Lady Risári was first to realize the heavy thudding was someone at the door pounding for entrance. "Lári, that would be the door."
Lári opened to their servants waiting entrance.
"We were given our old quarters." Mif, who was close to Risári's age and her personal servant since before Smaug, stated with enthusiasm. "We are ready to resume our duties, Milady."
Lári stepped back and three that represented ages from Risári to Lióni entered and looked around.
Another knock followed on their heels and Mif rushed to get it before one of the lady's moved. "Yes?" she asked a middle aged female that was also dressed in rich clothing of a personal servant.
"Lady Aneht, Lord Dáin's mother, invites the ladies of this chamber to afternoon tea."
Mif turned to see Risári's shocked expression. She raised an eyebrow and waited.
Risári nodded her acceptance.
Mif turned back to the servant, still waiting in the hall. "Will we be escorted?"
"Of course. Someone will gather you at three." Without further pleasantries, the servant left.
"That was quick," Risári noted aloud. She motioned for the servants to listen up. "I wish us decked in our finest clothing. I'll wear the black with orange flourishes. While we are visiting, please unpack and iron our wardrobe. You can start with what we will be wearing in an hour."
The servants bustled into bedchambers to do their ladies biddings.
Again, several warriors were their escort and they were taken past many more standing like statues. Their escort knocked loudly on a polished wooden door carved with the Durin crest and made from a thick slab of a single tree, with rings that counted into the hundreds. The servant who bid them to come, answered. They followed into a warmly decorated room with chandeliers and gas lights along the walls and gold seams visible at every turn.
Risári curtsied to an older dam and was relieved to see Lári and Lióni copying her every move. "Lady Aneht, the years have been kind."
Aneht chuckled, "I see your eyesight is as good as mine. It's good to see you again, Risári. This is my daughter-in-law, Azie and her mother, Theri."
"Lady Azie, I don't lie when I say you are easy on the eyes. Lady Aneht, do you remember my daughter, Lári? I was honored when Lady Dás insisted Durin's host the dwarfling shower when she was born."
Aneht nodded politely, "I was visiting and took my turn holding her." She smiled at Risári. "Those were some of the best days."
Risári nodded, "None better, although I hope we rival the days of old."
Aneht and Azie turned attention to the one they wanted to get a good look at; a possible future addition to their clique. And one brave or foolish enough to think she stood a chance of winning the favors of either Thorin or approval of the king and take her place as queen and one day an ancient dwarrowdam, who secretly ruled Erebor.
Lióni stood still under their scrutiny, head held high and eyes meeting theirs.
"The lass is beautiful. Your name, child?" Aneht commanded.
"I am called Lióni," she simply replied and for once didn't embarrass her antecedents.
"What did you think of our Thorin?" Azie asked her directly while Risári led the way to the formal sitting room where servants were waiting with tea and cookies.
"I don't really know him well enough to form an opinion," Lióni respectfully answered and hoped they stopped with the questions. To her relief, the Durin dams started asking her elders about their time in Jötunheim. She noticed a lass even younger than she, who was quiet, but listening. "Who are you?" she asked quietly.
The girl moved to sit beside her. "I'm Lord Dáin's daughter, Aneh. Mother is expecting so I won't be the youngest for long."
Lióni shifted her eyes swiftly to Azie's middle and saw very slight a bulge. "I have an older brother."
"So do I. He is almost grown and spends all his time with the warriors."
"Mine is of age and learning how to be a lord," Lióni told her.
"I hope you can stay. There are three lasses from the Iron Hills with designs on Thorin. He met with them and I heard from the grapevine that he told his father he would throw himself off the rampart if he had to wed any of them."
"I saw the real king last night." Lióni gingerly touched the sore spot on the side of her head; glad hair covered the lump.
Aneh giggled, "I was in the secret gallery last night and saw you. I can't believe you took a swing at our General."
"I haven't seen my father or brother since last night. Why didn't kin…err, Prince Thorin confront him before we reached Erebor?"
Aneh shrugged, "All I know is the king is kind and likes to flirt with me. He calls me his girlfriend."
Lióni was burning to ask questions about his being prisoner of Dol Guldur, but not in front of the older dams, who obviously loved the king by the glowing things they were saying.
Tea, a front for meeting dwarrowdams, was served and each of the elder dams knew the lay of the mountain hierarchy and pecking order until the next group arrived, left the royal chambers and were escorted with many stares back to their chambers.
Behind a solid door, Lióni asked, "Are we also prisoners?"
"No, child, why do you ask?" Risári answered as she took her beard off.
"We are escorted everyplace we go and there are guards outside our door."
"Those guards will remain. They are our protection. Your great grandfather, Nár, had them stationed thus."
"When can we walk around then?" Lióni demanded.
The older dams exchanged knowing looks and her mother tried to placate her desire for adventure. "Tonight we will go to the bathing chambers deep in the mountain. As a little girl, I loved swimming in the warm waters."
A guard jumped to attention and quickly turned the key in the lock allowing Balin, Dáin, Dwalin and Bofur entrance to Lord Dóvad's cell.
Out of respect, Dóvad rose to his feet and motioned his son to do the same.
Balin, with his natural cheerfulness smiled and looked around. "I see they gave you the best cell."
"How are the dams fairing?" Dóvad demanded. He feared they were removed from the mountain and camped where roving orcs could capture them.
"Tea with my mother an wife," Dáin announced and saw doubt flash across the face of the lord. "I speak truth."
"Have you had time to reflect on how you ended up here?" Balin directed the conversation back to the prisoners.
"Aye," Dóvad confirmed. "Did ye know that Fræg was escorted here this morning?" At the Durin's nods, he continued, "Seems like I should have followed my guts instead of an idiot of ah healer."
"So you're ready to apologize publically to the king?" Dáin asked.
"If it will get us out of this cell, I'll crawl on hands and knees down that blasted walkway," Dóvad growled.
Balin turned his eyes to the son. "Well lad, do you feel like apologizing to the one you attacked?"
"Attacked?" Tóvad ground out in furry. "All I did was try and dump that old warrior off the walkway. Hardly an attack." He was still smarting at those he rode with turning on his family and glared at Dwalin and Bofur; two he now detested the most; for they befriended him and now he felt betrayed.
"I'm sure my son is eager to apologize to General Lötun and the king."
Dwalin stalked to the youth. "Maybe a round with me in the ring is more to yer liking."
Tóvad nodded. "That would suit me better. If I win, I will not apologize ta any old dwarf; king an general or not."
Balin groaned, "Dwalin, remember, he is but a youth with a big mouth and ego. No permanent injuries."
"Don't ye have ah youth around his age he can fight? Fighting the General of all the king's armies isn't fair," Dóvad cried out.
Balin spoke in Sindarin. "Well Company? Do we let either Fili or Kili take him?"
"Either lad will clean the arena with his worthless carcass. I would even put my underage lad up against this braggart," Dáin replied in his broken response.
Balin turned to Dóvad, "I agree; it wouldn't be a fair fight. We have four lads; two not yet grown and two his age that are Durin's. One is here and three are on the road. When they arrive, we will have a real match and this little lord wannabe can take his choice of targets." He turned to Tóvad. "I suggest you challenge one of the dwarflings. Gimli, Lord Glóin's son is the youngest; about thirty years younger than you. Maybe you can take him."
Tóvad felt his face flush in anger, "I'd fight your Generals, but doubt they have my youthful stamina. If I must choose ah lesser Durin, I'll look them over an challenge the pick of the litter. Do ye have ah name for me ta call him?"
"Fili," Dwalin laughingly replied and motioned for the door to be opened. He left first and turned back. "Choose Gimli."
As the door closed and locked again, they heard laughter down the hall.
Dóvad sighed and sat in a hard wooden chair by a plain square table. "I swear, I don't know which of ye is worse. Yer sister has ah knot on the side of her head that is smartin by now an ye should have just meekly apologized ta the king an his general. Now we will sit here until the rest arrive." He grabbed the pitcher in the center of the table. Pouring a mug of water, he cursed it not being ale.
Mif's dour expression brightened when she saw who was on the other side of the door. "Lord Balin, please come in." She opened the door wide and Balin gave her a cheery smile and spritely marched into the large chamber.
"Ladies, I personally talked to Dóvad and that spirited lad of yours. He sends greetings and is fairing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. By circumstances…," he shook his head when Mif tried to place a tankard of ale in his hand, "I mean your lad, Tóvad, refuses to apologize to the king and has opted to fight one of the Durin lads instead."
Lióni couldn't help it; she burst out laughing, drawing all eyes to her. She saw the elder dams looking cross and a smile appear on the face of this so called Durin lord. She remembered him standing very close to the king, so probably insulted a ranking lord she decided. Then she remembered; he was the one who did most of the talking when introducing Durin's. She should have paid more attention. "I will place a bet on my brother to win."
"Dwalin told me about you, lass," was all Balin said before turning back to her grandmother. "Both will stay in jail until the fight. Ladies," he bowed his head and departed, with Mif standing by the door and curtsying.
"Durin's bane, girl," her mother started. "You are way too old to act that disrespectful. Lord Balin is chief advisor to King Thráin and you will do good to remember it. He didn't have to make a personal trip to tell us anything. You will apologize to him when next you meet, or I will insist you stay with your father and equally rude brother in that cell."
"I just thought it funny that Tóvad would stand up to these Durin's." Even her excuse sounded weak in her ears and she slipped back into her bedchamber before the next round of yelling began.
"I can read your thoughts." Glorfindel let Elrond know he was still at his side. Shadows were lengthening and he needed Elrond to make a decision on their camping spot. There was a stream a couple miles ahead that didn't have a curse and Glorfindel knew the dwarves would be hungry and tired by then.
"Really? What am I thinking?" Elrond snapped, peeved he was an open book for one with Maia powers.
"That you will send a letter to Lordling Fálmar and instruct him to court Arwen."
"Couldn't you have said that silently?" Elrond spun in his saddle to see if Arwen heard. To his relief, she was deeply in conversation with Erestor, who reappeared from settling Elrohir on a wagon.
"You cannot change the future," Glorfindel warned.
"Elessar is growing up," Elrond glumly replied. "I know what conversation follows kissing. I've had it many times with my brother's progeny growing up in my halls. By age forty they are looking to marry. It is always the same; looking at females, dancing and flirting with females, stealing kisses with females, forbidden touches with females and the end results in another generation of Dúnedain chieftains. Only this time, all that is being done with my daughter. Maybe I'll just sail."
"Pull your head out of your misery, Elrond," Glorfindel sagely ordered. "If you leave me alone with all that wine, I won't care what happens to your elflings."
Elrond smiled, mood improving. "Erestor told me I should approach King Bard for one of his daughters for Elessar." He saw a knowing grin thrown his way. "I'll make Bard an offer he can't refuse, even if it's all my wine."
"NOOOOO," Glorfindel cried loudly and laughter was heard behind.
"What is going on, Adar?" Arwen spurred her horse between Elrond and Glorfindel.
Glorfindel smiled; challenging him to tell the truth. "Elrond is trading my wine as dowry to King Bard."
"And who from this house is marrying into his?" She hadn't heard of this negotiation and was intrigued.
Behind, riding beside Erestor, Galadriel gave a knowing look to him.
Erestor nodded back that he understood her silent thought.
"Well, we have Elessar and he has two daughters, who are princesses."
"I've never known you to match make, Adar," Arwen stated. "In fact, you do just the opposite."
"Only where elves are concerned and I did my best to match Ríllas with Thranduil. I plan on helping Thorin find his one and while I'm at it, think maybe Elessar might find one of Bard's girls to his liking." He watched his daughter carefully.
Arwen absorbed this new development and it made a little more sense why her father and even Lord Círdan was making this very long trip. Suddenly she had insight that events were unfolding and the elves and Gandalf were needed to set a proper order to things.
"I trust you will do the right thing." She smiled up at him.
Elrond felt blood rush from his face and studiously kept his eye forward. If she only knew.
Dáin, Dwalin and Lötun stood on a raised dais of the main hall for warriors, deep within the mountain. It was here matches were held and warriors trained. Thráin ordered Dóvad's warriors and personal guards informed of the situation.
Lötun made a motion and a horn sounded, drawing all talking to a close. He stepped slightly ahead of Dwalin and Dáin. Briefly he filled them in. "If any wish King Thráin harmed and don't believe his story, step out. We will have it out right here, first with words and if that fails, Dwalin is here to fight in the stead of the king. If ye attack like ah coward later, yer family will be executed, from eldest ta baby in the crib."
A handful of warriors stepped out and the Dwalin spotted all of Jötunheim's ranking lords counted among the dissenters. He stepped to Lötun's side and grunted, "I'll take over."
Lötun stepped aside and nodded to his trained elite guard to mark those daring the authority of Erebor. Each warrior signaled the dwarf he would be spying on with Khuzdul hand signs.
"Lord Máfog, as lord of war from Jötunheim's elite guard and presiding warrior, speak for your clan."
Máfog bowed his head respectfully. "I find it disturbing King Thráin only allowed Longbeards before his throne last night. I am second ta the ranking lords of the Blacklocks an should have been present." He had twenty braided strands for a beard that was iron grey and long. They twisted like rope when he spoke in anger, and gestured with a Warhammer every other word.
"Does he speak for all who came from Jötunheim, both Blacklocks and Longbeards?" Dwalin raised his voice. He saw the entire aggregate of Blacklocks warriors in the hall nod and murmur amongst themselves they stood with their leaders.
"The king doesn't answer to anyone," Dwalin reminded them. He focused on those closest. "All warriors have to pledge loyalty to the crown and Durin's. We will have a match when all dwarves arrive for prizes and bragging rights. Do you wish to wait until the match or fight me and Dáin now?"
Máfog looked at his fellow lords. They all saw Dwalin and Thorin spar and knew the odds of them winning were slim. He addressed Dwalin once more. "We don't have an issue with Durin's; just want the king ta come an talk with us an answer questions."
"The demoted Fræg revealed all you are going to be told and need to know. We are here to determine your loyalty to the crown and Durin's," Dwalin repeated and added an edge to his tone, staring Máfog in the eyes.
"Can we at least talk to Dóvad and see with our own eyes his heath?" Máfog negotiated.
Dwalin glanced at Dáin, glad for once he outranked him.
Dáin issued a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "If Lord Dóvad doesn't wish ta join Fræg in exile, he will issue ah pretty apology ta our king. The lad chose ta spar for rights ta apologize. They will sit in solitary until the lad either has ah change of heart or faces one of our lads in the ring. Ye can face me an Dwalin today, right now, an if ye win, ye will be allowed ta leave the mountain an never come this way again. If we win, ye will take ah knee an pledge loyalty ta Durin's an the king, an may remain."
"I saw ye fight at Azanulbizar," Máfog answered. "I guess, I have no choice, but ta take yer word an ah knee."
One by one, all the warriors took knees, except one large, stout warrior. With all eyes on him, he challenged in a loud voice. "I was too young for the last war, but lost my father an grandfather an all my uncles an older brother. I live ta be the greatest warrior of my house an of the Blacklock clan. I challenge either of you, an if I win the first bought, will fight the other."
Dáin, Dwalin and Lötun exchanged grins. Lötun nodded he accepted the match. "Ye have ah choice, fight tonight with all the Durin's present, or be held in ah cell until the next group of dwarves arrives an show yer skill before the Crown Prince also."
"I watched the Crown Prince an Lord Dwalin spar. They are no match for me. I will fight tonight an if Prince Thorin wishes, I'll wipe the floor with him when he comes."
"Cocky, ain't ye, lad," Dáin laughingly approved.
"He is our best warrior," Máfog proudly bragged. "Only his youth keeps him from leading all warriors. Give him ah hundred years, an his name will be sung throughout the lands."
"He bests you?" Dwalin asked, eyebrows raised. He knew Máfog fought with honor at Azanulbizar and earned his position.
The old warrior nodded slowly.
Thranduil raised a long stemmed flute to his lips and savored yet another fine vintage. "Why don't we stay here and let the world pass without us." He focused his eyes on his companion in his personal bathing pool.
"Galadriel told me of a vision her mirror gave. She sails alone while you and I remain to do just that." Celeborn tasted what brought bliss to Thranduil's fëa from his place in the warm water across the bathing pool. As expected, it was of finest quality and sported a rich bouquet of fermented grape.
"Excuse me, my lord," the young steward who manned his gate reported. When he had the King's eye, he gave his missive. "Those who protect this mighty realm report a large number of elves and dwarves have entered our lands. Numbers are in the thousands."
"Do you have identification on the elves?" Celeborn asked.
"Yes, my lord. The wardens report Lord Glorfindel and another elf, Lord Erestor, who visited the king a few months ago, were the first two spotted. They were deep in conversation and the warden slipped away to report unnoticed."
"If Glorfindel was present, the march warden wasn't unnoticed," Celeborn cynically retorted.
"Who else did my wardens recognize?" Thranduil inquired.
"Lord Elrond and two elleth."
Celeborn and Thranduil exchanged surprised looks.
"And what two elleth would travel to these lands?" Thranduil asked.
"Lord Celeborn's lady and his granddaughter," the hapless messenger reported and hoped he didn't face the ire of either lord for his news.
"I guess my wife didn't get enough Nazgûl to play with." Celeborn drained his glass and held it out for a refill. "You may not have enough wine if either gets injured. And I'll be dead before I dip into my small cache of fine wine before the gates of Caras Galadhon."
"Is that all the noteworthy elves?" Thranduil demanded.
"Prince Legolas was seen riding at the rear of the long caravan with a bearded elf." The youth didn't know elves grew beards and in his isolated home and limited education, didn't have anyone ever describe Círdan's appearance. He was shocked when both lords let their heads bang backwards against marble tile at the same time and identical curses escaped.
"I suppose I should make my halls ready for inspection," Thranduil lamented. "I'll have to pull my seasoned warriors off patrol for a show of strength. Círdan won't hesitate to rip me a new orifice if he finds my kingdom lacking."
The young messenger's eyes widened at the mention of who was coming.
"You can borrow my army," Celeborn magnanimously offered.
"At what cost?"
"Quarter of your wine."
"No."
Celeborn wickedly smirked. "You will do just fine explaining to Círdan your empty halls and spider attacks."
"What will it take for your warriors to keep the spiders off the track?" Thranduil considered maybe a quarter of his wine to keep the illusion he had his kingdom under control a bargain.
"Quarter of your wine."
"Bastard."
"We will ride to intercept them and guide them here in the morning," Thranduil decided. "So the two most powerful elves are coming to the mountain. Thráin should be honored."
"Or they want Thorin safely delivered so he isn't a pain in anyone else's backside," Celeborn offered his explanation.
"There goes my plans to throw the princeling in my dungeon again. I'm sure Círdan and Galadriel would object."