I am having such a good time with this story, and I hope you all are too! I must give some concept credit to my husband for this chapter. I read to him at times, and he helpsme with ideas and content tweaking. What a guy! Anyway, I'm throwing a mystery into the mix, so have fun and send me your thoughts and comments. I didn't hear from too many last time, and I'd like to hear from many more with this chapter. Let me know you're out there! And for all you mystery readers, sign up and be counted! I'd love to meet you.

Chapter 4

The great doors groaned open as though the mountain itself sympathized with its king. In all of Thorin's imagination—which wasn't considerable—he never would have dreamed that the Princess Onkra could have and would have gained the proportions she did. The rest followed behind, but almost all were obscured by the sheer size of the princess, a feat that was truly astonishing.

"Lord Dain of the Iron Hills and the Princess Onkra," the herald announced while looking slightly past them. Then he bowed low as they passed and held his hand over his mouth. Her father gripped one of her hands and a guard from the Iron Hills held the other, and they, together with three dwarfs holding out their arms in back, slowly inched the princess down the hall. A veiled lady-in-waiting carried a large basket of buns and scones.

As expected for princes of Erebor, Thorin was thoroughly educated in all matters necessary for successful rule and administration of the realm. Therefore, his schooling included history, literature, mathematics, military strategy, metallurgy, and the physical and applied sciences. He studied hard, and his royal instructors told Thrain that his son showed a particular aptitude for physics and engineering.

His quick and active mind now applied itself to the difficulty of moving Princess Onkra down the long hallway. For several minutes, he amused himself with imagining her as an automated machine and calculating the exact amount of coal needed to fuel the movement of her legs. Then he moved on to designing various contraptions including a crane with a counter balance, a conveyor belt with guardrails, and a portable chair shaped like a wheelbarrow.

As she drew closer, Thorin looked around the room and noted everyone's horrified fascination. Bofur and Bombur whispered together while Bifur made obvious gestures before his brothers slapped his hands down. Balin looked pained and Dwalin stoic. The Ri brothers stood in shock, while Gloin simply shook his head. Over his shoulder, Thorin studied his nephews' grim and determined faces, and he guessed that more was in the works than their clothing choice. Then he turned to Dolor who stood closest to him, and his lip curled at the dwarf's disgust. Contempt for the council surged through him.

"And she was your choice? You wished me to bed this mountain of flesh?" he whispered harshly. "I'd not know where to begin if it were even possible."

Indeed, Princess Onkra's bulk was a study in circles and folds. Her head and face were completely round, and huge, fleshy cheeks nearly obscured her eyes, which were pushed into thin slits. Her head sat on her massive shoulders without any neck in between, and her breasts and belly joined into one, enormous bulge so that no one could tell where her chest stopped and her stomach began.

All that sat on hips that jutted out like a banquet table under which waddled bowed legs atop severely swollen ankles. Flesh hung from her arms and folded over her wrists like thick batter poured on a baker's table. Bracelets that were strained almost to the breaking point peeked out occasionally from their fleshy confinement.

She wore a purple, satin dress festooned with ruffles—not a wise fashion choice under the circumstances. The seams of the dress were pulled so tight that they zigzagged down her sides like a mountain trail. Rings squeezed out circles of fat on her sausage-link fingers, and her thin, scruffy hair was scraped up into a tiny topknot. As she passed the council and company, she inclined her head slightly to both sides as though acknowledging their awe. Finally, a full 15 minutes later, she stood with her father in front of the throne.

Thorin tapped his fingers while watching the final approach of the creeping procession. When the group stopped at the throne, the Lord of the Iron Hills turned to his cousin. He was a large, ugly dwarf with tufts of hair sticking out at all angles and a puckered scar running from his cheek to his chin.

"Greetings to the King of Erebor," he said in a rough voice. "May your reign be long and fruitful."

Thorin's lips twisted at his comment, but he said nothing and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"Welcome back, Dain," he replied. "It's good to see you again."

Dain left his daughter to stand before him. The princess wobbled without his support, but another dwarf from the entourage trotted up quickly to steady her. A soft snort had Thorin looking over Dain's shoulder to find the culprit.

"Aye," he said with a cheerful smile though several teeth were missing, "I'm pleased to see you recovered, and I thank you for this invitation."

He looked up and around approvingly.

"You've restored Erebor to its former glory, and in so little time," he said. "What happened here is the talk of our people everywhere. I envy you."

Thorin snorted.

"You didn't envy me when we were imprisoned by the Mirkwood elves or when we were running for our lives from dragon fire," he said dryly.

Dain cleared his throat sheepishly.

"Aye, well, we came through at the end," he said with a wry glance at the company who acknowledged him quietly, "and helped win the day. That's what counts when all's said and done."

"True enough," Thorin replied, deciding to let it go. "Thankfully, those times are behind us."

Then Dain recovered his good humor and took his daughter's hand.

"And, of course, you remember Onkra."

Thorin looked down with a blank face. It was his best defense. He was sure that if he moved a muscle, he would laugh until he got a cramp.

"I remember," he said smoothly. "Princess Onkra, welcome to Erebor." He heard another amused snort from somewhere in the assembly but couldn't spot the guilty party. "I hope your trip was tolerable," he added for good measure.

She dipped her head slightly since there was no way she could curtsy.

"In truth, my lord, it was fairly horrid," she began in a breathy, high-pitched voice that was at odds with her size. "Traveling is so tedious, and there was no escort waiting as we approached Dale."

Thorin frowned. He knew he could have asked Lord Bard to allow soldiers on his lands to escort his guests, but frankly, he didn't want them to feel that welcome. Besides, the orcs were gone, and the weather was warm. There was no need.

"The lands of Dale are not ours to control, my lady," he said, "but …"

"Well, then, you should have taken Dale by force, so I could have safe escort, my lord," she interrupted. "Men aren't worthy neighbors in any case."

Thorin blinked, not sure he heard correctly, while the rest gasped at her interrupting the king.

"You suggest that we should have killed our neighbors and allies to give you escort?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh, yes, your majesty," she replied through thick lips. "The overlook has such a nice view too. You could raze the city and build an outpost. It would be so pretty in the fall when the leaves turn."

He sat back, not sure how to respond, but she then turned her head and yelled over her shoulder.

"Where are my scones?" she bellowed in a much deeper and more natural tone.

The veiled attendant hurried to her side. Only then did Thorin notice crumbs sticking to her cheeks and chins. He looked lower and saw smears of jam on her straining bodice. He winced internally.

"Ah, yes, well, Onkra's had a tiring journey," Dain said hastily, "so perhaps she'd better rest awhile."

It was at that moment that Thorin had a truly evil but inspired idea. He fingered his lower lip as it took shape and then looked askance on the unsuspecting councilors and laughed softly to himself.

This is perfect, just perfect.

Grinning smugly, he settled himself on his throne in delightful anticipation.

"But of course, cousin," he said with a glint in his eye. Then he turned and nodded at his nemesis. "I will give Dolor here, our most dedicated councilor, the honor of being your guide and helping you and your daughter with everything you need during your stay."

He smirked at the over-dressed dwarf who swelled like a toad with indignation. All his frustration and pain over the situation were forgotten as he watched Dolor's face turn an impressive shade of purple—almost the color of the princess's dress.

"Please show them to their rooms and give them every courtesy," he said in dismissal. Then he turned to Princess Onkra. "I place one of Erebor's finest at your disposal."

Dolor opened his mouth but then bit his lip and bowed stiffly.

"Of course, my lord," he said in a strangled voice. The procession left slowly with Princess Onkra listing her needs and wants while her lady-in-waiting trailed behind.

Thorin then turned to the rest of the room to see his company all grinning widely and the councilors aghast. As the rest of the nobles and their daughters were presented, Thorin assigned a councilor to the ones he found most offensive and members of the company to ones he found least objectionable, a service he was only too happy to provide.

"Did everyone arrive?" Thorin asked Balin. The doughty dwarf thought through the names of those who were announced.

"Not all, my lord," he said. "I believe a few are still traveling."

"Very well," he said. "It's already late, and it took longer than expected for everyone to be presented. I think our guests would rather have food brought to them after they rest, so we can forego a feast tonight."

Then he gave orders to have food sent to the guest wings.

Balin looked at him shrewdly.

"Not up to facing them all again so soon, are you?" he asked.

Thorin groaned. "I'll have them here all month, Balin, and I've been on display long enough. Now I want some peace. I need a drink and some fresh air. Care to join me? We can leave and head for the pub outside Dale."

Balin was surprised by his offer since he had worked tirelessly after regaining his health and never socialized anymore. Thorin saw his response and frowned. He had neglected those he once called friends, and it showed.

"I confess I miss your company," he said in a low voice. "I was so busy restoring Erebor and establishing our people that I forgot to be with my people."

Balin smiled brightly, pleased to have his old friend back at last.

"I missed you too, laddie," he replied, and he clapped him on the back. "I'd be happy to join you. Dwalin would too, but he's busy taking care of one of the nicer lasses. They aren't all like, well, you know."

Thorin gritted his teeth.

"I resent being forced into this, Balin," he said firmly. "It's as much the principle of the thing as the fact. I can find my own wife. I don't need one thrust upon me."

Balin glanced at him with an unreadable expression.

"So you're saying you want a wife now?" he said.

Thorin stopped walking and looked flustered. Then his neck turned red. Balin was surprised. He had never known Thorin to be anything less than decisive even when he was wrong. Something must have happened.

"What's changed?"

Thorin blinked and shook his head in confusion.

"I meant that I want to direct my own life," he said, "nothing more."

Balin nodded slowly.

"Of course," he replied while hiding a smile.

As they walked toward the main gate, Dolor ran puffing by them holding a long list. He was sweating heavily and holding one hand under his belly.

"That was inspired, if I do say so myself," Balin said with a chuckle as they turned and watched him trot down the stairs.

Thorin glanced at his old advisor.

"What do you all have up your sleeves?" he asked with a knowing smile. "I know my nephews have something planned, and I'm sure you're all in on it."

Balin closed one eye and scrunched his face as he looked up at his beloved king.

"Nothing we want traced back to you," he said slyly, "but we're all agreed to help however we can."

Thorin nodded with satisfaction.

"You have my thanks. I'll need all of you to get through this wretched affair."

After his guard was assembled, Thorin rode with Balin to Dale. After receiving word to meet them there, Dwalin joined in. The barkeeper bowed low and ushered them into a more private room. The dwarves stood and bowed to their king who took a table in the back.

Thorin felt better after hoisting a few pints and reminiscing with his friends. The regret he felt began to ease, and he even laughed once or twice at Dwalin's terrible retelling of a good joke. Then they heard a loud noise, and the door whipped open and banged against the wall leaving a dent from the knob.

All looked over, and on the threshold stood a massive and meaty dwarf with square shoulders and stocky legs. A mail shirt hung long over an equally long tunic, and a thick belt strained to hold up a heavy belly and many weapons. The dwarf's coarse, black hair was elaborately braided, and all heard the clink of hobnailed boots on the floor. The dwarf scanned the room with a stern, hard face.

"Be any of ye here King Thorin of Erebor?" came a loud voice. Guards circled Thorin at once, and the dwarf nodded decisively and strode toward him. Wump! Wump! Wump! The dwarf crossed the room and, with one swipe of a hairy paw, knocked a guard off his feet. Dwalin and the rest stepped in front, but Thorin called them back.

"What business do you have with me?" he asked, still sitting calmly.

The dwarf stopped in front of him and folded burly forearms.

"I be of the Broadbeam clan and been heading to Erebor when word came that ye be here."

Thorin looked over his shoulder, and Balin whispered "Lady Fregma's retinue."

After all the events of the day, the last thing Thorin wanted was to deal with more nobles and their unwanted daughters. Dwalin rolled his eyes at the interruption, and Balin sighed, but Thorin grew angry. This was the first time since his recovery that he spent time at leisure, and he was annoyed at this dwarf for barging in against protocol.

"Who are you then?" he asked sarcastically, not caring if he offended. "Her loyal guard coming to sing her praises? Durin's beard! I've had enough of these homely heifers to last a lifetime!"

The dwarf simply stood there staring at him with eyes like little, gray pebbles.

"Well then?" Thorin challenged after a silent stand-off. "Where is this Lady Fregma that I should meet her?"

The dwarf snorted and rubbed a dirty forefinger under a bulbous nose.

"The homely heifer stands before ye."

The other dwarves looked all around them, but Thorin stared into the face before him and nodded. He stood slowly, but she pushed him back in his seat and looked him over. Her hard gaze traveled over the narrow planes of his face; the long, silvered hair; his noble brow; thin, angular nose; and full lower lip above a neatly trimmed beard.

"Aye," she said, "ye have the bearing of yer kin, but ye be too dainty fer me taste."

Then Lady Fregma swung around and pulled Dwalin flush against her. Holding tightly to his cloak under his chin with a huge fist, she smacked her lips and winked at him.

"Aye, but this one be a rough rock to rub against," she said. "Be ye ready to clasp herself to yer breast as wife or be ye taken?"

Dwalin eyes opened wider than Thorin had ever seen them, and no one spoke. Then Balin put his hands over his face and chuckled merrily. Thorin's eyebrows puckered at the sight, and even Lady Fregma and Dwalin looked over. At that, Balin laughed harder until he slumped against the table.

"My lady," Dwalin coughed out. "I'm not available—ah, my regrets."

"'Tis a pity," she said, letting go of him. Then she whacked her forehead against his and nodded as he fell back against the wall. "Aye, yourn makes a goodly smack. Hard to find, that."

Dwalin rubbed his forehead and stared at the dwarrowdam leaning over him. He felt like he hit a granite block, and his ears buzzed. Balin alternated between coughing and laughing before he wiped his eyes and blew his nose with a loud honk.

"Me lord," she said, bowing to Thorin, "I'll leave ye to drink yourn in all honor. The Broadbeams will not hold ye to blame fer this. Ye be a pretty one, 'tis certain, but not fer herself."

She then shouldered her way through the crowd and slammed the door behind her. No one spoke. All looked frozen in time with some holding their mugs in the air and other half-crouched as if either getting up or sitting down.

"She called me dainty," Thorin muttered in disbelief.

Then the room exploded into gusty gales of laughter, leaving the king looking disgruntled with his hands on his hips.

Later that evening, Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin passed Dolor huffing down the hall to the kitchens and various veiled ladies-in-waiting from the different clans bustling to and fro. The three stopped and watched the steady stream of attendants and servants entering and exiting rooms and halls all over Erebor. It was like a hive of worker bees but all serving different queens.

"Hammer and stone," Dwalin said, looking around him, "I didn't expect this."

Thorin rubbed his head. "I'm going to the library. I need something to calm my mind."

"What are you going for?" Balin asked. "No, let me guess." He tapped a finger against his lips. "Hmmm, your mother's Book of Reflections?"

Thorin inclined his head. "You know me too well."

The crown princess, before her untimely death, wrote a book to her children containing all her thoughts on motherhood, stories about them when they were dwarflings, and poems about her love for her family and life at Erebor. Thankfully, the library was untouched by Smaug who had no use for books, and Thorin shed a few private tears on finding the well-loved book.

Handwritten in a lovely, rolling script, the words were as thoughtful and serene as his mother, and he often heard her voice as he read. The book became a touchstone for him when he was troubled, and although he wanted to keep it in his chambers always, he knew that others drew strength from it as well and so kept it in the library. Holding a lamp, he walked there alone. The old librarian, who wore spectacles on the end of his nose, bowed to him as he came in and shuffled away. Thorin walked to the family archive and pulled the gilt book from a middle shelf.

On reaching his chambers, Thorin closed the door and blew out a long-held breath. The day was as hideous as he expected, and all he wanted now was to settle in with a glass of red wine and the comfort of his mother's thoughts.

Pulling at the neck of his tunic, he loosened the laces, tugged off his robes, and toed off his boots, leaving everything in a pile at the foot of his bed. Then he sat in his favorite chair and pulled his lamp closer to read, but as he opened the book, a folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Surprised, he reached down and picked it up between two fingers and unfolded it against the book.

A sweet, flowery scent floated up to his nose. Something from his mother? But the scent smelled as fresh as spring air. Inhaling contentedly, he began to read.

Your Majesty,

I thank you for the opportunity to see Erebor at last, as it has been much talked of among my people, and I'm delighted to see that descriptions of its beauty and grace were not at all exaggerated….

Thorin snorted in disgust. What a disappointment. So the note was a sneaky attempt to get his attention. He shook his head, thinking it was no doubt written by some ambitious climber with delusions of being queen. Snatching it up, he crumpled it in his broad palm, intending to fling it into the fire, but then he stopped. He should first find out who wrote it, so he could take proper measures.

When I find out who misused mother's book, I'll dismiss them from Erebor as soon as the sun rises.

He opened it again and smoothed it out. The handwriting was firm and angular, signifying a confident hand.

Confident perhaps but scheming and untrustworthy, he thought.

I thank you also for your hospitality. The courtesy of your hall could hang icicles off your imposing statuary or freeze the arses off an orc pack. I respectfully remind Your Highness—in case you were too taken up in making arrangements for our discomfort—that you invited us here. Knowing as I must of royal protocol and the proper procedure for receiving noble guests, I must conclude that my Lord was taken ill and is perhaps in pain, which would account for your almost constant sneer throughout the evening. Therefore, I hope sincerely that Your Majesty will recover soon from this rare and dreadful illness that has temporarily robbed you of your manners.

Your Justifiably Concerned Servant,

Thorin sat there stunned. He quickly looked lower for a signature, but all he saw was a finely executed drawing of a small sprig of flowers. He sat up and held the note out at a distance and turned it over to examine it as though it might contain something dangerous. Then he read it again and, as he did, his initial shock turned to fury.

"What insolence!" he roared. "How dare she insult me in my own home!"

Then he thought of how she could have known that he was going to the library and what book he would choose. He spoke to no one except those standing with him. Then he remembered all the servants walking the halls. One could have easily overheard him and reported back to her mistress.

Spies! She has someone trailing me. What nerve! I'll not stand for this!

Thorin jumped out of his chair and paced and planned his retaliation until the fire turned to embers. Finally, he went to bed, but instead of sleeping, he tossed and turned until he flung his pillows on the floor and got up.

I'll choke her on her own medicine, he thought meanly, and he walked over to his writing desk and penned his own note, smirking occasionally as he wrote in his usual flowing script. Then he threw on his robes, went back to the library, and put the book back on the shelf with the note inside.

"Let's see what she makes of this!" he muttered to himself. He had thrown down a challenge, and the next day would reveal if it had been accepted. He walked back to his chambers with a satisfied swagger and disrobed once more. Punching his pillows and arranging his blankets, he settled down to sleep. It was lost on him, however, that for the first time in months, he was looking forward to tomorrow.

Thorin is in for a ride.