I can't explain it. The words keep flowing out of my fingers. I suspect it is mostly avoidance of work I should be doing, but I'm not going to stop it! Thank you for all of the awesome reviews! I really appreciate all the input I get and I am glad you are enjoying the story. Hopefully this chapter clears up a few things, but I have a feeling it will just lead to more questions ;) Let me know what you think!
It was painful, exceedingly painful, to know that they were under obligations to a person who could never receive a return. – Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice.
Thorin's head ached under the weight of his crown, his body sweating beneath the thick layers of his fur cloak, but none could tell as he sat straight backed and regal on his throne, waiting for the elven guests to arrive. There were two of them, tall and lithe, floating serenely towards him. Their weapons had been left at the door as Dwalin commanded, but Thorin knew that elves did not require a sword or bow to be deadly.
They did not bow as they came to a stop before him, their cold eyes meeting his with defiance. Instantly, Thorin felt his temper flare at their disrespect, coiling like a mighty dragon in his gut and beating its wings against his chest. Dealings with the Mirkwood elves continued to be difficult, long after the battle had been won.
"Do you not bow before the King?" snarled a voice to Thorin's right. He did not turn to verify if it was in fact his kind and loving nephew, as shocking as the thought was. Kili was a lover of elves and never had Thorin expected him confront them in such a way.
"He is not our king," said the elf introduced as Eradhil, his lip curling in a smirk as he locked eyes with Thorin.
Kili stepped forward, challenging the impetuous elf. "You are in the Kingdom of Erebor," he growled, "and if you wish to have an audience with the king, then you must show him respect."
The elf scowled and turned toward his companion, Caranthir, seeking affirmation. Caranthir nodded, his gaze expressionless as he stepped forward. Slowly he bowed before the king, Eradhil following with a look of contempt.
The dragon within slumbered once more as Thorin's lips curled smugly beneath his beard.
"You have traveled far from your home," he said, watching as the elves rose, their shoulders squared as though they were attempting to salvage whatever remained of their dignity. "It is not often that a woodland elf deigns to enter these halls. Remind me, Kili, when was the last time elves stood before my throne?"
"That would have been before Smaug arrived, sir. Nearly 200 years ago," Kili answered, his voice mirroring that of his uncle's. Thorin was pleased by this change in his nephew. Perhaps he should have sent Fili away sooner. Kili was finally growing into his role as Prince of Erebor.
"You must forgive our Lord Thranduil for not returning sooner," Eradhil answered. "200 years is a mere blink of an eye for an elf."
"There is nothing that I 'must forgive'!" Thorin barked, his voice echoing deep into the chamber. "I will not forgive your king's refusal to help my people when our home was destroyed. Or his imprisonment as we reclaimed our kingdom! I won't forgive how he surrounded my walls with his army and threatened my kin. Or how he now seeks to turn my neighbors against me by offering an honorable king sustenance for his people in exchange for my head!"
The elves were silent, unwavering as the last of Thorin's tirade poured over them.
Sighing deeply, the king knew that he could not continue in this manner. Yelling at the messenger did nothing to convey his anger at the source.
"What message does your king send?" he asked, his voice low in an attempt to remain calm.
The Carathir stepped forward once more, raising his hand to still his companion who appeared to be on about to enter his own tirade. "Our king sent us to you concerning the orcs that continue to ravage our lands."
"Yes, we too are dealing with orcs on Erebor lands," Thorin said impatiently. It was no secret that orc populations were growing and spreading all over Arda. Many of the orc tribes poured out of Gundabad, trickling through the Misty Mountains and moving East along the Grey Mountains. To the South, there seemed to be more and more near Mordor and Haradwaith. Although Orcs edged the perimeter of Erebor, the dwarves were able to drive them away from the keep.
"You are dealing with those that threaten your lands only," the elf continued. "The woodland army is covering the entire Mirkwood to the Anduin, the Brown Lands, Esgaroth, and Dale. It is more than our numbers can handle."
"Your army is ten times the size of Erebor's," Kili snarled. "You cannot expect the dwarves to cover as much area as your soldiers can. You have manned outposts as far as Emyn Muil. For a king so bent on isolation, Thranduil seems to have no problem sending away his best warriors. "
"The dwarf prince knows much about our army," said the Eradhil with a sneer.
"What is it that Thranduil asks of me," Thorin said, signaling Kili to stand down.
"My Lord wishes for us to inform you that we will no longer patrol the lands to the east and north of our realm. Your kin in the Iron Hills shall continue to patrol their lands, but it now falls on the kingdoms of Erebor and Dale to scour their own lands."
Silently, Thorin cursed Mahal and Durin both. For every step forward they made in building their kingdom and partnering with Dale, some evil bastard with too much power to his head had to knock them down.
"And is your king aware that Dale is in no position to patrol their lands? Is your king aware that the people of Dale are starving and living in squalor?" Thorin growled.
"The people of Dale are no longer our concern after the bowman has refused my king's generosity," answered the Eradhil. "Many of our brothers and sisters died protecting your people and those men. We will not make our sacrifices any longer."
Thorin did not argue, knowing that there was no point. Thranduil would never change, his stance on alliances unwavering over the ages. Erebor's armies were already stretched more than was it was safe, and Dale had little to offer.
With nothing more to discuss, Thorin dismissed the elves, he and Kili glaring after them with shared looks of contempt.
"What are we going to do?" Kili asked after the elves were gone. Any fierceness that his voice held with the elven audience was replaced by the sort of worried tone that came with inexperience.
Thorin sighed as he took off his crown, instantly relieving the pain in his temples. What were they going to do? His original plan to build the armies of Dale and Erebor together was going far slower than planned. Although they were several months into building barracks and training facilities, nothing was close to completion. His efforts to provide food to Dale, to help strengthen and build up the health of its residence were nowhere close to progressing. It was a small miracle that Bard agreed to let Signi do what little she could to heal their families.
For a moment he considered the offer that Brasi had made: to build the northern road and provide an army to patrol it. There was no denying that the plan had substance. But Thorin could not bear the thought of Brasi's trollop of a daughter becoming Queen of Erebor upon his death.
As his thoughts always did when left unfettered, Thorin found himself remembering conversations with Signi. She may not always have a solid plan of action, but she could easily identify the root of any problem. As he remembered that night on top of the tower, when he came to see her training Dis and found himself alone with her, his hands guiding her movements as she shadow-sparred, Thorin a tightness in his chest that could only be associated with Signi.
"We must bottleneck them at the source," he breathed, his eyes lighting with an idea. "Gundabad! Of course!"
"What are you talking about?" Kili asked, thoroughly confused by his uncle's sudden madness.
"Gundabad orcs are raiding the Misty Mountains and the Northern Pass. They are the same orcs we are finding at the edges of Erebor and in the Iron Hills," Thorin explain, his eyes darting back and forth as though his thoughts were flowing faster than he could speak. "If we stop them at the source, we will see far less of them here."
"How are we going to stop them at the source when we don't have enough soldiers here?" Kili asked.
"We don't have to," Thorin explained. "The Exiled Kingdom, the ancestral halls of my grandfather lies in Ered Mithrin. The dragons have long since died and left nothing but the ruins, but it is something."
"You want to rebuild?" Kili asked in disbelief. "Is one kingdom not enough?"
"Not a kingdom," Thorin said, closing his eyes in frustration. "A fortress. A fortress that is perfectly located to protect our travelers from Ered Luin, as well as our northern stretches."
"And where will these soldiers come from?"
Thorin grinned, relishing in the idea as it formed in his mind. "It is time that Lord Brasi has something to do with all his influence before it's gone."
The private drawing room of Lord Brasi and his daughter Miri were some of the finest in all of Erebor. At least Stonehelm guessed them to be – he would not know since the king did not allow him to enter the mountain freely.
The invitation to dine with Brasi and his family within the mountain was both an honor and an insult. Stonehelm knew that few were extended such an offer, but Brasi was well aware of the situation that kept Stonehelm camped on the kingdom's lawn.
It was a challenge – Come dine with us, if you are brave enough.
Stonehelm scowled, as he sat next to Brasi's fire after dinner, drinking the finest whiskey he had ever tasted east of the Misty Mountains. In what world should he consider this an honor? The roles should be reversed. Brasi should be knocking down his door just to beg for his table scraps. He was a son of Durin after all.
It had been humiliating to enter the mountain – the very mountain that was rightfully his to rule someday – hiding beneath his hood. The act of sneaking about his own kingdom's halls like a thief…Mahal, he prayed, give me strength to continue this ridiculous charade.
Miri sat nearby. He could feel her presence with every breath he took. She was savage with her vengeance. Just when thought his body was finally free from the incessant craving of hers, with just one look, she would fan his cooling embers into raging flame once more. She had been most cruel on the night of the Labor Day celebration as she danced with each of his officers, but not him. His blood raged through his body, making him blind with lust and jealousy. He fought that night with each of those dwarves who held her in their arms. He fought until he was bloody. He fought until he wept. This was her punishment.
Dinner with Brasi was as Stonehelm expected. While the meal itself was good, the never ending rant against King Thorin left Stonehelm wishing for different company. The king was up to something apparently and he was not disclosing any information. Brasi was losing his hold over Thorin.
"Oakenshield attempts to make a fool of me," Brasi said after dinner, scowling over his own glass of whiskey. "He meets with the bowman in secret, plotting against me. And that Wordsmith and his disgusting daughters! They give themselves airs, thinking themselves more worthy than they ever could be."
Stonehelm felt his anger flare at the mention of Signi and her family. They had been friends their entire lives. He could not easily drag them down for the sake of Brasi's amusement.
"The girls are of the line of Durin," Stonehelm growled. "As am I. It is not airs, as you call it."
"The line of Durin means nothing without the Arkenstone," sneered Brasi.
Stonehelm frowned but did not respond. Of course he was right. The line of Durin fell when Smaug took the mountain. But it should have been his, many times over. He offered to join the quest, to spare Fili and Kili from an untimely death. But Thorin was threatened by Stonehelm's offer, the gold-sickness weakening his mind long before the quest began. He was not wrong in his suspicions, but Stonehelm was insulted by his refusal nonetheless.
There was hope once more when after the Battle of Five Armies, Thorin and his nephews were carried off the field, their bodies bleeding out onto the stone and ice. Not one of them was expected to survive. Dain would return the Arkenstone to its rightful place, and having long ago expressed no desire to take Erebor's throne, would abdicate the crown to his son. But even that plan fell through and all three of them survived.
"The Arkenstone would have been mine," Stonehelm said. "If Azog would have fulfilled his promise." A promise made just outside of Bree. A promise that came with a bag of gold – a price on Oakenshield's head. It was a short detour on his way to Ered Luin, but it was worth every extra mile.
"Without the stone, you are still just a little lordling with nothing but his daddy's army to his name," Brasi said, disdain pouring into every crevice of his voice and demeanor. Stonehelm knew this side of the dwarf well. Brasi became a right bastard to deal with when he was losing.
"I don't see how your plan is going any better," Stonehelm said with a smirk. "You said the Arkenstone would be in my hand by Durin's Day. How are you going to manage that with Fili all the way in Ered Luin?"
"Fili is not part of our plan any longer," Miri said, speaking for the first time all evening. Stonehelm couldn't help noting the jealous tinge to her words.
"Oh?" He asked, his eyebrows raised in feigned surprise. "Did Lifa finally succeed in securing his hand? Is she carrying the newest Durin heir as we speak?" It wouldn't surprise him in the slightest if she was.
Miri's scowl matched her father's. "No, Lifa has given up on the prince long ago, and her maidenly virtue has kept her virginity intact. It is the other one I speak of, Vara."
Stonehelm felt his gut clench at the mention of Vara.
"What does she have to do with all of this?" he asked, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible. Any affection he had for the girl was based solely on an idea. She was a child, nothing more. A child with a massive inheritance.
Miri moved from her seat to his, her bottom coming to rest fully on his lap. Stonehelm ground his teeth in an attempt to distract from the involuntary response that his body produced.
"It seems," she purred, her fingers dropping to trace his abdominals through his tunic, "that our crown prince has found himself a new wife-to-be." Miri grinned when she felt Stonehelm's failing at bodily control, as it paired with the low growl in his throat. Mahal, he could not resist her.
"And Thorin approve of this?" he asked huskily.
"Of course he does," Brasi said, reminding Stonehelm of his presence. Mentally cursing his cock's ability to take over his mind, he tried to shift Miri off of his lap, but she would not budge.
"So we have a new plan," Miri said, her lips brushing against his ear as she spoke. Every hair on his body was standing on end. "And we need you to help us see it through."
It was late when Stonehelm finally managed to escape. His body was taut with lust, anger, and fear. Miri had done a number on him yet again, and in the dark hall, as he stumbled toward the front gates, he cursed her name with every step. Their plan was risky, perhaps even riskier than the meeting with Azog that Brasi had arranged for him, but it would work.
He was almost to the gate when a familiar dwarrowdam rounded the corner, nearly bumping directly into him. In the torchlight, Stonhelm could see Lifa's re-rimmed blue eyes and her tear-streaked cheeks.
"What is wrong," he asked gently, pulling back his hood slightly so she could see his face.
Lifa's expression was stunned by his appearance in the abandoned hall, but she quickly tried to muster a friendly smile to hide the tears.
He knew what was wrong; it was ridiculous to expect her to answer. The thought that the prince could be the source of her tears angered Stonehelm beyond measure. He may not be as close to Lifa as he was Signi, but she was dear to him and he had never met such an innocent dwarrowdam.
"Do not waste your tears on Fili," he said, the anger creeping into his voice. "He was a fool to let Thorin scare him off. And now that he is engaged to another… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that…"
Another tear slipped down Lifa's cheek. "He is engaged? But the king has not signed the contract…."
"Not Lady Miri," Stonehelm said. "He is engaged to Princess Vara, the King's great niece. She still lives in Ered Luin."
Lifa did not linger as more tears began to fall faster than she could hide them. Dipping her head in a quick goodbye, she turned and ran down the hall, fading into the darkness.
Signi sat on the edge of her chair, fighting the urge to swing her legs as her feet dangled several inches above the floor. Everything had to go perfectly at this meeting; King Bard could not be discouraged.
"Stop fidgeting," Kili grumbled as Signi tugged her sleeve for the third time. "You look fine, Bard is not intimidating."
"It's not Bard that I am worried about," she muttered. Thorin had been generous that night. He gave her the very freedom that she had been fighting for. He could just as easily take it away should she make a mess of things. "Distract me, then, if my fidgeting is bothering you so much."
Kili rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair sullenly. "Distract yourself. You're a big girl."
Signi narrowed her eyes at the prince and wrinkled her nose in annoyance. He had been behaving so moodily in the days since her birthday, so much so that she almost did not bring him with her to Dale.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively. Probably not an effective way to get answers, but she did not have the patience to deal with his attitude. Any minute the King of Dale would be walking through the door and she had was not about to present him with a sulking prince of Erebor.
Kili did not reply, choosing instead to mimic her crossed arms with an additional scowl to convey how he was truly feeling.
"Oh, that is real mature, your majesty," Signi said snidely, rolling her eyes. "Well if you aren't going to tell me willingly, I'll just have to kick – " she swung her pointed boot toward his shin "- it out of you!"
"Quit that," Kili hissed, dodging her foot. "Uncle would banish us from the mountain if we screw this up."
"Then maybe you should start giving me answers," She said, swinging her foot again.
The sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway startled the bickering pair, which also distracted Kili from avoiding the kick. Signi's boot collided with Kili's leg, making a distinct thunk. The prince responded with an involuntary swear as he grabbed his throbbing shin and shot Signi an incredulous glare.
Signi thought she might fall through the floor in embarrassment as she turned to meet the eye of a rather amused looking King Bard , his son, and his chief advisor.
"Your majesty," She cried, jumping up and giving Bard a proper curtsey. "Forgive me. Prince Kili and I were…having a discussion." Mahal, leave it to her to screw up the one chance she was given before it even started.
Bard raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips as though he was holding back a chuckle as he watched Kili mutter angrily and rub his sore leg. Behind him, Bain's shoulders shook with silent laughter. Only the advisor that accompanied them seemed unaffected by the scene.
"There is nothing to forgive, my lady," Bard said, gesturing for her to return to her seat. "I have had enough dealings with Erebor's royal family to understand the need to employ such…discussion techniques."
Bard's joke did nothing to help Kili's mood, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and let Signi do the talking.
"You must forgive my king and his nephews," Signi said with a wry smile. "We dwarves are known for our unwavering stubbornness and stony heads. Only those with the hardest and thickest of skulls are worthy of being king."
Bard and Bain laughed openly at this, and even the advisor joined in with a smile. Signi heard Kili muttering "speak for yourself" and was thankful that the men did not understand the dwarven language.
"So you are the dwarf that Thorin had in mind when he first spoke to me about healing our sick. I confess, you are not what I pictured," Bard said as he sat down at his desk. Bain sat next to him, and his unnamed advisor stayed standing near the door.
"Because of my age or my gender?" Signi asked. She was not surprised by this king's assumptions. He, like so many other men, assumed that she was weak.
"Neither," he said with a smile. "Thorin mentioned that his mother had handled the task nearly 200 years ago. I expected someone from the royal family or the company he travelled with three years ago to be the person he had in mind. Does that healer that travelled with you – what was his name?" Bard directed this question at Kili. "Does he still practice his art?"
"Oin. And yes he does," Kili answered, his hand subconsciously running over the scar on his leg.
"I have been consulting with Oin to learn the best ways to treat the sickness," Signi said, hoping that her enthusiasm would be enough to convince Bard. "I think we have a solid plan of action. And with King Thorin leaving the budget at my disposal, I think we can guarantee that all of your sick families are treated."
Bard sat back in his chair, his gaze appraising Signi, searching, she assumed, for something unauthentic in her words and actions.
"I do agree that this all sounds rather appealing. I do not wish for any of my people to be sick and cannot morally deny them access to treatment. But I do question the motive behind this action," Bard said slowly, gauging the reactions of the dwarves as he spoke, watching closely for any shared looks between the two. " The Thorin Oakenshield I met three years ago was a cruel, gold-ravage dwarf who had not the least concern whether or not my people lived through the night. He has since then tried to make amends, but you cannot blame me for not trusting his offers. That Thorin had no problem promising the people of Lake Town gold and riches from Erebor, but threw away those promises the moment we needed them most. How do I know it won't happen again?"
Kili was angry. Signi could see how his face reddened out of the corner of her eye. He sat up straight in his chair, ready to leap up if necessary to defend his uncle. But she was faster, and with a steadying hand on his arm, she kept him in his seat. Turning a fierce glare on Bard, she responded as diplomatically as she could.
"I understand your concerns, sire. But they are unfounded. It is true that King Thorin made some poor decisions in those early days, but he has more than proven his trustworthiness since then. Has he not offered you gold, food, and training? Has he not made these offers and asked nothing in return? Erebor wants for nothing, so therefore seeks nothing.
"My king trusts no other king but you. He sees your kingdom and its struggles. He is not a cruel king, but rather a generous and loving one. Gold may have ravaged his heart and mind, but the uniting force of war against the orcs healed him. He no longer plays into that ridiculous power struggle that the woodland king engages in. He strives to see our two kingdoms become strong once again, to work in tandem as they did in days of old. If you do not wish the same for your people, then you are doing your people a disservice! There is no reason why peace and cooperation cannot happen between Dale and Erebor…if you can remember to forgive the unyielding nature of dwarves."
Signi was a bit out of breath when she finished her passionate speech. Only after she paused for air did she see the wide eyes of Bard, Bain, and Kili. For a frightening moment, she thought she might have ruined the opportunity, and that Bard would send her running back to Erebor with the warning to never come back. Thorin would never forgive her.
There was a silent moment where Signi frantically prayed to Durin and Mahal. Bard shared a wordless look with his advisor. The man nodded to Bard, his stoic expression unchanging.
"Only if your king remembers to forgive the fickle nature of man," Bard said finally with a grin. "I can see why Thorin chose you. You have his passion, but with much more finesse. Rest assured, my lady, you are most welcome in Dale with your healers."
"Thank you, your majesty," Signi said, her voice breathy with relief.
"You know," Bard said slyly. "Your king would be more successful with his offers if he had you to do the speaking. "
Signi was sure she was red from head to toe. Unable to formulate a response to such a question, she bowed her head respectfully, hoping it would suffice.
Bard chuckled at this reaction, amused by her modesty. "Come, my lady," he said as he came around the desk and offered an arm to Signi. "Let us go into the city. I would like you to see what areas have been hit the hardest.
Dis flew down the hall to her brother's office as fast as her feet could carry her. A most urgent raven had arrived that morning and she could not wait until dinner to deliver the message.
Thorin was hunched over his desk when Dis barged in, quill in hand as he scribbled furiously on a piece of paper. She paced the floor impatiently, waiting for him to finish writing down his thoughts.
"What is so urgent, sister, that you could not wait to tell me," Thorin grumbled, not tearing his eyes away from the paper."
"I have just received word from Aunt Katlin," Dis explained, waiting for some sort of reaction from him.
"And?" he said, annoyance creeping into his voice.
"And she will be here much faster than anticipated," Dis said, still not drawing his attention from the paper.
"And?"
Dis huffed and stomped her foot, finally capturing Thorin's gaze. "I don't think you understand, brother. Aunt Katlin and cousin Ana will be here much earlier than expected. Their caravan has travelled around the Mirkwood. They are stopping in Esgaroth tonight and expect to reach Erebor by dinner tomorrow!"
I feel like I should throw out a little theory of my own about Stonehelm (is it a theory if I am the writer?). He is part of the Durin line and could therefore possess many of the same traits as Thorin and the others. Perhaps some traits that are influenced by gold...or the arkenstone. I'm not sure if this is my attempt to make him more likeable, or if I genuinely think he might have a touch of the gold sickness too. I don't think he is inherently evil (like certain other dwarves in my story), but he is definitely easily influenced by bad things. Just a thought :)