Thank you all for your wonderful response on the last chapter. That was fun. I hope you enjoy this one as well. Clues will start coming, and perhaps we'll hear from the lady herself soon ... Thank you all for your support and lovely reviews!

Chapter 7

After a couple of long and tedious days had passed, the members of the company gathered together in a small dining chamber to review their progress. Platters of sausages and cheese along with long loaves of seeded breads and a generous amount of ale enhanced their cheerful mood.

"Well, now, I think things are humming along just fine," Bofur said through a thick cloud of pipe smoke, "just fine, in fact. How many have we pushed out the door so far?"

Ori counted on his fingers. "Four from that breakfast …"

"Lady Fregma," Balin added with a wink and a nod at his brother, who ducked his head, "although that was her own choice."

"The one that Nori frightened halfway to the Halls of Mandos that night in the corridor," Kili added, "but that wasn't intentional, was it?"

"Well, it was for her," he replied with a grin. "She intended to leave immediately afterward."

They all shared a good laugh and hoisted their tankards.

"And the two that uncle somehow got rid of," Fili finished, "so that makes eight."

"Did anyone find out how he did that?" Dori asked. Everyone shrugged. Why those two left was a mystery. Both dwarrowdams looked thrilled to go too. How did Thorin get them to leave happy? It made no sense, and his behavior since then was strange as well. He walked about now with a small smile on his face, and he even kept the council's schedule without complaining. When he wasn't with the any of his prospective brides, he headed to the library to pour over random books without reading any of them. The others scratched their heads. Their king was up to something.

"So why can't we do the boils now?" Kili argued. "Enough time has passed."

The rest of the company called out ideas as various visions came to mind, and their voices grew louder as they argued about just where and how to dribble the noxious liquid.

"You just want to see what'd happen," Dwalin answered, glaring under his bushy brows, "but I've had enough of Oin's potions."

Balin shook his head as well and held out his hands to stop their arguing. "We have to stick to the plan," he said over the voices of the others. "If we move too quickly, the council members will suspect. Give it another day or so at least, lads. I know you're eager, but all has to be handled carefully remember. We can't go losing our heads."

Fili frowned and tugged at his moustache.

"Aye, I suppose," he said. "Besides, with eight dwarrowdams gone in less than a week, we have plenty of time to get rid of the rest."

Just then someone knocked on the door. Gloin opened it and rolled his eyes as Dolor and the rest of the council members strode in looking mighty pleased with themselves.

"Ah, of course," Dolor purred snidely. "Now why would you all need to meet in secret? Perhaps to plan—or plot?"

Balin turned slowly to face him.

"If you have a charge to make," he replied between his teeth, "make it, or leave us be." Then he snorted and stepped up to the councilor who adopted a haughty pose. "What's suspicious about time spent with friends anyway? We're enjoying good food and good company, Dolor—something you wouldn't know anything about."

Fili walked over and stood next to Balin to present a united front. The other councilors flinched slightly at the prince of Durin's tall and angry posture, but then they regrouped around Dolor like mice around cheese.

"Aye, now what do you lot want?" Fili asked roughly, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

Dolor bowed to him and Kili and then smiled maliciously.

"We've come to announce that more noble dwarrowdams should be arriving shortly," he said, and he clasped his hands across his ample belly to wait for the response. He didn't wait long.

"What?" Kili exploded as he jumped to his feet and send his plate tipping over to crash on the floor. "Uncle Thorin was told that only about 20 were coming! How many more did you invite?"

Dolor grinned wider if that was possible. His smile stretched across his yellow teeth like a crescent moon.

"Dear me, did we forget to mention the second round of invitations we sent out?" He turned to Malar, yet another round and pompous dwarf.

"By Mahal, I believe we did," he answered with an evil smirk. "How careless! Whose job was it to tell the king?"

They looked around at each other, all feigning ignorance.

"Oh, I believe it was Folgrin's job, but he was struck with that nasty stomach upset," Dolor said knowingly. He tapped his cheek. Then he stopped and stared with narrowed eyes at Balin, Dwalin, and the princes, who all feigned ignorance much more successfully.

"Humph," he said, irritated that he couldn't flush them out, "well, more are on their way and should arrive in a day or so. Please tell the king, if you'd be so kind. We need to make preparations."

They chuckled among themselves and then turned to leave.

"Does Princess Onkra have everything she needs then?" Kili called out to Dolor's retreating back. "If not, I could make a few suggestions!"

Dolor stiffened and muttered something under his breath as Bofur kicked the door closed with his foot.

"Well, that tears it," Balin said glumly. "Our king will be fit to be tied. Who wants to tell him?"

In the meantime, Thorin wrote orders that all dwarrowdams be assigned a personal guard—for their safety. He had the guards explain that the mountain was vast and that there were too many opportunities for accidents. The dwarrowdams giggled and cooed over the king's apparent thoughtfulness, but what he really wanted, of course, was constant reports on their movements.

I am going to find her!

What he intended to do once he did, he hadn't worked out yet. Her words kept running through his mind though, and he couldn't stop imagining who she might be. He had always enjoyed a puzzle, and this once tortuous ordeal now took on an air of expectation.

"Do you like flowers, Lady Bruffa?" he asked as he walked outside with her on the terraced gardens that were cut into the side of the mountain that faced the rising sun. After Erebor was retaken, Thorin assigned some dwarves to repair and replant his mother's gardens, and after two years, they had regained much of their former glory. Shaped into geometric patterns, the vibrantly colored, flower beds were guarded by boxwood topiaries of various animals. Visitors could sit and enjoy the scenery on carved marble benches. There was even a secluded arbor that lovers often visited.

Thorin sighed as his mind wandered to his mother. She had survived the fall of Erebor, but her health suffered for many years until she finally succumbed to pneumonia one wet spring just before they reached the Blue Mountains. Even in her last hours, her words were ones of encouragement for those she loved.

Indeed, I owe her my life….

Snapping back to the present, he shook off his sudden melancholy and asked the question again. Lady Bruffa waved a damp handkerchief in the air as if to shoo away nature and then sneezed once more into its sodden folds. Her dull, blue irises looked brighter against the bloodshot whites of her eyes.

"I prefer gems, my lord," she snuffled out. "They last longer and don't make one's nose itch."

He nodded and then leaned in slightly and sniffed. She smelled faintly of lye soap. His nose wrinkled.

Apparently not.

Later, he replayed the same scene with Lady Wogren, a fairly attractive, blond dwarrowdam with hazel eyes.

"Oh, I like whatever flowers you prefer, my lord," she simpered, batting her lashes as though she had something in her eyes. "I firmly believe that a queen needs to adapt her preferences to her king."

She moved in closer with a swing of her hips, her wide, v-neck, green gown slightly too tight on her buxom figure. Sashaying as she walked, she kept fiddling with the top of her sleeve.

"Oh, dear me," she said suddenly as her sleeve dropped off her shoulder, showing a lot more skin than Thorin wanted to see.

"Oh, my lord, would you mind?" she asked sweetly.

He stood confused.

"Mind what, my lady?"

She flounced her now-bare shoulder and looked up at him under her lashes.

"I'm afraid I need a little help with my dress, my lord. It seems to have come undone. I'm absolutely mortified!"

He cringed internally and hesitated before lightly tugging up her sleeve.

"What strong hands, you have, my lord!" she cooed. "Any dwarrowdam would be putty in your hands, to be sure."

At first he thought she might be teasing him, but when he stepped closer he caught a whiff of her pungent perfume. The aroma made his nose burn and eyes water. She was perfectly serious.

Definitely not.

Later that evening, after the feast, he walked back toward his chamber with Balin.

"I notice you seem a bit preoccupied lately, laddie," he said. "Anything amiss?"

Thorin shrugged without answering. He had not heard from the mystery writer for several days now, and he was increasingly restless. She wouldn't use his mother's book again and, anyway, what else was there to say? She had helped those she thought worthy, and perhaps now she was just letting things run their course. Her silence unsettled him, but he didn't know what to do next. In his spare time, he had checked through different books in the library on warfare and tactics but found nothing. Then he thought back to the banquet.

Princess Onkra had entered last as usual, but this time she insisted on sitting next to the king, and with Dain at the table, Thorin did not refuse. She tucked in after much careful maneuvering of her chair by burly dwarf guards, and she instructed the servants to place the platters around her plate. Thorin heard another soft snort in the room.

"I must compliment you on your place settings, my lord," she said delicately as she gnawed noisily on a joint of mutton. "There is an art to feasting that we, dwarves, have mastered, don't you think? Others see food merely as sustenance. What a waste. I pity those who see food as only a means of increasing their productivity like farm animals."

Thorin's head whipped around at her comment. He watched her smack her fat lips and listened to her satisfied grunting with increasing dismay. It had to be a coincidence. He would allow no other possibility.

"Did she say farm animals?" Bofur whispered to Nori.

"Aye," he replied, "and we all know which one we're thinking of."

Then Dain turned to his cousin.

"I know that you've had a busy day, Thorin," he started after smiling and patting his daughter's fat and greasy hand, "but I'd like a word with you tomorrow night. It's been too long since we've talked."

Thorin turned to his cousin and smiled tightly, knowing that Dain would take at least some of that time to argue his daughter's case.

"Aye," he said leaning over so only Dain could hear, "a little male company would be welcome."

The Lord of the Iron Hills laughed.

"I take no offense, although many would kill to be in your boots, cousin," he replied good-naturedly.

"Laddie," Balin said, finally prodding his arm, "you drifted off again."

Thorin hummed absent-mindedly as they walked when suddenly an envelope twirled down in front of them like a maple seed in the breeze. Balin was surprised, but Thorin inhaled deeply in relief and grinned widely. He picked up the letter and then looked up at a hidden balcony. A slight rustle told him that someone was still there. Suddenly, he sprinted toward a narrow staircase, and Balin hurried behind him.

Taking the steps two at a time, Thorin turned the corner and whipped back the red velvet curtain. No one was there. He grunted angrily and pounded his hand on the railing. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh, spring scent that he now only identified with her.

"What in Erebor are you doing?" Balin asked, huffing and puffing behind him. Then he sniffed the air and put his hands on his hips. "What's going on, lad? We've both been working behind the scenes, but now I think we'd better join forces before we trip each other up."

Thorin didn't answer but instead ripped the letter open.

Your Royal Highness,

My, quite the charmer you've become! I'm relieved that you've recovered from your illness and that your manners have returned. You were most difficult without them, although I suspect that your illness might be a chronic one.

Thorin laughed out loud, and Balin looked amazed.

However, I'm writing to you now to warn you of a plot to force your hand. A noble dwarrowdam is planning to sneak into your bed tonight after midnight. I had no other way to warn you, Your Majesty, but I'm sure you'll know what to do. However, if you're short on ideas, I suggest the pointy end of a letter opener. Lord Balin would be an excellent witness, but I imagine that finding Lord Dwalin in your bed instead might make a better memory for all to enjoy—except for Lord Dwalin, although it might make up for Lady Fregma. On second thought, you might also want a council member there as a witness and for extra humiliation.

Your Amused Servant,

He gazed fondly at the flower sprig but then his face turned stern at her words.

"What's this about?" Balin asked again. Thorin silently handed him the letter.

"Oh, my," he said and sat on a low bench on one side. He read it again. Then he looked up as Thorin's strange behavior finally made sense.

"So, she's the one who has you tied up in knots," he observed while keeping a shrewd eye on his king.

"I'm not tied up in knots, Balin!" Thorin retorted, looking more offended than he ought.

Balin smirked and put his hands on his knees. Then he spied something on the ground.

Thorin bent over and picked up a small hair pin. It was delicate and beautifully made with a small cluster of white and yellow diamonds as the flowers and emeralds as the leaves. Balin pulled out his loupe that he always carried with him and wiggled his fingers for Thorin to hand it over. He took his time and examined it critically, turning it over to find the maker's mark. Thorin paced impatiently, his dark brows heavy over his eyes.

"So you're looking for this mystery lady then?" his old friend asked seriously.

He nodded.

"Why? What do you want with her?"

Up until that moment, Thorin didn't really know. At first it was to wring her neck, but perhaps now it was to thank her for adding cheer and a sense of lightness to his life. He shrugged, still unsure.

"Well, laddie," Balin said matter-of-factly, "you won't have far to look because this pin was made here at Erebor."

Late that night, far past midnight, Thorin sat quietly in the dark with Balin and Malar, who often shifted his bulk in a creaky chair.

"Will you be quiet?" Balin demanded, giving the reluctant councilor an elbow in the side.

"I refuse to believe that any of our noble women folk would do something so wanton and dishonorable," he sniffed. "They are …"

"As precious as mithril and as delicate as the petals of a flower," said Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin in unison.

"Anything else you'd like to add?" Thorin asked sarcastically.

Malar grumbled resentfully. This was a waste of time, in his opinion, and part of some nefarious plot to rob him of much-needed sleep. He opened his mouth, about to speak his mind, when all heard quiet footsteps in the hall.

The door to Thorin's chambers slowly swung open. He reminded himself to dismiss the guards at the door immediately, since they were clearly bought off. Then he made a mental note to tighten security everywhere. Some of the guards were too busy watching the dwarrowdams to pay attention at their posts. The door cracked open, and someone stepped slowly into the room.

Dwalin started snoring quietly. The others heard soft footfalls and the sound of sheets being pulled back. The mattress creaked with extra weight, and soft whisperings promised a night to remember. Then came a sudden shriek.

"Where is your hair!"

Thorin and the others turned their lamps up to see a shocked Lady Wogren in bed with a greatly amused Dwalin. She grabbed the sheets up to her nearly exposed bosom while he guffawed loudly.

"Well, I think this makes up for Lady Fregma, Dwalin," Thorin said with heavy irony, "although I admit that she was a noble and honorable dwarrowdam at least."

Then he looked Lady Wogren up and down with obvious contempt. "Which is more than I can say here."

Malar's mouth hung open until Balin shut it with his hand.

"So, I think you'll agree that we were in the right after all, eh, councilor? Would you mind telling the others, or shall I do it for you?"

Balin wore the face of a cat who had licked the last drop of the cream, but the fat councilor's mouth wobbled until he coughed and cleared his throat. Fixing an outraged look on his face, he marched over to the bed. Lady Wogren scrambled out as fast as she could and ran for the door, but Thorin blocked her path.

"I think we're done here, my lady," he said curtly. "I leave it to Malar here to explain this all to your father; that is, assuming he doesn't already know."

After Malar escorted her back to her chambers, lecturing her sternly all the while, Dwalin turned to Thorin with a smirk. He felt more his old self after this adventure and rubbed his head where she had tried to stroke his non-existent hair.

"How did you know?"

He smiled. "I have someone on the inside it seems."

Balin chuckled.

"I wish we could have used the letter opener though."

Dwalin looked at him, not understanding, but Thorin laughed.

"I like her," Balin said with a twinkle in his eye.

Thorin grinned and shook his head in amusement.

Aye.

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