Chapter Three
Thorin rarely ventured far through the middle or lower class districts. It wasn't because he had a problem with doing so or had any issues with dwarrows below his station. In fact, he rather enjoyed the sparse time spent with everyday folk, and away from the stuffy nobles that made up his father's counsel. It was just that his duties kept him in the royal wings or out of the Lonely Mountain altogether, preventing him from ever truly exploring the length and breadth and depth of the kingdom he would someday rule. There was almost a sense of excitement to his mission, not only because of the prospect of gathering intelligence on Ik-kemath, but also for the chance to truly see a portion of the glory of his people with his own eyes.
Erebor was primarily composed of three district levels characterized by the wealth and prestige (or lack thereof) of the dwarrows that lived there. But within each level, there were seven municipalities: those in the upper districts were named for the Seven Fathers, the middle for the precious metals and ores most prized by his kind, and the lower for their functionality. For example, the royal family and the highest nobles lived in Durin the Deathless; the markets of the middle district were located in the Golden Hammer, and the tombs (and apparently, the temporary dwellings of the hobbits) were in the Bone Caverns. These were the Westron names, of course, for dwarrows very rarely, if ever, revealed Khuzdul names, at least not since the Second Age.
Thorin knew that Dori was expecting him today, but he'd given Balin no appointed time for the meeting, which allowed him to wander the markets at his leisure. He was no stranger to them, but he hadn't thoroughly surveyed them since he and his siblings were dwarflings. He took his time to look over the multitude of wares on display outside of shops, or note the wide variety of pubs and inns. Nearly every dwarf bowed and greeted him cheerfully, and reveled in the attention if he stopped to examine their merchandise or try a proffered sample.
It wasn't long before Thorin realized that many of the vendor stalls and shops were not, as he had assumed, occupied or operated by dwarrows alone. Working and weaving around his people were smaller creatures that were rather oddly dressed. The first thing he observed was that they had no shoes; their bare feet were large and covered with tufts of curly hair, and their owners moved with nary a sound. They wore long-sleeved white undershirts, often rolled up to the elbows, and brown or tan colored trousers or leggings. Over that, they were arrayed in brightly colored tunics with hoods. They kept these hoods pulled up and over their heads, effectively covering their hair and ears as well as casting a shadow over their faces.
Beneath their hoods were the strangest accessories of all: the top halves of their faces were concealed with some sort of mask. More precisely, they looked like the visors of old war helmets that were detached from their original setting, then modified to obscure as much of their features as possible. The blunt edges were aligned with the top of the forehead and extended to the tip of the nose. The eye slits, normally wide and left open (so as not to diminish visibility), was inlaid with a white crystal. These were cleverly modeled after a two-way mirror so that the creatures could see through them, but he could not see their eyes when he peered at them.
'Hobbits,' Thorin realized. Even if he never really worked with them, he was familiar enough to know it when he saw one, by the feet at least. But he could not recall noticing the conservative style of their garb before. It seemed like they were trying to remain hidden and unrecognizable beneath all those layers, but in fact, it made them stand out all the more.
It occurred to him that he might speak to a few of them to gather information, but it was made impossible by their behavior. Everyone bowed to him in respect as he passed, but while the dwarrows would quickly straighten and take advantage of the chance to talk to their prince, the hobbits would remain bent low with their faces to the ground. They only resumed their work once Thorin had passed or their dwarrow companions gave them permission, and none of them were inclined to introduce the hobbit workers.
Eventually, Thorin gave up and headed to Dori's tea shop, hoping that his distant cousin would be more forthcoming. Nodding to his escort, he abandoned his exploration of the center markets and headed for his destination.
Dori was a member of the Weaver's Guild, but it had long been his dream to own a tea shop. It took him many years to scrap together the startup money, he had two younger brothers to care for as well, but he finally managed it about a decade ago. It wasn't as popular as the pubs, but he did well enough by all accounts and had a regular customer base. Members of his guild frequented the shop, as well as some of the elderly dwarrowdams and nobles.
An arrangement of golden bells fixed atop of the door jingled when Thorin stepped through (he had ordered his guards to wait outside). He was immediately greeted by a young dwarf, smartly dressed in a violet and silver serving uniform, and a hobbit wearing the same colors in the manner of her people.
"Welcome to our shop!" they chimed together with flourishing bows.
The hobbit lass stayed low while the dwarf lad straightened. His mouth formed a little "o" when he recognized Thorin. "M-master Dori has been expecting you, P-prince Thorin," he said, trembling and flushed. "If you'll please f-follow me..."
Thorin's eyes strayed to the bowed hobbit, but he smiled kindly and nodded.
The lad led him towards the back of the shop, expertly dodging around angular, cloth covered tables occupied by other dwarrows and the servers carrying trays of sweet or savory snacks. Thorin glanced around at the various ornaments on the walls and waved to a few of the customers who hailed him. He didn't have time to fully appreciate the meticulously wondrous craftsmanship in everything from the furniture to the paintings, so he made a mental note to ask Dori who he had commissioned for his supplies at some point.
In the back of the shop was the counter where customers would order their tea and other edibles. A dwarrowdam was seated behind this and the hobbit next to her was weighing out tea leaves into a small bag on a scale. Shelves on the wall behind them were lined with labeled tins, all supposedly housing more tea leaves, common flavors as well as exotic imports. A door stood in the middle of the wall between the shelves, and the young dwarf led Thorin through it as the hobbit and dwarrowdam bowed.
"Your highness! It's such a pleasure to see you again! And an honor to have you here in my shop," Dori exclaimed before Thorin could so much as glance around this new room. Dori bowed and then clasped Thorin's offered hand.
"It's good to see you, Dori," Thorin said. He was sincere in the statement. They had served together on the battlefield, and while Dori possessed a mother-hen personality in his day-to-day life, he was uncommonly strong and brutal in a fight. He could be a little annoying at times, but he was loyal and caring to a fault.
"Sit down, please! May I offer you some tea? Oh, and there'll be a fresh batch of scones out of the oven in a moment. Bilbo?" Dori turned towards the other occupant in the room.
Thorin followed his line of sight. In one corner was a brick oven for baking, and a long counter was against the wall next to it. A small work stool was pushed up to the counter so that the hobbit standing on it could work and reach whatever he needed. At Dori's call, he turned around, but he did not, Thorin noticed, immediately scramble to bow.
"Bilbo, would you please prepare that black tea blend we got in the other day and a couple of those blueberry scones when they're ready?" Dori cleared a small table of baking utensils.
"Of course, Master Dori," the hobbit replied softly. He stepped down from the stool and wiped his hands on the apron over his tunic.
"Please have a seat, your highness." Dori indicated one of the chairs at the table.
Thorin made himself comfortable and took the opportunity to look around, while Dori cleaned up a little and the hobbit put together refreshments. The room doubled as a storeroom for silverware, tea sets, additional furniture and small barrels of tea leaves, and kitchen space to bake all of the treats that were served with drinks. It was warmed and lit by an additional fireplace in another corner, well away from the flammable leaves.
Dori's hobbit assistant was dressed in the same way as the rest of his kind, but his tunic was the violet and silver colors of the shop. The sleeves of his undershirt and the apron were stained with frosting, flour and bits of dough. There was flour on his face as well, likely from trying to mop away the sweat with his dirty hands.
His violet hood was pulled up over his head, but that did not prevent a few strands of honey-gold hair from falling over his forehead. His mask, unlike most of the others that Thorin had seen, was crafted from black steel, and when he came close enough for Thorin to get a better look, he saw that it was etched with runes, flowing elvish vines, and what looked like withered flowers. As with the rest of his people, his eyes were concealed behind the white crystals in the sockets of the mask.
Dori took a seat across from Thorin and the hobbit set a tray between them with two steaming cups of tea and a plate of hot pastries.
"Thanks," Thorin nodded when the hobbit set a cup before him.
He jolted as though not expecting to be addressed by the prince, let alone thanked, and turned his face towards Thorin, presumably staring at him.
"Thank you, Bilbo. That will be all," Dori said.
The hobbit glanced at him and nodded. He turned to resume his work at the counter.
Dori cleared his throat. "Bilbo, aren't you forgetting something?" There was a nervous edge to this question.
The hobbit, Bilbo, turned back around. His lips were tightly pressed together, and Thorin could see the skin of his cheeks turning red. A vein, barely visible on his shadowed neck, pulsated, and his hands clenched the serving tray tightly.
Dori glared at him and tilted his head to Thorin.
Bilbo clutched the tray to his chest and angled his body to Thorin. He gave a stiff bow, his face to the ground, but Thorin had the impression that this was done against his wishes. He did not wait for either Thorin or Dori to dismiss him. Instead, he straightened instantly and went back to work.
Dori exhaled and said, "Please do not punish him, my prince. He's endured so much loss recently, and I'm afraid it's affected his manners."
Thorin furrowed his brows. "Why in Durin's name would I punish him?"
Dori blinked at him incredulously. "The law states that all hobbits must bow to any and all dwarrows who live in the middle and upper districts or hold any sort of title or rank. They are not to rise until they have been given permission to do so, either by the recipient of the bow or by a dwarf who would vouch for them, such as an employer."
Thorin crossed his arms. "I was not aware of such a law."
A derisive snort came from Bilbo, and Thorin glanced over at him.
Dori explained, "There is a very strict code of conduct that the hobbits must adhere to while they live as guests," another snort, "in Erebor, all mandated by law. It decrees everything from the way they dress to the things they are allowed to say. The laws were set forth by your grandfather, Thròr. But anyway..." He took a sip of his tea and reached for a scone. "You're not here for a lesson in politics. Balin said you had a more specific concern regarding hobbits."
Thorin nodded and helped himself to a scone as well. At the first bite, his eyes lit up in pleasure. "Indeed I did. This is delicious, by the way. Did Balin fill you in on everything?"
Dori nodded. "Yes... well, he told me enough. I'm not entirely sure how I can help though. I'm afraid I've never heard a hobbit sing, let alone in the way that Balin described. Bilbo hums sometimes while he works, but that is as much exposure to hobbit music as I've had. Oh, and Bilbo made those. A family recipe or something, isn't that right?" He raised his voice so the hobbit could hear.
"Yes, Master Dori," came an automatic reply.
"Come to think of it," Dori mumbled, "Bilbo, come here for a moment. Maybe you can help."
The hobbit sighed and stepped down from his stool again. He came over and stood closer to Dori. "Yes?" he asked.
Dori frowned at the reluctant behavior, but did not criticize it out loud. "Last year, Prince Thorin overheard a single hobbit with a beautiful voice performing many different songs over the course of the season, but he was unable to find him. He'd like to meet this hobbit, whoever he was. Might you possibly know anything that could help him discover the identity of the singer and arrange a meeting?"
The mask and hood prevented them from seeing his expression at this inquiry. Bilbo shifted to face Thorin. "What is your purpose in seeking this hobbit?" he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.
Thorin took a drink of his tea to hide his embarrassment. He still did not fully understand his own obsession with Ik-kemath. "My reasons are my own," he said haughtily. "I am the prince of this kingdom and I do not have to explain myself to a halfling."
He had a made a grave error in his choice of words. At once, Bilbo lunged at Thorin, and might have knocked him off his chair had Dori not intervened. Thorin unconsciously kicked the floor to back away from the thrashing hobbit.
Bilbo launched into a tirade of words in a foreign tongue, the same language that was sung by Ik-kemath. Thorin did not understand them, but he hazarded a guess that none of what was said was flattering. "Looking for a show, are you? Or a pet? Do you mean to lock him away in a cage, to be brought out for your entertainment?" he screamed in Westron.
Dori pulled the hobbit further away from Thorin with no effort whatsoever, but that did not stop Bilbo from struggling. "Shame on you, Bilbo! That's no way to talk to Prince Thorin. Settle down, now! You could be killed for this!"
But Bilbo was not listening. "You would dare demand help from me while my people are dying? You would ask this other hobbit to sing for your amusement while his heart is lamenting the death of his family? How dare you?!"
Thorin didn't miss the hint that Bilbo might, in fact, know the identity of Ik-kemath, if he knew details about a family. But he latched onto the first statement instead. He stood up. "Dying? What are you talking about?"
"As if you didn't know," Bilbo snarled. "You and every other dwarf in this cursed kingdom! You turn a blind eye to the indignities of my people! You send us away when we come to you for help! Your healers ignore our pleas and refuse to share your medicines for the Coughing Death!"
"Coughing Death?" Thorin repeated.
Dori interrupted before Bilbo went off again. "The coughing virus that was going around a few weeks ago. Apparently, the hobbits are far more susceptible to it. Unfortunately, they don't have enough medicine of their own to go around."
"And none of your healers will give us any, even though we've offered to pay with everything we have! They are content to let us die in agony! And you... you are the same! You would ask favors of me, of my kin, in the midst of our sorrow and suffering? You are no better than your grandfather! That arrogant, mad..."
Dori picked up the hobbit and shook him. "That's enough! You don't know what you're saying!" He carried Bilbo to the door. "I'm sorry, lad, but I must ask you to leave now. And I'm afraid that you cannot come back. Insulting any dwarf carries a grave punishment, and this is the prince you're talking about. He could have you executed! Go now, and pray that your life will be spared."
Once Dori set him down, Bilbo removed his apron and threw it on the floor. He spat venomously in Thorin's direction and stomped out, slamming the door behind him.
Dori hurried back over and ushered Thorin to his seat. "I am so, so sorry about this, your highness. Bilbo's usually one of the most polite, respectable hobbits anyone could meet, but he hasn't been himself lately. Poor lad's favorite cousin died from the Coughing Death and left a widow and a wee orphan in his care. He's stressed and grieving, and I'm sure he didn't mean anything he said."
Thorin had endured plenty of insults before, typically from elves and dwarrow nobles who disagreed with his views in council, but he never took it well. He had a bit of a temper, and questions about his sanity or honor were the most easy triggers. He was greatly rattled by the comparison to his grandfather, for although he had loved Thròr dearly, the madness that had guided his actions in the last days of his life had been costly. He would most certainly have lashed out at the hobbit in turn, were it not for the troubling information he'd supplied.
"Is it true... what he said? About the healers refusing to help?" Oin was the only healer Thorin knew personally, and although he was gruff and half-deaf, he was also very kind. Thorin couldn't imagine Oin would turn away anyone unless they were completely beyond aid.
Dori had kept still while Thorin was thinking, likely waiting to gauge his reaction to the hobbit's accusations. He looked relieved at the question. "I'm afraid so," Dori answered quietly. "The coughing virus affected so many of our kind, and the clinics are paranoid about running out of medicinal herbs before spring. They've been told to prioritize our own, regardless of the severity of the illness. Even something as small as a dwarf with a headache will be treated by the healers over a hobbit with a fatal sickness."
"That's absurd," Thorin growled. "The hobbits are our allies, are they not? Isn't it our duty to protect them in exchange for the goods they grow during the year?"
"Yes, but things have changed. I cannot claim to have a full understand of their suffering, or the circumstances that have led to their plight. I've always liked hobbits actually; they're quite agreeable, if a little fussy sometimes. But Thròr, I think, did not trust them, and so he enacted many unusual laws in regards to them later in life. I don't know all of them, and the ones I do, I like even less. But punishments for disobedience are usually harsh, and I have no choice but to obey and enforce them," Dori said.
"That is why I was most surprised to learn that you have taken a liking to one of them, even if you've never met him. I was under the impression that you felt the same as... well, as your grandfather."
Thorin noticed that Dori was a little fearful to inform him of his assumption. "Your impression was a bit inaccurate, but I don't blame you for that." He picked up his tea again, thinking hard. "I suppose that I didn't think much of hobbits, but I certainly don't hate them. And so I never bothered to learn about them." He paused, and then forced himself to confess, "I am wholly ignorant in anything to do with them."
He did not like to admit his failings or weaknesses. He knew that he had them, but it cost him a great deal of pride to own up to them. But he was also not one to sit idly in the face of them. If he discovered a flaw within himself, he was adamant that he should fix it, no matter the time or work it would require. "I must correct this at once. Both my ignorance, and this ridiculous policy of refusing to treat the hobbits for the coughing sickness," he decided.
"How will you do that?" Dori wondered. "It will be difficult enough to get the healers, never mind the king, to agree to help them. Even if you do manage that, the hobbits probably won't trust you, especially after Bilbo tells them about what happened here. He's related to their leader, the Thain, I think, and hobbits are terrible gossips. They'll all know about your request by the end of the day. And who knows how they'll react to it?"
Thorin stroked his short beard. "That could work to my advantage as well. I have been trying to be discreet about it all, but so far, that hasn't helped me find the hobbit I'm looking for. Perhaps if all of the hobbits hear of it..." He finished the musings in his head. 'Maybe Ik-kemath will learn of it and come find me of his own accord.'
The beginnings of a plan were taking shape in his mind. Thorin stood up and held out a hand to Dori. "Forgive me, but I must go. Thank you for your time."
Dori shook his hand. "Of course, sire. I am sorry that I haven't been much help. And I am sorry again, about... about Bilbo. If I may be so bold, please do not punish him too severely."
"Hmm? Oh no, I have no plans to punish that hobbit at all. And you have been a good help, whether you know it or not."
Dori looked grateful. "I am glad to hear that, your highness. Please allow me to escort you out. And do let me know if there's anything else I can do to be of assistance."
Thorin nodded to him. "I may just take you up on that. Good night, Dori."
To be continued...