Thanks again for all of your fun and encouraging reviews! I am grateful for all who are following and favoriting. So many of you are guessing who the mystery lady is. Good guesses all of you! Here she is! Ta da!

Chapter 8

"I say we do it now," Kili argued the next night after the feast. He had pulled his brother into a small antechamber after another disastrous evening. "Uncle was mad enough when the first group arrived, and now I'm sure he's livid to find out that more greedy dwarrowdams are on their way. He looked beyond grim at the feast."

Fili hummed in agreement at that last comment. He stood and paced back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back in a perfect imitation of the king.

"No, we need to wait at least until all the new ones arrive. In the meantime, we can spread rumors that some illness that causes boils or pox is spreading along the trade routes. Everyone will believe us because some sickness comes round every spring. Didn't Princess Faltha say as much when she was here?"

Kili nodded, impressed by his brother's logic. He took in his brother's posture, the set of his shoulders, and the knot in his forehead. Fili stood frowning like he was mentally summoning up storm clouds to rain over the dwarrowdams and council both. Kili bit his lip in amusement.

"You'll make a good king, Fili," he said grinning impishly. He flicked his forefinger up and down at his brother's Thorin-like stance and facial expression. "Aye, you even strut like him."

Fili stopped at once, unclasped his hands, and straightened up.

"I do NOT strut!"

"Anyway," Kili said, still smirking, "your plan is brilliant and will give us the time we need."

"So we need to research all the latest fortune and holdings figures from all the clans presenting their dwarrowdams," Dolor intoned as Folgrin pulled out a number of scrolls and several books from racks in the main council chamber. "Ideally, we're looking for one with a substantial fortune with no liens or mortgages on property. Connections are secondary unless they also have substantial resources."

The youngest council member scoffed.

"What does it matter when the king can choose whom he wills?"

Dolor looked down his nose at his associate. "Since one dwarrowdam is as much alike as another in his eyes, I'm sure reason will sway him to our choice. However, I do agree with his assessment of Princess Onkra, unfortunately. Her manner would be, um, difficult to work with should she become queen."

"Aye," another said, "we need a rich dwarrowdam who's sweet and pliable. I don't fancy facing one like Princess Dis, although she upheld her house with honor."

The council members chorused in agreement more for form's sake than for actual sentiment.

"So we all are agreed then to choose the best dwarrowdam and help her attract the king's attention?" Dolor asked. "We don't need more like Lady Wogren."

They all nodded and unrolled the scrolls and opened the books to find the most financially eligible dwarrowdam. Even though they were all well off, they would benefit handsomely from the family should they help her win the king's attention. Already, the bribes they had received for various favors had fattened their already bulging coffers.

Thorin sat at his desk, staring at the blank piece of paper before him. Then he unlaced the front of his tunic and pulled up a soft, leather pouch that hung on a cord around his neck. Opening it, he pulled out the letters and the jeweled pin of the mystery writer and spread them out next to the paper. He twiddled a white quill between his fingers. It was his move now, and he carefully considered what he wanted to write. A wicked grin curled his lips as he dipped his quill, and he chuckled occasionally at his witty words. Signing finally with a bold flourish, he sat back and enjoyed imagining how she would respond.

Then someone knocked on his door, and he quickly but gently folded the note in his palm. Dain opened his door holding two tankards and a large bottle of whiskey. He looked around at the opulence of Thorin's private study, and his brows rose. The black granite walls were covered with tapestries of his adventures with the company and the mountain itself. A carving of them made from one of Smaug's huge teeth carried the runes, "The House of Durin Will Endure With The Help of Loyal Friends" and hung over the huge mantel piece. Built-in stone shelves held hundreds of books and scrolls. Thorin's writing desk was enormous. It was piled high with sheaves of paper, maps of trade routes, contracts, and various other legal matters. Filling the back quarter of the room, it stood in front of a large tapestry that held the record of the Durin lineage and related clans. Dain looked down and shook his head in admiration. Thorin's over-sized inkwell was silver and carved in the shape of Smaug. The great dragon's open mouth held the ink.

So Thorin gets to stab Smaug every time he writes, Dain thought with amusement. That fits.

Lamps made from gold and crystal cast cheerful light, and the huge fireplace drove away the mountain chill. Two overstuffed, leather chairs rested before the fireplace with a thick fur rug between them. The study looked both imposing and comfortable; that is, imposing to any who might be summoned and comfortable for the king who had to spend a lot of time there.

"I thought you might want something stronger after the news you received," Dain said merrily, and he thumped the mugs on Thorin's desk. He poured until the whiskey reached the rims, and he quickly chugged his down. Thorin took a small swallow and fingered the handle cautiously.

"You wish to condole with me about more dwarrowdams invading my halls?" he asked suspiciously as he eyed the already half-empty bottle in front of him. "I thought you said that others would kill to be in my place."

He looked up, and his expression changed to one of confused concern as Dain's cheerful demeanor dropped, and the corners of his mouth turned down. The Lord of the Iron Hills walked over to the fireplace and leaned his forehead on his arm as he stared into the fire. Neither spoke for some minutes while Dain watched the flames, seemingly somewhere else in time and place.

"I did this once; do you remember?" he asked, finally looking back at Thorin who nodded slowly.

"I seem to recall it now."

"It was many years ago when I was in your place," he said.

Thorin stood from the desk, still holding the note, and gestured to the chairs in front of the fire. Dain sat down with a nod of thanks. He ran his hand through his wild hair, making it stick up like random stalagmites in a cave.

"I had my pick of any in the land, but…."

"But?" Thorin prodded after a moment.

A spasm of pain tightened Dain's face. He drew breath as though he wanted to speak, but then he hung his head and gripped the back of his neck with one hand. He shook himself as though to throw off a heavy burden. Sighing heavily, he got up and stood again in front of the fire.

"I think I prefer to tell you this way," he said. "Then I might be able to bear my shame."

Thorin was perplexed but waved his hand. "Go on."

"So you remember that time when I had to choose a bride from among the best in the land?" he asked.

Thorin nodded.

"But," Dain started, "but I had already chosen long before, cousin. My heart already belonged to someone else."

At this, Thorin joined him at the fire.

"You never told me this," he said. "Who was she?"

Dain held his forehead in one hand. His body bent in pain, and he seemed to shrink in on himself.

"She was the daughter of a dwarf of the Irons Hills," he said slowly. "He worked in a respected profession but was not of the nobility nor a warrior."

Then he worked his jaw and snorted angrily. His green eyes flashed fire.

"Oh, father didn't mind my being with her," he said bitterly. "He even encouraged the relationship. 'She steadies you, son. She's good for you, lad.' What rubbish! She was plenty good enough for me, until it was time for me to wed, that is, and then he told me to cast her off like an old cloak."

Thorin's brows knitted together in consternation, and he reached forward and put his broad hand on his cousin's shoulder.

"I didn't know," he said softly. "I'm sorry, Dain."

Dain flinched and held up his hand.

"I don't deserve your pity, Thorin, because I made matters worse. I wed the princess who birthed Onkra. She, too, was forced into this mockery of a union, but she honestly wanted to make it work. I didn't. We, we spent one night together as husband and wife, and she got pregnant. I never touched her again. Within the year, she died in childbirth from loneliness. Even worse, even worse, she knew, she knew that I never left my first and only love."

Thorin eyes widened, and he was struck dumb with surprise. His fingers tightened around the note. Dwarves took their marriage vows as sacred, and adultery was not tolerated under any circumstances. His blue eyes stared in shock at his cousin who turned away from his instinctive disgust.

"I know, I know, I'm a cad and a cheat, and if Onkra's other kin ever heard of this, they would demand blood payment. Poor Onkra. I killed her mother as much as if I put her to the ax, so I did everything I could to make up for it."

Thorin's breath hissed between his teeth. This explained a lot of why Onkra was the way she was. Dain watched his cousin carefully and saw the wheels turning.

"Aye, I spoiled her rotten," Dain said. "I felt it was the least I could do, but I know now that I've failed as a father as well as a husband. Onkra didn't have to turn out like her mother, and it's my doing."

He slumped back tiredly into the chair.

"I know you thought I came here tonight to plead her case," he said quietly, "but I'm here to tell you to find your own love in life and not to give in to this farce."

Thorin nodded his appreciation.

"Whatever happened to the, to your …?" He gestured the rest.

"Oh, she died finally from an illness some years later," Dain replied, his voice breaking. "I couldn't even mourn her properly. Her family buried her, and it wasn't until weeks had passed that I could sneak out to her tomb at night to say goodbye."

Thorin crushed the note in his hand, and it crackled like the flames before him. A face dimly appeared in his memory, wavered, and disappeared. He must have seen her during a visit, but he didn't remember clearly.

"So do you and she have a…?" Thorin began carefully. He couldn't finish the sentence.

Dain looked up, his eyes bright and bloodshot.

"Don't let them do this to you, Thorin," he said, his face now hard and closed. "It will never stop, never! Find your own wife; be your own king. Don't give in like I did."

He pushed himself out of the chair and walked unsteadily to Thorin's desk and grabbed the bottle. He tipped it up and drank until rivulets ran down his red and gray-streaked beard. Then he stalked toward the door and leaned heavily against the frame. He gripped the knob for support.

"Make it end with you, Thorin," he rasped. "Make it end with you."

Long after all had gone to sleep, Thorin sat at his desk, running Dain's words over and over in his mind. He never would have thought his cousin capable of such a thing, but to be forced to give up the love of his life for politics was just as terrible. He poured himself another drink. He had been content enough alone, but Dain's words had shaken him more than he wanted to admit.

Could I do something so heinous?

His mind immediately conjured up the image of Bilbo hanging by his heels in answer. He cringed and drank some more. He had decided before Dain's visit to thank the mystery writer. He owed her that much since she did him a great service. What would have happened otherwise? He shuddered at the thought of finding Lady Wogren in his bed. Then he thought of wanting anyone in his bed.

He imagined coming back from a long council meeting and having someone waiting for him with a loving smile on her face. She would listen with sympathy while he shared his difficult day, and he would listen to her stories. Her gentle jokes and wit would tease away his cares, and together they would sit in one of the soft, leather chairs. She would snuggle on his lap, and he would wrap his arms around her and pull her close...

Thorin sat up and shook himself. It must be the whiskey playing with his mind. He growled angrily, and his silvered locks swung around his face.

I need no one.

He strode over to the fire and threw in the note. Home and hearth were for other dwarves. It had always been so, and he was not about to change now. Why, if not for his single-minded determination, no dwarf would ever have reclaimed the mountain. Procuring an heir was enough and easily achieved without entanglements. The little tenderness he felt belonged to his nephews as was proper. Love was for family, not strangers. He poured another drink.

Reaching over, he pulled off another sheet of paper. Then he took out a sharp knife and whittled the end of his feather quill. Stabbing Smaug once again, he wrote:

To the Mystery Writer,

I thank you for your timely warning.

Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor.

He frowned. Despite his resolve, the note was terse and ungrateful. He dipped his quill and tried again.

To the Mystery Writer,

I thank you for your timely warning. Your advice was sound, and Lady Wogren left the next morning.

Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor

He frowned again, still unsatisfied, and a blob of ink slipped off the tip of his quill and splattered on the paper. Crumpling up his first two tries, he sat forward and tried again. When he finished writing, he snarled in anger, crunched it between his hands, and tipped up the bottle.

Hours later, Balin and Dwalin knocked on the door and stepped inside after hearing soft snoring. They stopped and stared around in surprise at their king slumped over in his chair with a quill in his hand. On the top of his desk and all around the floor were crumpled pieces of paper. Balin picked one up.

To the Mystery Writer,

I thank you for your timely warning and your advice. Lord Dwalin's spirits were much improved. I also appreciated your help to Lady Meera and Princess Faltha. I …

"Brother," Balin said handing out the note. Dwalin read it and handed him one in exchange.

My Lady,

I thank you for your timely warning and your advice. Lord Dwalin's spirits were much improved, and I must say that your notes have improved mine as well. I also appreciated your help to Lady Meera and Princess …

Then they found the empty whiskey bottle.

"I hope he didn't drink it all himself," Balin said, "else he'll be in quite a state tomorrow."

Dwalin shrugged and sniffed the whiskey on his breath.

"Must have been Dain," he replied, "and knowing him, he'd drink at least half the bottle, so there's hope."

Balin tugged on his brother's arm.

"Look at this."

On Thorin's desk was the final note in flowing script.

To My Lady and Master Strategist,

I thank you for your sound and timely advice. In one clever move, you both rescued me from an unfortunate marriage and restored Lord Dwalin's spirits. Lord Balin thoroughly enjoyed the moment as well, although I can't say the same for council member Malar. Likewise, I thank you for your sincere concern for Princess Faltha and Lady Meera. You spared two honorable dwarrowdams from great unhappiness. Life with me is difficult at best, and I'm glad that they were saved from such a fate.

While I have no right to ask more, considering what you saved me from, I claim the prerogative of a king and command you now to reveal your identity. I don't know how this summons will reach you, but if you're as clever as you seem to be, you'll find it with ease. I expect your answer tomorrow night. Do not disappoint me.

Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor

"Aye, well, he has a long way to go if he's intending to court this lass," Dwalin muttered after reading.

Balin looked incredulous.

"What would you know?" he asked.

The burly warrior folded his arms across his chest.

"Enough to know this isn't the way to go about it."

Balin opened his mouth to reply and then thought better of it. They glanced again at their king.

"Aye, you're probably right. So what should we do now?"

"About what?"

"About the note," Balin said rolling his eyes. "He'd never send this on his own. I'll wager he only wrote this after he emptied the bottle. I know he wants to find out who she is, but he'd never say that he'd be disappointed if she didn't answer."

Dwalin pursed his lips.

"Are you suggesting, what I think you're suggesting?"

Balin's eyes sparkled with mischief. He picked up the note, folded it, and heated the wax. After fixing the royal seal, he rocked back on his heels and wagged his brows.

"What're you doing?" Dwalin asked skeptically. "It's not our place to interfere. Besides, you know this won't help his suit, so why sent it?"

Balin cocked his head. Then he broke into a wide grin.

"I'm not interfering, brother. I'm simply helping a friend, and if this lass is as smart as I think she is, she'll be able to read between the lines."

As the sun crested the horizon, and the first light of day sent a warm glow on the gates of Erebor, a slight figure slipped along the corridor to the library. She pushed on the door and smiled. No one yet had discovered the very small block of wood she had fixed in the lock to keep the door open. Silently, she moved among the stacks, fingering and touching the books. Humming in satisfaction, she pulled out a book on chess strategies whose cover didn't close completely. He didn't put this note here, she was certain, and she looked behind her quickly to make sure that no one followed her. Pulling out the sealed paper, she hurried back to her chambers. She glanced down the hall at her door to make certain that no one had seen her. Sitting down at her table, she carefully unfolded the note and traced the bold signature at the bottom. She moved her candle closer and began to read. Her face softened at his comment about being difficult to live with. She ran a slim finger over his words.

So, my lord, you're as hard on yourself as you are on everyone else. That's no surprise.

Then she read further and huffed. So he decided to change the rules of the game, did he? And in such an arrogant fashion! She tapped her finger against her lips as she thought through several smart responses. Then she sighed as Queen Relia's words came to mind.

He's so serious, so serious and alone in his mind. I fear for him.

She smiled sadly in remembrance. The queen often talked about her eldest son. She found herself wanting to meet him face to face at last.

What's the worst that could happen if I reveal myself?

After pondering the answer that immediately came to mind, she realized how to reply without giving herself away. Her eyes sparkled with glee as she pulled out a quill, cut her point, and began to write.

"Let's see what he makes of this!" she said to herself with a small smile playing about her lips. She wrote for some time and then waited for the ink to dry before folding the note. She laughed softly as she imagined the look on his face when he read her reply.

I haven't had this much fun in years.

Game on and please review!