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Chapter 10

Thorin rose early the next morning, bathed long, and dressed with care. He abandoned his usual black on black garb and put on a royal blue tunic and breeches, a color that his mother said always brought out his eyes, and a black furred overcoat. His broad fingers twitched as he fiddled with a brush on his dresser. He didn't usually care or think to brush his hair. Pushing it out of his face after he awoke worked well enough. He laid his hand on the brush and felt the boar bristles prick. Catching his reflection in a mirror on the table, he looked apprehensive yet determined. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his brow hung heavy above his eyes. Grabbing the brush, he pulled it through his hair with swift strokes before inspecting his braids. He cleaned his teeth and rinsed his mouth with mint wash before taking a deep breath.

Feeling like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, he struggled to reason his restlessness away.

She's simply a dwarrowdam. Nothing more. Besides, I am king.

Ending with that comforting thought, he thrust himself out the door and headed with firm steps to the sick rooms. First, he would check on his nephews, but his steps slowed when he saw his company waiting at the door.

"So," Balin said, bouncing with excitement, "we all thought we'd come and see for ourselves."

Thorin grimaced at the thought of meeting the mystery writer with the company grinning like idiots behind him. The mental picture he conjured was dismissed at once.

"No," he said, "first I want to check on Fili and Kili. After I see them, I'll go to the apothecary while you wait in the hallway. We don't want to alarm her."

"He means that he doesn't want us to scare her off," Nori whispered to Bofur who nodded.

"Aye, right he is. I'm very intimidating, you know," he replied said out of the side of his mouth.

Nori shot him a look before they trooped in.

"Now lie still, my lad," Oin said after Fili saw his uncle, pushed off his covers, and tried to sit up. "We don't want you to start shivering again. Your fever hasn't broken yet. Then he turned to Kili. "Now you let me lift your head and swallow—slowly now—aye, I know it burns, but it's not the medicine; it's just the inflammation in your throat. This will ease it. Ah, it spilled!" Turning his head he called out, "Nella, I need more of the syrup."

Thorin and all eyes turned toward a dwarrowdam at the other end of the room. Her back was to them, but at Oin's call she stood up and reached for a bottle on a shelf. Her hair was a glorious and glossy fall of coal-black satin. It fell below her waist, and Thorin inhaled eagerly when she stretched for the bottle with a graceful arch of her back. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he felt slightly light-headed. Fingering the pin in his pocket, he took one step closer.

Nella. A beautiful name.

He pressed one hand against his stomach, and the company drew breath when she turned around. She had the hair of a goddess and the face of … a ferret.

"Ugh," Nori said.

Thorin felt the room tilt, and he rocked back on his heels. He had thought of the mystery writer constantly and had dreamed of her many possible appearances, but this face didn't figure in any of them. She had a low forehead, small eyes set close together, a long nose, and a serious overbite. A quill was stuck in her marvelous hair over one of her very large ears.

"Oh, Your Majesty," she said with a curtsy. Her teeth made her words whistle between her lips. "Are you ill? Does your stomach hurt?"

She gestured to his hand against his stomach, and he dropped it. For a moment, his world made no sense, and he had no words to answer her. Once feeling lighter than air, he now felt rooted in stone and stood staring.

"Uh, no, lass, Nella, is it?" Balin said coming up beside him. "We just, uh, found something that we thought might be yours." He elbowed Thorin who lurched and blinked.

"Ah, yes," he said, recovering thanks to his long years of diplomatic training. He hoped with all his might that he was wrong. There was nothing here. No chemistry, no attraction. Nothing. "We found this pin, and someone thought it might be yours." He drew it out of his pocket and held it up for her to see.

She stepped closer and smiled.

"That's even worse," Nori whispered. Balin stepped on his foot and pressed down hard.

"Beautiful, but no," she said. Her hands deftly examined the pin. "I don't care much for such baubles. Besides, I've no place to wear them since I'm mostly in here."

Oin stepped up and grinned. "Aye," he said, "a born healer and the best assistant I've ever had. We've been experimenting with different plants to see what use we can make of them. Some are promising, very promising."

That last drew Thorin's attention, and he pulled out one of the notes and showed Nella the flower signature.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked. The company crowded closer.

"Why, that's a sprig of honeysuckle," she said. "The nectar is very sweet, and some like to suck it out of the flowers in the summer."

Walking back to the table, she picked up a small branch. Its aroma drifted across the room.

"The hair pin is a stylized re-creation, see," and she compared the pin to the branch.

Thorin's lips curved into a small smile. The pin was her signature, and the flower she chose suited her well. Sweet, lovely, and refreshing.

And you have to work for it to yield its treasures. Fitting indeed.

"I thank you for your assistance."

She looked around in confusion.

"So none of you are sick?" she said in her nasally whistle.

"No, praise Mahal," Nori said, and the others turned and pushed each other out. Thorin held the branch to his nose. He was going to remember that scent, her scent. With a nod of his head, he signaled the others that it was time to leave. They hustled out into the corridor, and Balin closed the door behind them.

"Well, it was a mercy that she wasn't the mystery writer," Bofur said outside in the corridor. Thorin joined them after saying farewell to his sister-sons.

Balin rebuked Bofur with a glance but privately felt the same. He turned to see Thorin deep in thought.

"Disappointed, laddie?" he asked. Thorin pulled a face.

"More like relieved," he replied, "although I am gratified to know that Oin has a fine assistant." The others chuckled.

"So who is she then?" Dwalin wondered. "We've hit a dead end."

Thorin held up the pin. "Not quite."

Later that day, Thorin met with more contenders. Some tittered at how romantic he was because he asked many questions about their favorite pastimes, flowers, and perfumes. Not one had her voice, her spirit, or her beauty. Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair after another disappointing feast, he hit on an idea.

"I can see from the gleam in your eyes, you have a plan, Thorin," Balin said with an inquisitive look on his face.

"Aye," he replied. "Somehow she gets into the library after all have gone, but this time, I'll be waiting."

His friend chuckled merrily.

"I wish I could be there to see it, but I've never been known to be light on my feet!"

Later that night, while many still milled around and carried on the business of the kingdom, Thorin walked to the library and pushed open the door. He nodded. He didn't think it would be locked—or more likely, could be locked. He felt around and fingered the small, inset block of wood.

Shrewd.

Sitting for several hours, he reviewed his nighttime hunting lessons. The floors were smooth, and he had brought his light leather boots with padded soles that were made for walking around his chambers at night. For some time, he watched the play of light through the stone latticework in the front of the library. Torches from the hallway outside made shifting patterns of lace on the floor. Several times though he had to breathe through his nose and out through his mouth to relieve his tension. It didn't help. Slightly after the clock struck one, Thorin heard the door swing on its hinges. A slight rustle was followed by a waft of her now, familiar honeysuckle fragrance. He waited until she had reached the book. Moving slowly, he stood up, but the chair scraped the floor and she stopped. He heard her intake of breath.

"Surprised to find yourself with company tonight, my lady?" he almost purred in his deep, rich voice. By Mahal, the suspense was delicious, and he crept forward toward the answer to his questions. He hoped she couldn't hear the thudding of his heart as he approached the corner of the bookcase.

"I suppose I should have anticipated this move," came a low, husky voice. It sent shivers down his spine, and he grinned. "I believe I underestimated your curiosity, Your Highness."

He turned the corner, but she wasn't there. Clever. She had also changed positions while she talked. His lips tugged up on one side in a satisfied smirk. They were players of equal skill, and he felt the spark that was absent with Nella.

"Indeed, and I now I want it satisfied," he rumbled with a chuckle.

She stopped and laughed in response, and it was a natural, joyful sound. He rounded another corner.

"I want to know who you are," he said after deciding to come to the point.

She stopped, and he heard the swish of her gown on the floor.

"Why? What difference does it make to my lord? I promise I'm no spy."

He paused and put one hand on the bookcase.

"I believe you, of course," he said. "I owe you a great debt of thanks, not only for myself but for those you helped."

She laughed again.

"You mean those I helped save from you, if I recall."

"Aye," he said, "and it's the truth."

He heard her come closer and tried to discern where she was.

"You can't mean that."

"My lady," he said, "I've been looking for you since your second note. Why won't you reveal yourself? Do you fear me?"

"No," she replied, "but there is danger here. I dare not, Your Highness, and I ask you not to try to find out who I am."

His brow furrowed. He had had more than his fill of political intrigue and malicious plots, and it made him angry that such things were happening under his nose.

By Mahal, I will rid myself of those who brought this into my mountain!

A thought struck him. "Are you one of those who was forced to come and try to win the place by my side? Are you here against your will?"

She hesitated, and he felt himself pulled to her. He rounded another corner. Wherever she was, she had left the lighted area and was now in the back reaches of the large library. He supposed he could wait her out but decided against it.

She's not an animal to be flushed out.

"No, not precisely …."

He didn't understand, but he instinctively knew she was telling at least part of the truth. What danger could she face if he learned her identity? The honeysuckle scent grew stronger as he crept closer.

"Then why do you fear my knowing who you are?"

"I cannot tell you."

"I will protect you, my lady, as I did Meera. You have my word."

He paused and waited to hear her response. Surely, with him as her protector, she could reveal herself without fear.

"No one can protect me, my lord, no one. Not even you."

They circled each other in the dark until he knew that she was somewhere in front of him. Slowly, very slowly, he stepped forward and reached out his hand. His fingers touched a soft, rounded cheek before they sunk into a mass of long curls.

She gasped and whipped her head around, and he felt the curls sweep his sleeve. He reached out blindly and grabbed her arm, swinging her back toward him.

"I won't hurt you! I won't … hurt you."

She whimpered, and he pulled her in.

"If I must do this," he began, "if I must choose one …."

She snorted, and he realized that it was her that he had heard on that first day.

"'If you must'?" Her laugh turned bitter. "Unhand me!" she said and pushed against him. He made a noise of protest. "Consider this just a pleasant diversion and nothing more. I'll be gone soon, and you'll never see me again."

He growled, and it rumbled in his chest. "I've never seen you though I've tried," he said. His frustration deepened his voice. "Mahal knows I've tried."

She struggled against him, and he let her go.

"Please," he entreated with his heart in his voice, "please. I've no talent for this. I am a warrior and a king, but I've never needed to be …." He threw his head back and stared up into the darkness, and the sinews of his neck tightened. "Wanted to be …."

"A lover?" she asked harshly. She made a noise of disgust. "Then let me spare you the effort," and she took several steps back. He followed.

"What if …" He hesitated. All his regret and pain over the past few weeks crystallized into only one possible conclusion. He smiled against the simplicity of it. "What if," he said in a soft voice as though to himself, "I don't want to be spared?"

She shifted in surprise, and he held out his arms to keep her from slipping around him.

"Please," he entreated with his heart in his voice, "please."

With infinite care, he pulled her to him and held her in front of him. Breathing hard, he leaned closer and inhaled her fresh scent. Like a whisper of wind, he ran one hand up her arm. He could sense her tenseness dissipating. Moaning in his chest, he ran his hands up her arms and along her shoulders under her heavy length of hair. Using only the tips of his fingers, he touched her slim neck. She gasped but did not move. He touched her jaw and outlined a delicate, heart-shaped face. His smile was tender, but she couldn't see it, and he ran his finger down her straight nose and across her lips. He flushed and wondered how much longer his legs would support him.

She'll not escape me now.

"Your mother," she said, and he heard her swallow, "your mother told me much about you."

In response, he bent his head and leaned his forehead against hers. "When? Where?"

"I cannot tell you."

He dropped his arms only to feel her small hands on his shoulders. Her palms reached up and cupped his neck, and she ran nimble fingers over his face. Tracing his brow, she touched his cheeks as he did hers before pressing her fingers gently against his mouth. Without thinking, he kissed them.

Gasping, she pulled away, but he snaked one arm around her waist and cupped the back of her head with the other.

"Don't run from me," he pleaded. "You're the one who's touched my heart. Who are you? Tell me your name, and I will choose you when the time comes."

He ran the back of his fingers down her face and felt wetness on her cheeks.

"Why these tears?" he asked, and he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She sighed. Encouraged, he kissed down her cheek until he felt her lips. Cupping her face with his other hand, he brushed his lips against hers, tentatively at first. They were sweet, and he realized that she must have found the wild patches of flowers that grow on the lower slopes.

"You are a blossom," he whispered against her mouth, "and I've never tasted honeysuckle 'til now."

His heart roared in his chest as he kissed her with increasing urgency. Wrapping one arm around her lower back, he pulled her in. She moved closer and ran her hands through his hair. Tingles raced up his neck, and a wave of exhilaration crashed through him. Finally, they broke apart, both breathing heavily.

"Tell me now who you are," he pleaded. "I will end this, and we can be together."

Pushing back, she broke free of his embrace. He felt a small hand brush his cheek, and he reached up to clasp it to his breast, but it was gone.

"I wish ..." and she started sobbing. "I can't! Mahal, I can't!"

With both arms, she pulled books off the shelves, heavy books that fell on and around him. He stumbled and cried out while she dashed for the door.

"No!" he cried hoarsely. "No!"

"Pain will come if I'm found out," she said weeping as she stood silhouetted in the door. "Forgive me."

Thorin saw her lovely profile as he stumbled toward her. Something was in her hand, but he couldn't make out what it was. He blinked, and she was gone.