their lunch in the Great Hall, as laborers also made their way up from the forges and mines in droves. It was the first time since Thorin had taken the throne that man had entered the great mountain, and the King wanted all to see how graciously his guest would be welcomed.
Bard arrived precisely on time – exactly as the dwarf king had expected. Thorin stood on the bridge with a small delegation of council members and guards. Dain also stood beside him, armored from head to toe, grumbling under his breath that the beggar king was "itching to pocket some gold" and that Thorin would be "letting the woodland fairies in next." Brasi had also made his displeasure about the surprise meeting known when he suggested a review of the council's role and authority at the next assembly.
Thorin ignored the disgruntled party behind him, as he stood with his head held high, his sister and nephew beside him. The advice of Mikel Wordsmith had replayed through his mind all morning as preparations were made. "Do not place yourself above the bowman or place him beneath you…Both of you want to ensure that your people's needs are met and nothing more… Bard holds no grudge against you or your family, so lay aside yours of his grandfather." The advice was sound, but it did not make it any easier to greet the Bard without the barrier of his golden crown to remind him of Thorin's strength and wealth. "The king of Dale lives in a house of wood and wears the same linen that the fishermen of Esgaroth wear," Mikel had said. "Do not flaunt the gold of Erebor and offer him slag and expect him to be thankful that you offered something."
Bard led the group, closely followed by his son, Bain, and his guard. The final ring of the noon bell was fading as the horses clattered to a stop.
"Welcome," Thorin boomed with the warmest grimace he could muster. Behind him he could hear the distinctive clank of Dis' boot hitting Dain's armored shin signaling him to shut up.
"Thank you for the invitation, albeit short notice," Bard said as he dismounted. "But one does not turn away a chance to enter the golden halls of Erebor."
Thorin felt his stomach clench at Bard's mention of Erebor gold. There was a reason men weren't allowed invited to enter the kingdom. "I can assure you that tales of my halls have been greatly exaggerated," Thorin chuckled, squashing the sickness that threatened to surface.
"Perhaps," smirked Bard, "But you can't blame me for hoping to be amazed by great horde of Thror."
"Perhaps," Thorin agreed through gritted teeth.
The kings walked side by side into the mountain, with their respective family members trailing behind, keeping the council a fair distance away.
Bard's eyes were wide as they moved through the entrance hall, his gaze flickering over each stone and sconce, studying the intricate detailing that had been constructed centuries before.
"Your halls may not be cloaked in gold," he marveled, "But they are quite extraordinary."
"Yes, we think so as well," Thorin answered, his own smirk hidden beneath his beard.
The Great Hall was bursting with dwarves gathered for luncheon. Loud and boisterous as dwarves tend to be, it was easy for the king and his guest to enter the hall unnoticed and take a seat at the head table. It was rare that Thorin dined with his residents, but he had a point to make to the King of Dale.
Right away, Thorin spotted Signi seated at her favorite table with Gimli and Lifa. Dressed in her usual green gown, the king had just a moment to admire the way the color complimented her rich brown braid and rosy cheeks before she turned her wide eyes upon him. Meeting her shocked expression with a solemn nod, he quickly turned away lest he be too distracted to finish the meeting he had planned.
"Is it always this loud in here?" Bard asked, nearly shouting as he took a seat beside Thorin. Kili and Dis sat on his other side providing a barrier between him and his council. He may not be able to meet with the king privately, but Thorin would be damned Brasi or Dain interfered with his plans.
"Aye," Thorin answered. "We dwarves believe in good food and good company. It's good for the spirits when you spend most of your life without the sight of day."
Bard shuddered. "I don't know how your kind can stand remaining underground for weeks at a time."
"Much like I don't understand how your kind can stand spending hours on a boat each day," Thorin growled.
Bard's reply was lost as servants arrived carrying trays laden with meats, cheeses, fresh baked bread, and ale. Thorin watched the beggar king closely as his eyes widened at sheer volume of food before him, his mouth twisting into a frown.
"You need not have prepared so much for me," he said quietly, "I was not aware that you had intended a feast for a simple meeting."
"This is no feast," Thorin answered, gesturing toward the piles of food. "This is lunch."
Bard's brow lowered, his expression tight as he selected a roll and bit of cheese, stubbornly refusing to even look at the side of pork resting between him and the dwarf king.
"Eat, man!" Thorin growled, slapping a large portion of pork onto Bard's plate. "I know food is scarce in Dale, but you do not need to make your sacrifices here."
Bard's fork hovered over the pork as though he was not thoroughly convinced, before finally sinking in and stabbing a thick chunk. His eyes closed as his mouth closed over the bite, clearly savoring the taste as he chewed.
"How long has it been since you have eaten meat?" Thorin asked quietly.
Swallowing his bite and washing it down with a generous gulp of ale, Bard bowed his head slightly. "Before the dragon came, I could poach a deer or rabbit now and then to feed the children. But since the fields and woodlands around Esgaroth have been burned, even that much has been scarce. The lake gives us fish, and a few small acres are still viable, but that is about all we have."
It was worse than Thorin thought. Hunting around Erebor had fared much better. Dwarves did not sow seed, but he had been able to get crops from Ered Luin and Hobbiton.
"Does the elf king offer nothing from his harvest?" Thorin snarled. Thranduil may be a greedy bastard, but his farmers on the outer reaches of his kingdom produced far more than the elves needed.
"Oh he has suggested an arrangement," Bard growled with a sidelong glance at the king. "But Thranduil offers nothing without an impossible price. I cannot risk my citizens' safety by playing into the elf king's grudges."
"No, that would not be wise," Thorin agreed, fighting to keep his tone light and even. That bloody elf! Of course he would try to use Dale's placement to his favor. What did he intend to do? Seed the city with a few of his spies? Line the battlements with elven archers? A small price for a bit of food.
"But he is not the only one to make offers to help," Bard said. "You know that it is not charity that my kingdom needs. We have had nothing for so long, life has not changed in that regard. You have brought me here to show my how much you can offer, name your impossible price. Free passage up the River Running? Spies on trade missions? Maybe an assassination attempt? I have heard it all at this point, nothing will surprise me."
Thorin silently counted to ten before he answered, giving himself time for his defensiveness to recede and the fevered ache in the pit of his stomach to fade. The offer had to seem genuine; his voice had to be calm. "I have asked you here to make an offer," he said slowly, leaning toward Bard as though keeping the conversation between them. Across the room, he was acutely aware of Signi watching his every move and it unnerved him to no end.
"But I like to think that the price is not so impossible."
Bard shook his head. "I somehow doubt that. You know, I have had many offers for help: Dor-Winion, Gondor…and yet every offer comes with questioning. 'Have you seen the gold of Erebor?' or 'Trade with Erebor must be going well.' Every kingdom wants a piece of Erebor's gold, yet none of them can get close enough to even see if it is real. How is it that you have not made any offers to these kingdoms, yet you are begging me and my penniless countrymen to join your kingdom in partnership?"
"Those kingdoms are not deserving of Erebor's gold," Thorin growled. "Who helped me and my kind when we lost everything to dragon fire? Not one offered us shelter or food. They turned their backs to us, locked their gates. Only Esgaroth helped us in a time of need, but it was with the promise of treasure. Now I am not proud of how I behaved after we took the mountain. I am well aware of the terrible deeds I committed in days after the dragon was released, and the plight is has brought upon your people. No amount of amends made on my part can take away that pain and suffering.
"But I also remember the kindness that you and your family offered to me and my kin. You gave us food, shelter, and clothing. You took in my nephew when he was poisoned by a morgul arrow. That is something I can never forget nor repay."
Bard sat back in his chair, sipping his beer as he processed Thorin's words. The inner turmoil was written all over his face. It seemed that nerve had finally been struck, and Thorin silently prayed to Mahal that it would bring Bard to his side.
"Fine," Bard finally sighed, plunking his mug on the table. "I will hear you out, but I am not making any promises."
Upon entering her chambers, Dis quickly checked to make sure none of the mountain's staff happened to be dusting the mantle or polishing her silver tea service. Thorin had entrusted her once again with hiding the most recent message from Fili, so she could not risk anyone having any indication of where she might be stowing the scraps of parchment.
In the armoire was an old box, buried deep beneath her furs and beaded boots. Any maid who entered the room knew that this box was off limits. There was nothing too valuable or special hidden within, just bits of stone, dried flowers, and engraved steel beads. Trinkets that didn't amount to much to most, but meant the world to Dis for it was all that she had left of her late husband. Most days the box stayed out of sight, but lately Dis had been getting into it on a regular basis to hide the messages from Fili. She tried just popping the notes into the box and then putting it away without thinking about the other contents, but she usually ended up spending most of the evening looking at each item and reliving the memories that they held.
This day would have been no exception, had there not been a knock on the door. With no maids present to answer the door, Dis quickly stuffed the box back in the armoire and ran to the front room herself.
Lifa stood on the other side, apologizing profusely for bothering her.
"None of that," said Dis, waving her hand dismissively. "Do come in, you have been trying to get a hold of me for some time now and I have been shamefully negligent in arranging for a visit."
Lifa flushed at the mention of her many attempts to meet with Dis. It was true that an unnatural boldness had taken over the young lady, and she sought an audience with the king's sister. It had not seemed so unusual when Fili was still in Erebor. But without him there, Dis could not think of what would possess the girl to call. And in all honesty, she had been dreading such a meeting.
Together they moved to the blue sofas, taking a seat across from each other. Dis made a half-hearted suggestion of getting tea, but Lifa told her that it wasn't necessary.
"I do not intend to take too much of your time," Lifa said quietly, her head bowed slightly. Dis noted that since her son had left, the girl before her had taken to wearing darker colors and simple braids, rather than the delicate designs she typically preferred. She had not sung at dinner in weeks, choosing instead to converse quietly with Balin or her father.
"Please forgive me," Dis said quickly, wincing when she realized how harsh it sounded. "I do apologizing for taking so long to meet with you. Thorin has been keeping me running, between working on his arrangement with Dale, and getting everything prepared for our aunt arriving in a few weeks – she moved up her journey in honor of Vifil and Kara's wedding… I'm sorry, I am rambling…"
"You do not need to apologize," Lifa said. "I actually came here to apologize for becoming a pest…I don't know what came over me. I just thought maybe you would have some answers as to why he – "
"If you are wanting answers about my son's heart, I am afraid I cannot help you," Dis interrupted. "I saw a young dwarf very much enamored by a lovely young lady when he left," she said with a smile. "But I cannot speak further on his behalf."
Lifa met her smile with a watery smile of her own, the corners of her mouth wavering with emotion. "I appreciate that, my Lady,"she whispered. "But what of the king's intentions? I have heard many rumors in the mountain that a contract has been formed for the prince's marriage."
Dis looked away, biting her lip as she tried to formulate an answer. As much as it pained her to crush Lifa's hopes, she knew that the king had a plan, and that plan must be followed. A contract had been written, this was true, but no final agreement had been made. As far as she knew, Thorin had every intention in arranging a marriage between Fili and Lord Brasi's daughter, Miri. Dis swore to Thorin that she would shave his beard clean off if he signed that contract, but the king would not budge. The only consolation, and perhaps the only reason she did not tell Lifa everything she knew, was that Thorin demanded that no agreement would be made until Fili returned to the mountain.
"Thorin has entered negotiations," Dis finally said, each word hitting her like a punch in the gut. "But no agreement will be made until Fili returns. The king considers the prince's desires in this matter as well."
Lifa's lip trembled, but she fought valiantly against the tears threatening to fall. "I haven't a hope then," she whispered, more to herself than to Dis. Quickly she stood, giving a short curtsey as she attempted to leave.
"Wait!" Dis cried, moving swiftly after her to the door. "It may not be as dire as you think. Fili loves you and will not agree to such a marriage. It is all just a formality."
"He cares for her more than you think," Lifa said, turning her head to hide the tears that finally spilled over.
"What do you mean?"
"The messages that he sends her by raven," Lifa explained. "Just this morning Miri said that he was leaving Hobbiton. That Bilbo Baggin's has made him fat with mutton and cider."
Dis felt as though she had plunged deep into the icy waters of Long Lake. Not an hour had passed since Thorin gave the most recent note to her from Fili. The note in which he spoke most fondly of his visit with their dear friend, Bilbo Baggins.
A storm that night came sweeping in from the west, with winds that made the trees bow and sway and lightening that lit the sky from the Mirkwood tree line to the shore of Esgaroth. Dain's army tents stood out the storm, their poles buried deep in the ground and the canvas pulled taut to prevent water from gathering. Dwarven soldiers were known for their strength in battle, their unyielding persistence in the very worst of the land's natural conditions. But not one of Dain's fearsome warriors could stand a leaky tent.
For Stonehelm though, the storm brought trouble in the form of a woman.
Lady Miri had arrived just prior to the storm's onset. Stonehelm had welcomed her arrival, as he always did in recent weeks, with open arms and open braies. The couple indulged in their passions long into the night as the winds howled around them and the lightening coincided with their climaxes.
More than an hour had passed since Stonehelm fell back onto his feather mattress, spent from fulfilling Miri's exhaustive desires, and still she would not leave. The storm raged outside, making it impossible for her to sneak back into the mountain. Instead she busied herself by lounging against him wrapped in his blanket, running a finger through the hair rippling down his abdominals.
"My cloak would do quite well to keep the rain off of you," he said, groaning as her strokes dipped lower yet again. He could not possibly continue in such a matter, yet his traitorous body responded to her touch like the billowed flames deep in Erebor's forges.
"And how would explain your cloak being in my rooms in the morning?" Miri asked with saccharine patience.
Stonehelm groaned again and pushed away from her roving touch, sitting up to get dressed once again. Miri was driving him mad. Their time in Ered Luin had been fleeting, with moments of stolen kisses and nightly visits, each peppered with feigned conversation. At that time Miri listened to Stonehelm's ambitions, speaking only to promise him support and sons once they married. But now the roles had reversed and Stonehelm thought he might resort to murder if he had to hear about Fili one more time.
"….Father says that Thorin won't agree to the contract until Fili returns. He doesn't know what is taking so long, but we all know damned well that he won't give Fili a choice in the matter. Father has got the king by his bollocks, and there isn't much he can do about it…"
Stonehelm gritted his teeth as he groped the bedside table for his whisky. Mahal help him, Miri had to go.
"…I wish we could just figure out what he is up to. He is obviously going to Ered Luin, but why? And he is moving fast. Just this morning the raven said he was leaving Hobbiton. He will be in Ered Luin by the week's end…."
"Wait, the raven said that this morning?" Stonehelm asked, turning to face her again. "I thought the king started hiding the notes better."
Miri rolled her eyes. "Do you seriously not listen to a word I say? I don't need those notes. I have another source."
"Oh? How so? You can't be getting them from the raven-keeper. That crusty old dwarf hasn't retained a coherent thought since Smaug was a hatchling."
"No, no, no," Miri said, shaking her head irritably. "He is hopeless. It's the person who delivers the note that I can count on. Apparently he has got some big debts in Dale's alehouses. I might have agreed to help eliminate those debts for a small price…"
Of course, that would be how she did it. Miri was as free with her purse as she was with her virginity. How many times had he fallen prey to her seductions in exchange for debt to her father being paid off?
"….he actually reminds me of another dwarf I know. Can't keep his cock or his bets to himself. Always happy to take my offers…"
"Enough!" he shouted, slamming his whisky bottle against the table. Her constant nagging, never ending plotting, was more than he could stand.
Slowly, Miri stood, the blanket pooling around her feet. She was painfully beautiful, but she was deadly when she was vengeful. Miri's anger never manifested itself in rage or in violence. Miri's anger was calm, collected, and delayed until long after the moment had passed.
As she stood before him, Stonehelm felt his guts clench at what would be in store for him now. Miri was cruel, even more so than her father. Her reaction might be as slight as denying him pleasure until she felt his sentence served, or it might be a cruel as tortured death by paid assassins, as she had done with previous lovers.
She did not speak as she dressed to leave. She simply kept her eyes fixed one him, watching him like a snake waiting to strike, until her final lace had been tied. Not bothering to take his cloak, she stepped gracefully out of the tent and left him in silence.
Stonehelm groaned as he flopped down on his bed, his body weak from their exertions. Dwarrowdams it seemed were quickly becoming more trouble than they were worth.