Disclaimer: The Hobbit does not belong to me, but to Professor Tolkien, Peter Jackson, and his Company.

Gem of His Heart

"You looked sad," Dwalin admitted.

"Aye," Thorin murmured, "but the past is the past and there is nothing I can do to change it." He placed his empty mug on a nearby table. "She chose to leave Erebor; she did not want to face the fury of my father and grandfather, I suppose. I need some air. I will return in a bit."

Dwalin watched as his friend and king walked abruptly away.

"Where is Thorin going?" Balin asked as he joined his brother.

"To be alone with his memories," Dwalin sighed, taking another gulp of his ale before his gaze followed Thorin out of the ballroom.

Chapter 2

Drifa smoothed out the dress Queen Nal had worn on the journey to Erebor and went to find a needle and thread from her trunk to repair a small rip in the seam of the sleeve. Prince Fili's wedding had been held this afternoon and now the celebration was in full swing in Erebor's grand ballroom. Drifa sighed. Never had she attended an official dance in that room. Her station in the kingdom would not allow it. Instead, Thorin had once snuck them into the empty ballroom and held her in his arms, twirling her around to the tune he'd hummed. They had laughed and Thorin had lifted her in the air before pulling her down into his arms for a sound kiss.

It had been so easy to laugh back then. Back before Erebor had fallen, before Thorin had sent her away. Back when everything was right with their world.

Heaving a sigh, Drifa rummaged through the small basket of thread she had packed and frowned. The light blue spool of thread was not there; she must have left it in her sewing basket in her quarters back in the Iron Hills. Drifa straightened and placed her hands on her hips as she studied the room around her. There was no other thing to be done; she must venture out of the quarters assigned to King Dain and his traveling companions and seek out the head maid of Thorin's household here in Erebor. Nal planned to wear the light blue gown for an outing in the morning. The head housekeeper, Soma, had told them to find her down in the servants' hallway behind the main ballroom should they need anything.

Drifa checked her reflection in the mirror and tucked in a few hairs that had escaped the single braid that hung long and shimmering down her back. She straightened the apron that covered her simple navy blue dress and moved to the door. Drifa forced herself into the hallway and then took the stairwell that would lead to the servants' quarters. With directions from others she met along the way, she approached the ballroom. She could hear the music through the stone walls of the mountain. Once again, she imagined herself in Thorin's arms as they whirled across the stone floor.

Shaking her head to rid herself of the memory, she turned a corner and plowed into something solid. It let out an "uhf" as she tumbled backwards, startled by the impact. Strong hands reached out and gripped her arms to keep her from falling.

"I am so very sorry," Drifa gasped out, keeping her eyes downcast. She found herself looking at expensive leather boots that would not belong to a servant. Horror filled her. She must have somehow strayed from the servants' hallways. Her eyes traveled upward from the boots to well-sewn breeches of nice material and farther up to the thick, work-worn hands that rested on her arms. The ring – she recognized it, but it could not be. Thorin.

"Drifa?" he breathed, letting go of her and stepping back in alarm.

Her eyes snapped upward at the deep rasp of his voice, the familiar tone sending butterflies aflutter in her stomach. "Your Majesty," she stammered with a bow. "I apologize for my presence in the open. I must have taken a wrong turn. I-"

Thorin cut her off. "No, I was taking the back way through the servants' halls," he explained, almost breathlessly.

His blue eyes studied her steadily, and Drifa found herself flushing beneath his gaze. "If you will excuse me, your majesty," she mumbled, "I must seek out Soma."

"Wait." Thorin reached out and curled his hand around her forearm gently. "Drifa, why are you here?" he asked, his brow puckered as he stared at her.

"I work for the family of Dain Ironfoot," she told him, lifting her chin proudly. "King Dain happily allowed me to serve his family." Drifa was quite proud of the fact that she was able to keep most of the bitterness out of her tone; she left unsaid that they were happy to have her when Thorin's own family sent her away. "I must return to my duties, Your Majesty," she blurted, pulling from his grasp although the warmth of his touch lingered on her arm.

She hurried down the hallway back toward Queen Nal's quarters even though she had not procured the light blue thread. She had to get away. She could not look at Thorin a moment longer. It was too painful to think about what might have been. It hurt too much to remember her empty womb and empty arms. Stifling a sob, she pressed a hand to her mouth and ran the last few steps to the small room assigned to her. Nearly tumbling inside, she shut the door behind her, locked it, and threw herself down onto the plush bed covered in simple, but well-made linens.

Drifa buried her face in the pillow and allowed hot tears to spill down her cheeks and dampen the soft, white pillowcase. She would have been okay if she hadn't seen him. Memories assaulted her now. Visions of hot, searing kisses, gentle touches, laughter, loving words, and holding hands would not let her push them away. Drifa cried until she was spent and then closed her eyes, only relaxing when sleep pulled her into its dark oblivion.

Thorin charged angrily down the corridor, fury building in him with each second that passed. How dare she return here to the city and the heart that she had abandoned? Thorin took the stairs two at a time until he finally reached the hall where the royal family had their quarters. Passing Kili and Tauriel's rooms and then the ones that would belong to Fili and Sigrid, Thorin came to his own suite. He entered and slammed the door shut behind him.

The dwarf king knew he was expected to return to the celebration in the ballroom, but at the moment he did not care. His rage blinded him. Thorin leaned his hands on the mantle above the fireplace and stared into the glowing coals. The fire had nearly gone out. He grasped the poker and soon had it roaring once again.

His thoughts returned to Drifa. She was still beautiful; her looks had not diminished with time. Her hair was still a shiny, silvery blonde and her lips were still full and rosy. Her emerald eyes, however, were dull and filled only with sorrow. He knew now that life had not been kind to her. He was surprised to find that it saddened him.

Why had Drifa come to Erebor? Why was it his luck to literally run right into her? Perhaps Dain had insisted she come. Thorin did not know, but he aimed to find out.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Thorin squared his shoulders and straightened his belt. He would ensure that Fili and Sirgrid and their guests knew that nothing was wrong. Fili deserved a happy wedding, and that's exactly what he would have.

Drifa woke a few hours later to a discreet knock on the door. It was another of the servants. "Drifa, Her Majesty would like help changing out of her gown."

"I will be right there; I must have fallen asleep," Drifa called out as she pushed to a sitting position and pushed locks of tear-soaked blonde hair back from her face. She must look affright.

She hurried to the washbasin in the corner and splashed her face with cool water before drying it off with the provided towel. Quickly, she combed through her mussed hair and re-braided it before smoothing her wrinkled dress and retying her apron which hung haphazardly on her body.

Deciding that she was as presentable as she was going to get, Drifa hurried into the hallway and knocked on the queen's door. "Your Majesty?"

"Come in, Drifa," Nal called out.

Drifa entered the room and immediately moved to the queen's side and began unlacing the long, richly ornamented gown.

"Drifa, are you all right?" the queen asked. "You look a bit pale."

"I am fine, Majesty," she lied. "I must have fallen asleep while doing some mending."

Nal sighed happily. "Thorin threw a wonderful party, just wonderful!" she enthused. "I haven't had the opportunity to dance in such a way with my husband for many years."

Drifa smiled up at her as she helped her queen step out of the long, heavy gown.

"The bride, although a daughter of Man, was absolutely beautiful and so happy. Why, she was just glowing when she walked on Prince Fili's arm as his bride."

Of course the queen had no idea how painful her words were for Drifa to hear, but the unhappy servant bit her lip until it almost bled. She should have made some excuse to stay behind in the Iron Hills. Surely she could have thought of a reason to remain in Dain's halls.

"I believe I will wear my sheer gown tonight," the queen sighed. "Dain especially likes that one." Her voice became dreamy and Drifa blushed. She now knew what the queen intended for the evening ahead with her husband.

"Yes, Majesty," Drifa murmured, eager to retreat to her own room and be alone with her thoughts.

As soon as Queen Nal was dressed in her gown and robe, Drifa slipped down the hall to her own small, comfy room. She changed into her simple linen nightgown and crawled between the sheets, dousing the lamp and sending the room into darkness save for the flicker of the coals in the fireplace.

Sleep remained elusive. Instead, Drifa's thoughts were full of Thorin. Why had she thought she could come back to this city and avoid the dwarf who had broken her heart and sent her away so many years ago? A sob caught in her throat and she turned on her side as she tugged the blankets tightly around her shoulders. She would survive this. She had no choice. Soon they would return to the Iron Hills and she could once more put Thorin behind her.

Down in the grand ballroom, Tauriel studied Thorin Oakenshield carefully. The dwarf king had seemed content to celebrate the newlyweds earlier in the evening, but now his eyes held a shuttered, haunted look. She slipped her hand into her husband's and leaned her head against his. "What is wrong with your uncle, love?"

"Wrong?" Kili asked, his eyes darting to Thorin in alarm. He frowned as he took in the stormy look that crossed the king's features. "I do not know. Perhaps I should speak to him."

"He does not look as if he wishes to speak to anyone," Tauriel observed as Thorin snapped at the servant who handed him a mug of ale.

"Aye," Kili agreed, his face thoughtful as he gazed upon the countenance of his uncle. "Perhaps he is thinking of my mother. We are all missing her terribly today." Kili's voice faltered a bit and Tauriel's hand tightened around his.

"I know," she answered quietly, nuzzling his temple before placing a loving kiss there.

As they watched, Thorin downed the mug of ale and called for the servant to bring him another.

To Be Continued…