What a wonderful response to the last chapter! Thank you, thank you! It's so much fun to hear from everyone. More clues are in this chapter, but I'll let you guess if they match.

Chapter 9

Thorin woke up with his head pulsing like the battle drum of an orc battalion. Shifting painfully in his chair, he braced his elbows on his desk, and dropped his bleary face in his hands. He had no idea what time it was, and he didn't care. His mouth felt dry like it had been packed with wool. Someone knocked on the door, and he winced painfully.

"Enter." His voice echoed in his head. Dain's whiskey must have been extra potent because he knew he hadn't had that much. Then he glanced at the empty bottle and groaned.

Balin bustled in with a wide grin, far too cheerfully for his taste.

"Good morning!" he chirped.

"Is it?" Thorin mumbled. He rubbed his aching temples.

"Aye, well, at least we're not at war," Balin replied with a sunny grin.

Thorin looked up sourly and blinked to see his friend through the haze. Balin looked like a huge, papa dwarf doll.

"That's what you think."

Balin came around the desk and surveyed his obviously hung-over king.

"My, what happened to you, Thorin? Did Dain stop by? And what're all these papers doing on your desk and on the floor?"

All at once, last night's conversation crashed down on him, and he bolted upright and pushed papers around his desk frantically.

"No, no, no!" he cried as his eyes darted around looking for his finished note. "Where is it?"

Balin was relieved that his king was too distracted to see the smug grin on his face.

"Where's what?"

Thorin gripped the edge of this desk and grew very still. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes.

"I wrote a note last night when I wasn't in the best frame of mind," he rumbled in a hoarse baritone. "I didn't think I sent it, but it seems now that perhaps I did."

Balin held his hands under his belly and swayed back and forth as though deep in thought. It made Thorin queasy.

"Who was it to?"

At that, Thorin looked up and growled.

"To her," he retorted, "to the mystery writer."

Balin made a show of considering options. He grunted and held his chin. Then he scratched his temple and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, so you sent it then. So what?"

Thorin's fingers kneaded his forehead in circles.

"I wasn't myself when I wrote the letter, and I fear I may come off as …"

"As what? Even so, why should you care? You're king."

After a quiet moment, Thorin raised wounded and despairing eyes to his friend, and Balin's mirth faded away. The time for teasing was over.

"You like her, don't you?" he asked gently.

Thorin shook his head. His shoulders dropped, and he ran his hands over his head through his hair, yanking roughly on the tangles.

"After last night I don't know what I feel."

Balin pulled up a chair, sat, and put his hands on his knees. He didn't know what could have happened last night to upset Thorin like this. Dain was a drinker, sure, and a bit of a braggart and teller of tall tales, but he was never serious. Balin was puzzled, but he could see that his king was uncharacteristically vulnerable and confused.

"Do you want to tell your old friend about it?"

Thorin's brow furrowed in concentration.

"It's not my story to tell."

Balin sighed. He had watched Thorin grow up under an indifferent father and increasingly mad grandfather, both too busy with other matters to talk, really talk to him about matters of the heart. Thorin, in all important ways, grew up alone. His brother and sister were too young to share any real concerns, and he had few male friends. Being a prince naturally brought hangers-on, and Thorin became distrustful of those who only wanted his influence. Balin had never seen him interested in any dwarrowdam, not until now at least. Whoever she was, she put a light in his eyes that Balin was afraid might die—for good—if he didn't pursue her.

"Laddie," He said seriously, "I know that you were forced into this whole business of choosing a wife, but I've never seen you so distracted by one of our women folk before. What if, well, what if she's the one?"

Thorin put the heels on his hands on his eyes and pressed hard. In his few spare moments he dared consider the same, but after Dain's story….

"What if she's not?"

Balin sighed dramatically and shook his head sadly.

"Aye, perhaps, but I never thought I'd see the royal Durin line give up so easily."

At that, Thorin reared up, his eyes blazing. Balin faced his fury calmly.

"What did you say?" he roared, all fogginess gone.

Balin sat completely at ease.

"You heard me. Do you need me to say it again? Now don't you get your back up. I'm not saying that you don't have courage when it comes to battle. Ach, there no one can touch you, lad. Besides, perhaps you're right, and it'll be some other dwarf who catches the saucy lass."

He chuckled fondly. "Aye, with a lass like that a dwarf would never grow bored. It'll be brash lad indeed who wins such a one."

He paused to listen to Thorin's angry puffs of air and twiddled his thumbs aimlessly.

"Hmm, come to think of it, there may be others even now pursuing her. Wouldn't surprise me one bit."

Suddenly standing to his full height, Thorin threw back his shoulders, and his hair swung around his neck. Gone was the desolate dwarf, and in his place stood the powerful King of Erebor. His eyes darkened with a predatory gleam, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips.

"Assemble the company after the feast, Balin," he said firmly. "I want her found, and I want you to put your plans aside until she is."

Tugging hard on his robes, which sat askew on his shoulders, Thorin clenched his hands and strode purposefully out the door. Balin chuckled to himself and hummed a merry tune under his breath.

"Well, well," he said to himself, "that took a little doing, but it was worth it."

Thorin walked quickly down the main stairs and, without a word, snatched the day's schedule out of Dolor's hand.

"Oh, my lord," the councilor called after him, "reports are coming in of a pox-like illness spreading along the trade routes. Since we've had travelers from all over Middle-earth, we're at risk. In fact, the contagion may have already passed our borders."

Thorin turned on his heel.

"What do you want me to do about it?" he asked angrily with his hands on his hips and the schedule crushed in his fist. "Have all the ladies stripped and disinfected? You invited them all here, so you deal with it. I will have Oin take measures to protect my people. You're responsible for the rest."

Then he stormed away leaving Dolor unsettled for the first time since the council had decreed that the king must marry. He had hoped that Durin's heir would buckle under these events, so the council could increase its power and influence. However, it seems that something else had happened instead. He had felt a sudden shiver of dread looking into the stern and commanding face of his liege. Thorin no longer looked sullen and glum, and he stared after the king as he strode away tall and determined. The council had secretly decided to distract and wear the king down lest he discover certain irregularities in the books, and finding Thror's order was a blessing. Dolor tugged on his beard and watched Thorin issue a series of orders with renewed energy and assurance. He hastened away to meet with fellow council members. Something had changed, and they needed to plan.

After Oin left to confer with Thorin on how best to prevent or at least contain an outbreak, Fili and Kili snuck into the infirmary.

"Now which one is the boils bottle?" Fili asked. Kili coughed and rubbed his throat.

"Have a little too much to drink with Bofur last night, brother?" Fili joked.

Kili grinned.

"Aye," he said a bit roughly, "but I wasn't the one left under the table."

Fili scratched an itch in his cheek and cocked his head toward the cabinet where Oin kept his tinctures.

"Come on," he said, "we don't have much time."

They pulled out the tray that he had showed them and picked through the bottles.

"I'm sure it's this one," Kili said, holding up a clear bottle with amber fluid. Fili shook his head.

"No, it's this one," he retorted holding up an amber bottle with clear fluid inside.

"Well," Kili replied, "let's uncork them then."

Fili's bottle smelled like flowers, but the liquid in Kili's bottle smelled strange and a little like pee.

"Ewww, this has to be it, brother," Kili said, holding the bottle up to Fili who flinched.

"Ugh, stop waving that under my nose!"

After determining which dwarrowdams they wanted gone, the brothers slipped into their rooms and rubbed the liquid on their bushes and combs with a cloth. They also rubbed some on the doorknobs and anything else they thought would be touched. Then they threw out the gloves they wore and headed back to get something to eat.

"I can't wait to see this!" Fili sniggered. Kili nodded with a sly grin.

"Aye," he replied, "I know that Balin said to wait, but we needed to act now. Word should be spreading about the sickness, so the council will never suspect."

"So then I said that she should wear the red dress, and I should wear the blue because blue goes so much better with my eyes, don't you think, my lord?"

Thorin and the Lady Grola from the White Mountains sat on a bench in the art gallery. He leaned back against a wall with his eyes closed.

"Um, aye."

"Of course!" she replied. "Blue goes much better with blonde hair, but she said that blue goes with brown hair as well, but I didn't agree, so then we started arguing until father said we could both have blue and red dresses. That was so kind of him, but then we had to decide what jewelry to wear, and some say that you should wear sapphires with blue and rubies with red, but I think that's so unimaginative. It's much more unusual to wear rubies with blue for contrast, and sapphires with red, or diamonds for both. It really takes having an eye, much like the artworks here. Don't you agree, sire?"

"Um," he replied. He started snoring softly.

"That's just what I said! You have to do something different to be noticed! Otherwise, we'd all look the same, and how can you make a statement if you look like someone else. That's just silly. Now take this outfit. I decided to defy fashion and wear moon stones with pink. Others think only opals should go with pink, but when I walked in, they all stopped and stared. I had them thinking, "Ah, moon stones. I wouldn't have thought of that," and that's what makes me stand out. It's a talent, I think, to know how to keep a dwarf interested ..."

Later, Thorin walked in the mines with Lady Carba at her request. She was dark and wore plain, gray garb and, oddly, a monocle. She carried a book and a quill with a little pot of ink.

"So what is your monthly yield of iron ore?" she asked in a clipped tone while holding her quill to her book.

Thorin did a double take. The eye under the monocle didn't blink.

"Twenty cubic tons," he said easily. He looked over as she jotted down the figures in her book.

"Hmm, I see," she replied.

Thorin tried to look over her shoulder, but she caught him and held her book to her chest.

"So how do you see the role of queen at Erebor? What would be her duties and daily activities?"

Thorin stopped and stared agape.

"I, erm, I see the queen as being, uh, my partner in all matters concerning the health of the kingdom, of course."

She scribbled furiously in her book while he grew increasingly uneasy.

"Do you now? Fascinating. Now what do you think about early education for dwarflings and pensions for dwarves older than 250 years? And where do you stand on yearly raises in wages for dwarves of working age?"

Thorin stared at her as she dipped her nib in the ink.

"I, uh …"

"Really? Mmm, hmmm," she said as she flipped a page and kept writing.

Thorin stood a little taller in hopes of seeing what she was putting down.

"Why are you writing everything down?" he asked.

"Is it important for you to know?" she replied.

"Well ..." he started.

"Curious, quite curious." She turned another page, and without looking up, she asked "Are you now or have you ever been in favor of mining guilds?"

Thorin stared at her incredulous, and his mouth moved wordlessly.

"Indeed."

After four more appointments, Thorin slipped into a hot bath and readied himself for the feast. He had no time to go to the library, and he grew increasing nervous. What if he had sent the note? What if she took offense? He dipped his head back under the water and felt the weight of it pulling on his wavy strands. It was soothing, almost like fingers massaging his scalp and temples. Then he stepped out, toweled off, and donned another black outfit, only this time the collar was embroidered with gold.

He entered to hear a strange silence. All stood by their chairs waiting for him as usual, and he looked around suspiciously. Everyone conversed more quietly than usual, and some looked uncomfortable. The servers came forward and placed the food on the table, but a few pushed their empty plates away. Princess Onkra though sat unaffected and piled her plate high. Her habitual grunting, crunching, and lip smacking echoed in the subdued atmosphere.

"What's wrong, Fili?" his brother asked in amusement. "You look a bit flushed. Did you start drinking early?"

Fili shook his head and quietly scratched at his face.

"Something itches," he replied in a low voice.

Kili frowned. He opened his mouth to say something when he felt his throat begin to burn.

"Uh," he said wincing. "I didn't drink that much last night."

All at once, someone shrieked, and all heads turned to see a dwarrowdam with spots on her face.

Balin and Dwalin gasped in horror and turned to glare at Fili and Kili who looked triumphant for all of a moment.

"Here we go, brother," Kili said hoarsely, but Fili said nothing. Kili turned to see him scratching furiously at bumps emerging on his face and neck.

"Durin's beard!" Kili cried, and then he started coughing hard. He grabbed his throat. "It burns!"

Thorin stood as pandemonium broke out and ordered for those affected to head to the healing rooms at once. He grabbed the arm of a sentry.

"Run ahead and tell Oin to carry out the quarantine and other measures."

Then he walked quickly down to his nephews.

"Come on, lads, let's get you help. I've heard that it'll pass in a week with no lasting damage if we get you treated right away."

Fili and Kili stared at each other as Thorin handed them off to guards who arrived to escort all who showed signs of the illness.

Some of the company also scratched and coughed, and Balin and Dwalin shook their heads ruefully.

"Young fools! Why didn't they wait?" Balin whispered.

Dwalin heaved a sigh.

"And why weren't they more careful?" he replied. "I don't think it was their plan to get themselves sick, nor Ori, Dori, and Bifur."

All left except Princess Onkra and her maid, who placed all the platters around her and handed her buns and biscuits on command.

Thorin rubbed the side of his face and headed to the sick rooms to make sure that Oin had everything under control, but he slowed as he passed the corridor that led to the library. He stopped, debated for a moment, and then headed down the hall.

The librarian simply bowed at the waist this time, and Thorin wandered among the books, trying to figure out where she might put a letter if she had written one. The librarian knew by now not to ask if he needed any help, but he wondered what the king was doing all the same.

Tactics, tactics, but I looked in all the books on battle strategies, and nothing was there. What else could she mean?

Then he smiled. This was not a battle, but a game, a game of strategy where one had an army lined up to face his opponents. He pulled out a slightly askew book on chess strategies and nodded in satisfaction. He slipped out the letter and went back to the chair in the furthest corner. Her familiar scent wafted from the note and, after inhaling deeply, he began to read.

My Sovereign,

I was somewhat surprised by your slightly superior statement, although I suppose I should have seen such a summons coming sometime soon. So since I should send a sovereign's summons a speedy response, I say these few sentences to supply what you seek in sincere admiration of your slippery sleuth and sly dragon swindler.

I am she who walks in shadows, seen by all and none, known and unknown, friend to the mighty, helper of broken hearts, sister and daughter, defender of the friendless, reader of books, lover of what grows wild, the Flame-rider, tale-teller, and Master Strategist (according to Your Majesty at least).

In sum, I am myself.

I duly hope I didn't disappoint your desire to divine my identity. I do indeed discern a decision to discuss additional documentation at a later date, but I decided to disclose what definitely does describe me.

After all, what does a name really mean? Isn't it the person behind the name who matters? I hope My Lord, doesn't think me impertinent for answering your request in such a way. However, you asked for it.

Your So Far Secret Servant,

Thorin snorted in frustration at her pert refusal of his command, but then he smiled at the quickness of her mind. She did answer him, so she wasn't guilty of disobedience—exactly—but the way she answered him! He chuckled softly and then started to laugh. She may not be the one, but he was determined to find out either way.

Meanwhile, Fili lay groaning in the bed next to his brother. Both had fevers now as did all the rest who fell ill.

"What did we do wrong?" Kili croaked out. "We took care not to let any of it touch us. And why did uncle say it would pass in a week? We had decided to say that the boils would last for almost a month. Isn't that what you told those guards?"

Fili turned his splotchy face toward his brother.

"I told them? I thought you were supposed to tell them."

Kili frowned through blurry eyes.

"Me? I didn't say anything. That was your job."

Fili let his head drop back on the pillow and chuckled painfully.

"I think, brother, that this time the joke is on us."

After all were settled under Oin's care and others complaining of symptoms were taken care of, Thorin met with the remaining members of the company in his private study. He laid out her letters, and all read her notes. Their eyes grew round at her first, and no one said a word. Then they nodded in sympathy at her second, admired the courage of her third, and laughed outright at her last.

"I want her found," Thorin said with an eager gleam in his eye, "and I need you all to help me."

He pulled out her pin, and Gloin stepped forward with his loupe.

"That was made here, I'll be bound," he said, and Balin nodded.

"Aye, it's from Erebor."

"Could she be a daughter of one of the lords here?" Nori asked.

Thorin considered that and frowned.

"Not likely. Whoever this is has knowledge of the noble dwarrowdams who came, and not many of our remaining families know the eligible women folk of the other clans."

Dwalin nodded. "True. Since the mountain was reclaimed, most have chosen to keep close by."

Balin disagreed.

"When we were at The Blue Mountains, many came to see how we fared," he said thoughtfully. "She said she knows royal protocol, so she could be one of our own."

Thorin's lips twisted, and he made a sound in his throat.

"No," he replied, "I think not. No one I know here would write such a note."

"Could she be a servant then?" Bofur asked. "She could be attending the noble ladies and have listened in on gossip."

All stopped to think that through.

"Not likely," Balin answered, holding up the hair pin. "This is a master work and would have cost a pretty price. I don't see a servant owning such a treasure. Besides, this isn't new. The mark shows that it was made before Smaug."

"So how would someone outside Erebor get something like this?" Gloin asked. "The other clans have their own gemsmiths, so we would have sold them only the raw materials." Then his eyes flew open.

"Is the Registry of Master Works intact?"

Thorin looked over at Balin who nodded.

"Most of the records are."

Thorin made an eager noise.

"Gloin, I want you to find out who made that pin and who bought it," he said urgently. He tossed his head like he was struggling to hold back his excitement.

Nori looked over the pieces of paper again.

"She writes in medical terms in a number of places," he said almost to himself. The others crowded around.

"What are you saying?" Thorin demanded.

He shrugged.

"She could be a healer," he said matter-of-factly. "That's a respected profession that earns a good amount of gold, and she'd still be able to hear what goes on. A family of healers could afford a hair pin like that—especially if they once healed a lord."

All started clamoring at once.

Then he sniffed one of the notes.

"I've smelled this scent before," he said.

All conversation stopped.

"Where?" Thorin demanded.

All stared at Nori with wide eyes.

"In the apothecary where Oin mixes his medicines and tinctures with his new assistant," he replied, looking somewhat uncomfortable with all eyes on him. "She's been helping him experiment with new skin lotions."

Thorin inhaled sharply.

"She?"

So the hunt is on! Please place your bets and review!