Welcome! This story was originally published back in 2019, but I felt compelled to re-upload it and perhaps continue it. The Hobbit feels are really hitting again.
This fic is a post-BOFA AU where the Durins live and my take on that. I hope you enjoy, and as always, all feedback is welcomed and encouraged!
Chapter One
"Not all those who wander are lost"
The raven waited for her at the mouth of the mountain pass.
Asta knew it was the same raven from before, if only because it was the most peculiar bird she had ever seen. Its feathers were normal enough—black and sleek—as was its size, but its eyes were a strange blue, ringed with dark gray. She had never seen such eyes on a bird, much less a raven. But she approached it, anyway, not even feeling the cold wind that whistled through the rocks around her.
The raven tilted its head and ruffled its wings as if to say What took you so long? When Asta came closer, it cawed once and took to the air, leaving her behind amidst the snowdrifts and ice. The raven cut through the air, a blade of shadow cleaving a path between the white flakes falling from the sky. Asta watched it fly, high, high, high—so high that it became a speck against the gray sky.
She blinked snowflakes off her eyelashes, and they wet her cheeks when they melted. Her breath came out in billowing clouds, but she still was not cold. All she knew was that she had to follow that raven, or else she'd be lost amongst the stones of the great mountain looming before her.
With light feet, she climbed over rocks and boulders, following the raven's path. She could still see it, circling high above her, watching her progress with those strange eyes. After hauling herself over a particularly large and slippery boulder, Asta paused to catch her breath and take in the sight before her.
The mountain was magnificent. Its peak speared the low-lying clouds, crowned with snow and ice, while its base burrowed deep into the earth, under her very boots. It was the closest she had ever come to the solitary mountain, and it was absolutely breathtaking.
The raven cawed from above, impatient, urging her to keep moving. Asta began to climb once more, closer to that stunning peak. Whatever the raven was guiding her toward was in the mountain. She just had to get there.
Another caw, but this one was different—sharper, harsher. A warning. Asta stilled, listening, but all she heard was the raven flapping and screeching above her.
Suddenly, a wolf appeared atop the boulder she'd been climbing, white-haired and feral. Its eyes glowed with a strange golden light, and she found herself entranced by them, even when everything in her body urged her to run.
The raven screamed again just as the wolf lunged.
Asta was knocked backwards from the boulder, falling freely until she landed painfully on the sharp rocks below. The wolf was on her in a second. Its hot breath tickled the exposed flesh at her throat, but she couldn't move, pinned under its weight as it snarled.
The mountain rose above her, looming as if it were watching the scene with invisible eyes. Asta stared at the mountain, the wolf's growls and the raven's screams muted for an instant as she pressed her palm flat against the earth, as if the mountain could feel her touch.
She had once convinced her youngest sister that mountains had roots like trees, only stronger, and that was why they could not be cut down or broken. Myra had believed her lie, but now Asta wondered if she had been right as something ancient and powerful shifted beneath her, rumbling in her chest.
But she would never know.
The wolf snarled and buried its fangs in her throat.
Asta jerked awake with a gasp, lunging for the blade she kept stashed beneath her pillow until a firm, but gentle hand grabbed her arm.
"Easy, Asta." Graham, her fellow guardsman, slowly released her arm, but kept a wary eye on her. "It's just me."
"Sorry," she said, dragging herself into a sitting position and looking around. The barracks were mostly empty, save for a few men and women lying in their beds, fresh off the night's watch. She pushed a few strands of hair off her forehead, unsurprised that she was covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. "Bad dream."
Graham's face turned sympathetic, his brown eyes melting in the light from the oil lamp he carried. Asta turned away from his pitying look, her fingers clenching in her bedsheets.
"Was it the one about the wolf and the raven again?" he asked, keeping his voice hushed despite how empty the barracks were and the sleeping guards on the other side of the room.
Asta scowled. "I never should've told you about that." She swung her feet out of bed and brushed past him, unlocking the chest that lay at the foot of her cot.
"You've been muttering in your sleep for months and waking up with that wild look in your eye each time," Graham said, sitting upon her recently vacated mattress and eyeing her seriously. "It was hard not to notice."
"Still," she said, pulling off her nightclothes and swapping them for her guard's uniform, "I should never have told you. You've clucked around me like a mother hen ever since."
Graham gave her a smug look. "But you told me, anyway."
Asta rolled her eyes, shoving him aside so she could sit and lace up her boots. Graham was a scrawny thing for a man of twenty-one years, with a mop of brown curls and big brown eyes that made him look younger than he was despite the stubble on his thin face. She had wiped the floor with him more than once since they'd joined the guard six years past, but he'd never let it bother him, and they'd become fast friends—and perhaps her only friend out of their training class whose ego hadn't been bruised by her prowess.
"What time is it, anyway?" she asked, tugging on her right boot. It was always impossible to tell what hour of the day it was within the barracks since they had no windows.
"Early morning," he said. He was already dressed in his uniform of black padded armor, the chest decorated with the sigil of Dale: a golden dragon with its wings spread and tail curled, one clawed foot holding three black arrows lined also in gold. His standard-issue sword hung from his waist, his black half-helm under his arm, and she could see his shield by the door, with the same golden dragon and outlined arrows painted against black. "The dawn patrol left not five minutes ago, so don't worry; you're not late for anything."
"Good." She stood and strapped on her sword belt. "But why did you come to wake me? My first duty is not until after lunch, when Princess Sigrid goes to the markets."
Graham stood as well, holding out the long dagger that had been under her pillow. She gave him an exasperated look before adding it to her belt.
"The King has requested you," he said. Her head snapped up in disbelief. "He wanted you to come immediately."
"You're telling me this now?" she demanded. "Graham! That's something you're supposed to lead with, not throw in like an afterthought!"
"Calm down, would you?" he said. "I'm sure he won't mind if you're a few minutes late."
"He is the King, Graham," she hissed. She yanked a comb through her short hair before pulling it back in a bun at the nape of her neck and pinning it in place. "Of course he'll mind!"
"Nonsense," he said, far too blasé for her taste. "He's breaking his fast in his private chambers right now. No man could ever be in a foul mood while he's eating." He pursed his lips. "Well, besides Dougal, but he's always in a foul mood," he said, referring to the lieutenant of their unit, and their superior.
Asta groaned as she rushed from the barracks, Graham on her heels. He kept jabbering away, oblivious to her silence and sudden anxiety. She rarely received summons from the King, even if she was part of his household guard. But she was assigned to protect his eldest daughter, Princess Sigrid—not King Bard himself. Surely, she was not in any trouble? She always took her duties seriously, and she thought she got on well enough with the Princess. What could the King possibly want from her?
Graham's long legs kept pace with her as she crossed the main courtyard of the King's House. It was an impressive estate, located in the northern quadrant of Dale, with high walls made of light brown stone and a tall iron gate that separated it from the city. The main house used by the royal family was the northernmost building, surrounded on both sides by the Servant House and the Guard House for those who protected the King and his children. The City Guard had separate quarters in the eastern quadrant, where the main gates to the city were located, and Asta did not pity them one bit. The streets of Dale could be rough, especially after dark, but here, things were peaceful.
Asta nodded to a few familiar servants and her fellow guards, but she kept her pace brisk as she strode up the stairs to the King's House and entered through the tall oak doors. Her boots clunked against the sandstone tiles as she headed for the King's private chambers. Graham, thankfully, had fallen silent at her shoulder as they entered the House, but she turned to him when her anxiety ratcheted up.
"Do you know what the King wants?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I've no idea. He didn't seem angry, though. Perhaps concerned."
That did nothing to lessen her tension. "Why would he be concerned?"
Graham shrugged again. "Dunno. But he's a king. Aren't they always concerned about one thing or another?"
Asta frowned. "I suppose you're right." They began ascending another staircase that led to the second level. "Are you coming in with me?"
"No, I'm to report to Princess Tilda after I escort you. He wanted this to be a private discussion."
Asta's heart dropped into her belly like a stone, but she fought to keep the panic from her voice as she said, "I see."
They ascended another staircase and turned left, heading for the last door at the end of the hall. Two guards—Kellan and Damion—already stood outside, but they nodded politely to Asta and Graham when they approached.
"He's waiting inside," Kellan said, gesturing to the door they guarded. His eyes held a silent question for her, but Asta knew as much as he did about the King's summons.
"Wish me luck," she muttered.
Graham clapped her shoulder. "You'll be fine."
Hopefully, she thought before raising her fist and knocking on the door. She waited only a few seconds before a deep voice called, "Enter."
Asta braced herself and opened the door, stepping inside the King's private chambers. She had only been here twice in her time as a guard, but each time was more impressive than the last. It was a large area, consisting of a bedroom, a bathing room, a closet, a solar, a lounge, and a dining room. The floors were the same sandstone tiles as the rest of the house, the furniture a smooth brown wood that appeared almost silken. The windows were thrown wide to allow sunlight and the summer breeze to flow through the room, rustling the golden curtains against the cream-colored walls.
Following the scent of food, Asta entered the dining room and found King Bard seated at the table with Dougal, her commanding officer. The table was small, made for more intimate gatherings with the King's family and close friends, but the two men sat opposite each other, staring intensely at a piece of parchment paper between them that was nearly hidden among the platters of food.
"My King," Asta said, bowing at the waist to make her presence known. "Lieutenant." She nodded respectfully to Dougal, who merely grunted in return. At least he'd acknowledged her, though. The King was still staring at the parchment. Asta cleared her throat slightly. "You requested my presence, Sire?"
It took a few moments for the King to respond. He looked at Dougal. "You may take your leave, Lieutenant. Thank you; you have given me much to think about."
Dougal seemed displeased as he stood, but again, he always looked so. He bowed stiffly to the King before stalking from the room, not even glancing Asta's way as he went. The King did not move until the door had snapped shut behind the lieutenant, and then he waved a hand at Asta.
"Come," he said. "Sit. Have you eaten anything yet today?"
Asta blinked, startled, but she forced herself to sit in the seat Dougal had just vacated. "No, Sire, I haven't."
King Bard waved his hand again. "Then eat. It will all go to waste otherwise."
When Asta made no movement, the King sighed. "Do I need to order you, Asta? Eat."
"Yes, Sire." Asta bobbed her head and hesitantly grabbed a slice of toast. When the King said nothing, she scraped some butter and strawberry jam on its surface and took a bite. It was heavenly, and before she knew it, it was gone. The King was staring out the window and stroking his dark beard, lost in thought, so Asta helped herself to another slice of toast. She had just started nibbling on a piece of bacon when he turned back to her, but she dropped it at once, straightening in her seat.
"You have guarded my daughter for two years now." It was a statement, not a question.
Asta nodded, her stomach knotting around the food she had just eaten. "Yes, Sire. But I have been a member of the guard for six."
He grunted. "I remember." His dark eyes sized her up carefully. She remained rigid in her seat. "You were the first woman to sign up for Dale's guard when I decreed that women would be allowed within the ranks. You were only a girl then, but you were the first."
Asta nodded, not knowing where the conversation was going. He sighed and drummed his fingers on the table.
"Your mother and father would be proud," he said, surprising her. "Aston was a good man. Eyara a good woman, as well. I am sorry for what happened to them." He smiled faintly. "Sometimes I still look over my shoulder, expecting your father to be there – with a wise word or a wise crack, I couldn't say."
Sometimes Asta forgot who the man before her was—who he had been. He may have become King Bard, the Dragon Slayer who killed Smaug the Stupendous and rebuilt Dale and Esgaroth, but before that he was a bargeman who had earned his wage by shipping barrels to and from the Woodland Realm. In Lake-town of Old, everyone had known everyone, and he had been no exception. But that time was long past, and he was no longer a bargeman that had come to her shanty on the lake to drink with her father and tell stories after her mother had passed, bringing Asta a rock or a leaf from the Woodland Realm when he did. Now he was King, and she was one of the many who served him.
"Thank you, Sire," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She allowed her own soft smile. "I often wonder the same."
"Come now," he said. "There is no need for such formalities when we are alone, Asta. Why, he'd be laughing himself hoarse if he were here!"
Asta chuckled nervously; he was right, of course. Aston Archer had never been one for proper etiquette.
"I have to agree, S—Bard," she said, and he smiled. The gesture took years off his face, revealing the roguish man he had once been. He was still handsome, even with the gray in his dark hair and the lines around his eyes and mouth, but it was obvious that ruling weighed on him heavily.
"And what of your sisters?" he said. "I know your younger, Myra, is a tutor for my daughter Tilda, but what of your elder?"
Asta tensed at the question, harmless as it was. "Vana is…well."
Bard stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Is she still in the city?"
"Yes. She has a small cottage in the western quadrant. It has a lovely view of the river. I was planning on visiting her this evening with Myra, actually."
He nodded, not noticing the way she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. After a moment, he sighed, the lines returning to his face and the spark in his eyes dulling.
"Sigrid tells me you are a wonderful guard," he said. "She reports that you are patient and kind to her. She is also pleased that she has someone her own age to accompany her throughout the city."
"The praise is much appreciated, S—Bard," she said. "I'm glad that the Princess enjoys my company."
"Indeed." Bard studied her as if she had the answers to a very complicated riddle etched across her face. He gestured to the parchment lying between them, nearly forgotten. "That is a letter sent from King Thorin Oakenshield." Asta's eyebrows shot up. "He has requested an audience with me, yet I think I may have an inkling what matter he wishes to discuss."
Asta said nothing. She wondered why he was sharing the information with her instead of his councilors, but she held her questions in for the moment.
"Oakenshield has only two heirs—his nephews," he continued. "Oakenshield himself has no wife, no children, and neither do his heirs." Bard sighed. "The peace between Dale and the Kingdom of Erebor has been…tenuous, I won't deny. Ever since the battle, there has always been tension between us and the Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain." His face darkened. "I believe Oakenshield seeks to secure a stronger alliance with the Men of Dale and Esgaroth—through marriage."
Asta stared at him, horrified. "And you think he wants to marry Princess Sigrid?"
"Why not? She is young; beautiful; smart. She would make a worthy queen to Oakenshield."
Asta was flummoxed. "Begging your pardon, S— Bard, but what does this have to do with me? Why are you telling me this?"
King Bard fixed her with a look so stern that she wondered how Smaug had not shriveled into a husk on the spot when faced with the bowman.
"You are Sigrid's most trusted guard, and a friend to my family," he said. "I am bringing her with me to Erebor for the meeting with Oakenshield, and I'd like you to be there for her."
Asta took that to mean that he hadn't told his daughter about the possible arrangement yet. Dear Eru, was he expecting her to keep this a secret from the Princess?
"Also," he continued, "there is another matter I'd like to present."
Asta could only nod mutely, still trying to wrap her head around everything she had been told so far.
"Yesterday, Aiken handed me his resignation as Captain of the King's Guard." Well, that was not a surprise to Asta, at least. Aiken's gout had been worsening in recent months. Some of the guards had even taken bets as to whether he would resign from his position or die first. "That was what Lieutenant Dougal and I were discussing when you entered. He was asking for the position."
Asta's mood immediately soured. Dougal may have some experience swinging a sword and ordering about their unit, but his leadership skills were solely lacking. And not to mention that he was generally an old, foul-tempered brute besides.
"I thought as much," Bard said in amusement, catching the look on her face before she could hide her distaste. "Which is why I'm not offering the position to Dougal." He met her stare levelly from across the table. "I'm offering it to you."
"Me?" Asta could not believe her ears. Surely, she had misheard him? "But I—I'm not—"
"Not what?" The King's stare was challenging.
"Experienced enough!" she said. "Bard, you have men within your ranks who fought beside you seven years ago when war came to the east. Men who are older and wiser—seasoned fighters and leaders!" She shook her head. "And no one will ever follow a woman. Not yet, at least. The older guards will not tolerate me. They are stuck in their ways."
"Then it is a good thing that I am King, then, is it not?" he said. "They will follow you, or else risk disobeying me."
The room swam in her vision.
"Sire," she said. "Bard, I cannot—"
"You passed every physical examination and educational test with flying colors," he said, interrupting her. "You have surpassed everyone in your unit to become the best fighter, the best swordswoman, the best archer. There are other men—more seasoned than you, aye—but they are not leaders. Not in the sense that you are, Asta."
Asta gaped, but she refuted nothing as he continued.
"When the dragon came, you were the one who organized the survivors until we could relocate to Dale. You were a girl of sixteen—barely a woman grown, yet you brought peace and stability where others could not—where I could not." His fingers tightened on the arms of his chair, and she knew he thought of the battle. "You protected the women and children during battle—picking off orcs and goblins with your bow until your fingers bled and the fighting was over." She flexed the fingers of her right hand, feeling the scars marked into her flesh underneath her glove. "You are compassionate and brave, Asta—two things this city desperately needs as we continue to establish ourselves. Trouble is brewing out there, and I need someone who I can trust and believe in to help me contain it."
Asta sat, silent. Out of all the things she had expected from King Bard's summons, this was the last she could have imagined. She? Lead the King's Guard and control the City Guard? She was a woman of twenty-three, not a commander. How could he ask this of her? Why did he ask her? And what did he mean by trouble brewing?
"Think on it," he said when she did not speak. "Meet me here again in three days' time with your answer."
Asta nodded, numb, but got to her feet, sensing her dismissal.
"My King," she mumbled, bowing, before making her way to the door in a haze. She stepped outside to find that Graham and Dougal were gone. Kellan and Damion didn't ask her any questions, but they gazed at her curiously as she walked back down the hallway, dazed.
There was only one person who could help her make sense of this mess. After leaving the King's House, she headed for the stables and saddled up a beautiful brown mare. She still had a few hours before midday and her guard rotation. She had time. No one would miss her.
She pointed her horse in the direction of the Long Lake and spurred herself into the morning sun.
It was mid-morning when Asta reined up in Esgaroth, both she and her horse out of breath and sweating from the summer heat.
Though a new road and bridge system had been implemented between Dale and Esgaroth since the battle to facilitate better trade and travel, it was still quite a trek between the two cities, and she didn't have all day to dawdle. She climbed off her horse and led it by the bridle through the narrow wooden streets of Esgaroth, dodging merchants, fishermen, and bargemen as they hawked their wares and loaded their cargo around her.
In the seven years since the Battle of the Five Armies, both Dale and Esgaroth had flourished, but Esgaroth especially. Built on the bones of Lake-town of Old after Smaug's attack razed it, Esgaroth had once again risen from the ashes to become a center of trade and wealth throughout the east, as it was in the days before the dragon reigned in Erebor. After the battle and Thorin Oakenshield became King under the Mountain, the Dwarf King had lent a hand (and copious amounts of gold) in aiding the cities of Men, and in recent years, that help had stretched a long way.
Asta had grown up in Lake-town her whole life before the battle. Her ancestors had come from Dale, she knew, and even farther back in her family tree on her mother's side she could trace its roots to the Eastlands, but Lake-town was all she had ever known. It had been wet and dreary and dirty, and the Master who had once ruled it had been a greedy, heartless bastard, but it had been her home once. She could still remember their small shack on the edge of the watery town and how it had always smelled of wet fur and blood from her father's hunts, and the way the water had lapped at the stilts at night under the single bed she'd shared with her two sisters.
And she could still remember the way it had all burned when Smaug came.
Esgaroth, by comparison, was considered almost luxurious to the filth that Lake-town had been. The buildings and canals were still made of wood, but this time around, someone had been smart enough to lay some of the foundations with stone before they'd begun rebuilding. The smells of fish oil and tar still permeated the air, but now the scents of spices and perfumes from the markets blended with the unpleasantness as well. The people were happier, too; neighbors waved and smiled at each other, rather than whispering and glaring in distrust, wondering if their friends were really the Master's spies. Dwarves mingled now, too, drawn by the promises of riches and trade, though not a lot, she noted.
Erebor had become a beacon for all Dwarves across Middle-earth since its reclamation, and though Asta saw plenty of them in the markets of Dale and Esgaroth, they were still few and far between—odd, considering how close the mountain kingdom was to them. But Dwarves were secretive and wary of outsiders, so she assumed most of them did not come near the cities of Men. She would probably see more of them if she ever cared to visit Erebor one day, but she had never come close to the Dwarven kingdom despite its proximity.
But in a few weeks, that's where I'll be, she thought. She glanced over her shoulder at the Lonely Mountain in the distance, blue in the strong morning sun. She remembered her dream about the raven and the wolf and shivered before tearing her eyes away from the mountain and pushing deeper into the heart of the city.
Men, women, and children stepped out of her way as she led her horse to the central square, averting their eyes once they caught sight of the sigil on her chest. She sighed. It seemed that no matter what city she was in—whether it be Dale, Esgaroth, or even Lake-town of Old—people still did not trust authority.
Asta reached the central square, dodging several merchants in fine robes as she headed for the large building directly in front of her. It was a decently-sized mansion—smaller than the King's House in Dale, but still larger than most people's dwellings, and made entirely out of stone. The only wood to be seen was the sturdy beams that supported the tiled awning over the large iron doors, where two guards stood with shields and spears. Two wings formed a rigid U-shape on either side of the mansion, with a lovely fountain in the center of the square, but she bypassed them all and continued toward the main building.
After tying her horse to a post, she jogged up the stone steps and nodded to the two guards on duty. Though they wore the same colors and sigil as the Dalien guards, she did not recognize them. The guards of Esgaroth were a wholly separate unit from the City Guard in Dale, though her gut spasmed when she realized that they would be reporting to her as well, should she accept the King's offer to become the new Captain of the Guard.
The guards let her pass without issue, and she made her way into the mansion, fixing her hair and straightening her uniform. All the doors and windows were open to her relief; having a stone house in summer was a terrible idea, in her opinion. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, wondering if she could find a powder room before—
"Asta?"
Asta turned as Prince Bain descended the main staircase behind her. He had been talking with two older men—noble merchants, from the looks of their rich green finery—but the Prince bounced down the last few steps with a broad smile on his face as he came to greet her.
"My Prince," she said, bowing. "It is wonderful to see you."
Prince Bain smiled again, accepting her greeting with a nod of his head before sweeping an arm toward the two men as they joined them in the foyer.
"Asta, this is Lord Bellor" —he gestured to the taller man with the black mustache— "and this is Lord Vonquil." The second man was short and plump, with a bald head but a dyed red mustache. "They are spice merchants visiting from Rhûn with some propositions for my father." He turned back to the two merchants. "Gentlemen, this is Asta Archer, a guard of Dale and a very old friend."
The two merchants gave Asta a cursory glance over.
"You are Eastern?" the one named Lord Bellor questioned, noting her darker complexion and the faint tilt of her eyes. His accent was thick, but he spoke Westron well.
"Distantly," she said, nodding. "I think my great-great-grandparents migrated here from the Sea."
"The Sea of Rhûn?" Lord Vonquil said in surprise. His voice was quite breathy for someone of his girth, and he carried less of an accent than his companion.
Asta smiled stiffly. "The very one."
The merchants seemed shocked, but before they could ask her any more questions, Prince Bain gestured to a passing page.
"Please escort the Lords Bellor and Vonquil to the docks," he said. "Their barge to the mainland leaves in an hour."
The page bowed. "At once, My Prince."
"I'm sure we will be speaking again before the harvest," the Prince said to the two merchants. "In the meantime, I will pass on what you have said to my father, where we may discuss our next steps."
Asta stood by awkwardly as the Prince bid farewell to the merchant lords, wishing she would stop sweating. Once the merchants were gone, the Prince turned back to her, all trace of polite cheeriness vanished from his face.
"Valar above," he said, shaking his head. "That was the most grueling hour of my life." He made a face. "You know, I'm beginning to think my father sending me here was a punishment rather than a reward."
"Nonsense," she said. "He sent you here because he could not be in two places at once. Someone has to run the city in his name."
"Yes, well, running a city is not all it's cracked up to be." He held out an arm to her. "Come; you look like you ran all the way here. I'll get the servants to fetch you some water and fresh cream."
Asta sighed, though she knew it was pointless to protest. Prince Bain was only a year older than her, but he certainly acted as if he were her caretaker at times.
He led her up the grand staircase and into his private study. The hearth was empty, and the window wide open to allow a nice breeze to roam through. She was still hot, but at least she was no longer sweating like a pig.
The Prince sat behind the large mahogany desk, reclining in his seat and unlacing the top of his fine gray tunic. He heaved a great sigh, and Asta grinned as she took the seat across from his.
"Tired already?" She clucked her tongue. "It's not even midday!"
He cast her a scathing look. "You try being stuck in meetings all morning when it feels like the inside of a forge," he grumbled. "I'll have to change soon, or else I'll be dripping sweat down my sleeves!"
Asta wrinkled her nose. "A lovely image, thank you."
He snorted, knocking his fingers absently on the top of his desk. Prince Bain had grown in the years since the battle. When Smaug came, he had been nothing but a gangly adolescent—pale, skinny, and barefaced; but now he was a man grown. His hair was still curly and the same shade of auburn, but he kept it shorter now, just over the tops of his ears. His beard had come in, too, full and thick, adding depth to the strong jaw that he had developed. Muscle had replaced the boyish fat on his body as well; his shoulders and arms filled out his tunic nicely, and Asta found herself staring at those shoulders when the Prince chuckled.
"You're looking at me like a piece of meat you want to tear into," he said. His brown eyes sparkled with amusement. Once, Asta would have been embarrassed by his words, but they were no longer children; they hadn't been for some time, as evidenced by the recently changed nature of their relationship.
Asta cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps I do."
Bain cocked that same brow back at her. "And is that why you've come to see me this morning, Asta?"
She drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. "Depends. How much time do you have?"
"I don't have another meeting scheduled until after lunch. And you?"
"I'm not due back until noon."
The Prince grinned, a wicked thing that matched the mischief in his eyes. Asta held up a hand.
"There are…some things I need to speak to you about as well," she said. He nodded absently, his eyes already traveling away from her face and down her body, making her even hotter than before. "But I suppose they can wait if you're going to keep looking at me like that."
"I'll call the servants after we're done for that water and cream," he said, grinning. "Now, get over here."
Asta obeyed, more from her own desire rather than her Prince's command. She sat before him on the desk while he remained in his chair, his fingers already moving to grip her thighs. Shoving down the usual guilt and misgivings that threatened her whenever she was alone with Prince Bain, she succumbed to the touch of his hands as he moved forward, pressing kisses to her neck.
As the Prince continued his ministrations, Asta opened her eyes to see the Lonely Mountain outside the window, standing in the distance in all its regality and glory. She flashed back to her dream and the golden eyes of the wolf as it tore out her throat before she forced that image away, shutting her eyes again.
She laid back on the desk as Bain began removing her shoes and trousers, and tried not to think of ravens, wolves, kings, or mountains as he knelt between her legs.
An hour later, Asta stood at the window, gazing anywhere but the Lonely Mountain. The breeze tickled her bare legs as she stood in the shadows, out of sight of the bustling streets below, lest anyone look up and see her standing half-dressed in the prince's study.
She had foregone her trousers and the padded tunic of her uniform for the time being, relishing the wind on her exposed skin and the absence of any sweat that was sure to come back once she was fully dressed again. Her thin undershirt rustled slightly, brushing the tops of her thighs, so light compared to Bain's rough fingers. Something twisted in her gut at the reminder of the man lounging behind her at his desk, his own tunic and undershirt still lying on the floor, forgotten, as he smoked from his pipe.
It had been a year since Asta had begun her unconventional relationship with Bain, and she still didn't know what to make of it. She had known Bain since they were children in Lake-town, chasing each other across the docks and attempting to fish in the lake with nothing more than sticks and strings. When he had become Prince and Asta had joined the guard, their friendship had not changed, but Asta understood her new place in the world: Bain and his family – the children she had played with her whole life, and the man who had been her father's friend – were royalty, and Asta was not.
She did not resent them at all – in fact, she had been more than happy to support Bard's claim to the Kingdom of Dale. He had slayed the dragon, and was a descendant of Lord Girion, and a good man besides. He cared for the people and had their best interests at heart. But Asta knew she was no longer their equal, not in the sense of the power structure, at least. Bard was her King, and his children her Prince and Princesses. Her foremost duty was to protect them from any threat and obey them without question.
But Asta had seen the way Bain had begun to look at her as the years went on. It was harmless when they were younger; a few blushes and stolen glances; a casual touch when no one was looking. But the anniversary festival last year to commemorate the death of Smaug and their victory in the Battle of the Five Armies had set things in motion, and Asta did not know how to stop them.
Too much wine, too much dancing – all of it had led to her staggering into Bain's bedchambers at an obscene hour of the morning, giggling and whispering as the prince led her by the hand to his bed. She couldn't remember much – whether it had hurt when he'd taken her maidenhood, if she had bled or not – but the morning after had been a whirlwind of emotions she didn't know how to process as she'd woken to find herself naked and tangled in sheets with the prince.
In another life – in Lake-town of Old – Asta would have seen it coming. She and Bain were close in age. They were friends; they trusted each other. He made her laugh. And he was far from unattractive. They probably would have been wed as soon as they both had come of age.
But Bain was now the Prince of Dale and Lord of Esgaroth. The heir to King Bard's crown. And she was nothing more than a guard. It couldn't happen. It wouldn't happen. And yet, she had not stopped seeing him since that first night, and she had not stopped hating herself for it each time.
"You're brooding again."
She turned to see Bain watching her, lazy tendrils of smoke curling from his mouth.
"I don't brood," she said, frowning.
"Yes, you do." He grinned. "Must you be so grim all the time, Asta?"
She huffed. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm merely thinking."
He chuckled, getting to his feet and coming to stand behind her at the window. His free hand snaked around her waist, and she pushed away the guilt, the sense of wrongness, that came with the touch.
"Well, I think that you think far too much." His beard grazed the shell of her ear, and she shivered – from pleasure or something else, she could not tell. "Even when I was inside you, you were a million leagues away."
Thinking that I should not be splayed out on the prince's desk, she thought, but she did not say it aloud.
"Your father has offered me the position of Captain of the Guard." The words were nearly spat from her mouth as if they were poison sitting on her tongue.
"He did?" Well, that answered one of her questions. Bain's surprise was genuine, which meant that he hadn't seen the proposition coming, either.
Asta leaned her forehead against the edge of the window and groaned. "I don't know what to do, Bain. Do you have any idea why he would have chosen me?"
"You're a strong woman, Asta. A leader." There was that dreaded word again. Leader. "And you know my father never does anything without good reason."
"Why is simply doing my duty good grounds for leadership?" she said, disgruntled.
"A lesser person would have fled the battle, rather than protect the defenseless," Bain said quietly. "No one has forgotten what you did for those people, Asta. You saved a lot of lives that day."
"That was seven years ago!" she protested, pushing herself from the window and beginning to pace the room. "There are more men – better men – who were in the thick of the fighting, right alongside your father, protecting our people."
"Why are you so against his decision?" Bain asked, coming back to his desk and standing before it. He watched her pace with narrowed eyes, frowning. "It is an honor that he has chosen you, Asta. Many others would kill to be in your position."
"That's the point." She shook her head. "There are others who deserve it more than me, and they know that. Besides, what would happen if people were to find out about this?" She gestured between them. "They would accuse me of whoring my way into the position!"
"No one would question it if you married me," he said. "Let them whisper all they like, but they wouldn't dare accuse me or my father for promoting your station if you were my wife. It could be counted as treason. My title would protect us both."
Asta stopped in her tracks, staring at the prince with a deep frown.
"We've talked about this, Bain," she said. "You know I won't marry you. I have no desire to be Princess, much less Queen one day."
"I know, I know." He smiled, but she knew he was unhappy with her answer, just like all the other times he had asked her. "But still. It could be your shield, should you ever need it. That is, if you even accept the position in the first place."
Asta sighed. "I don't know. He gave me three days to decide. I will…think about it."
Bain nodded. "Good." He glanced toward the window. "It's nearly noon. How about that water and cream before you go?"
He was trying hard not to let his disappointment show. Asta wished she was capable of giving him what he wanted, but she wasn't. So instead, she just smiled softly at her prince. "That would be wonderful."
The markets teemed with life that day.
Men and women in brightly colored clothes edged out of the way of Princess Sigrid and her entourage of a half-dozen ladies and guards each, bowing and smiling lovingly to their princess as they passed. Children paused in their play to watch them with open mouths and wide eyes before scurrying off again, and the few dwarves they encountered nodded politely to the princess and asked if she was interested in their wares.
Barely an hour since they had departed from the King's House, and already Sigrid's guards were laden with packages of her purchases and gifts from the merchants filling Dale's markets. Asta, fortunately, was not assigned to parcel duty. Instead, she kept close to the princess's side, one eye on the crowds around them and one hand on her sword, while one ear was kept open as the princess spoke to her.
"Captain of the Guard?" Sigrid echoed, astonished. Asta had just finished telling her about the events of that morning (excepting her early rendezvous with Bain, and Bard's future meeting with the King of Erebor), and she grimaced when the princess gripped her elbow. "Oh, Asta, that's so exciting! Why on earth haven't you accepted yet?"
Asta sighed, having no desire to repeat her reasons for a third time that day. She merely shrugged.
Luckily, Sigrid seemed to understand her reluctance to speak any further on the matter, for she simply patted Asta's arm. "Never mind. We'll speak more on it later." She suddenly pointed to something over Asta's shoulder. "Oh, look at that stall over there! Isn't it lovely? I must see what they have."
Sigrid led the way with Asta in tow, her ladies and the other guards trailing behind. The guards were silent and watchful, but the ladies tittered and gossiped, content with not speaking to the princess, just as the princess was content not speaking to them. The ladies let out a large bout of laughter that sent some pigeons in their path to the air, hooting in alarm. Sigrid rolled her eyes.
"I don't know why Da insists I bring those vultures everywhere," she said. "They're terribly annoying."
They approached the stall Sigrid had wished to visit, finding a dwarf woman with an elaborate blonde beard selling pound cakes with fresh strawberries and powdered sugar on top. Asta's stomach perked up at the sight of the cakes despite all she had eaten already that day; she was a hopeless case when it came to sweets, and those cakes looked delicious.
"Why not tell them to go away?" she said to Sigrid as the princess waited patiently in line, attempting not to draw attention to herself despite her large posse. "You're a princess, after all. They have to obey you."
Sigrid sighed. "I wish I could." Her lips thinned when the ladies cackled again. Most of them were much younger than Asta and Sigrid; between sixteen and twenty, if Asta had to guess. They all wore dresses of silk in varying hues of pinks, greens, and blues, and carried paper fans to ward off the sweltering heat. "But they're the daughters of some well-off families who wish to find them husbands." She let out a very un-princess-like snort. "I can't imagine why."
Asta laughed. She was glad that becoming a princess hadn't turned Sigrid into a vain, preening bird like the girls behind them. If anything, Sigrid had just become more outspoken and confident, and Asta admired her friend for it. Sigrid had always been kind-hearted and generous, and she had carried those traits with her into royal life. It had been Sigrid's idea to open numerous healing houses and orphanages across both Dale and Esgaroth, and the princess always made time to inspect them once every month to ensure that the patients and children were looked after and cared for.
Sigrid jerked her chin to the girls. "Do you see that one in the green dress, with the brown hair?" Asta nodded when she spied the small lady. Her face seemed set in a permanent sneer, and Asta lamented the loss of the girl's beauty because of it. "That's Lady Ambra. She's the daughter of Lord Marlon; do you remember him? He was on the Master's council."
It was hard not to forget about the old Master of Lake-town and his slimy council members, who had been more leeches than legislators. They had all bled the town dry due to their own greed and incompetence. Asta was just sorry that none of them had perished in the dragon's attack like the Master had.
"Rumor has it that her father is buttering himself up to mine in hopes of a potential match between her and Bain," Sigrid continued. She snorted again. "As if I would ever let my brother marry that hag. She's absolutely dreadful; so stuck up her own arse I'm surprised her nose isn't brown."
Asta choked. "Sigrid!" she whispered when the princess began to laugh, though Asta was finding it hard not to join in. "What if they heard you?"
"I hope they did," she said. Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief and mirth, so similar to Bain's look that Asta had to glance away guiltily. "At least then they would stop following me around like mindless chickens."
"You're a wicked thing," Asta said, shaking her head.
Sigrid grinned at her. "I know."
She was truly beautiful, Asta thought, with her heart-shaped face, honey-blonde hair, and clear blue eyes. Bard was right; she would make a good match for King Thorin Oakenshield. At the reminder of the secret she had to keep, however, she looked away from the princess's wide grin on the pretense of scanning their surroundings as Sigrid stepped up to the stall to order. She debated telling Sigrid about her father's plans but decided against it. Even though Sigrid was her friend, Bard was her king. She could not reveal his secrets, even to his own daughter.
When the princess returned, she carried two cakes, one for herself and one for Asta. She heard Sigrid's ladies grumble about it for a few minutes before they returned to talking about men and marriage, and she munched happily on her cake as Sigrid continued to lead them through the markets.
They passed stalls and stores for clothes, jewelry, spices, sweets, toys, and everything in between, occasionally pausing at a few that the princess found particularly interesting. However, when the afternoon dwindled, and the market crowds thinned, Sigrid called it a day, and their party trooped back to the King's House.
When they reached the northern quadrant of the city, Sigrid turned to Asta again.
"How is your sister?" she asked, not noticing how Asta tensed.
"Myra is well," Asta said. "She enjoys tutoring Tilda, I think. I've hardly seen her this last month, though. I'm supposed to be meeting her tonight for supper."
Sigrid tilted her head, curious. "And Vana?"
Asta grit her teeth before answering. "She's fine. Myra and I are going to her cottage to eat."
The princess nodded, biting her lip. "Good. I think she'll like that."
Asta held back a scoff. "We'll see."
They did not speak again until they returned to the King's House and bid each other goodbye before separating to prepare themselves for their respective family dinners. Asta entered the Guard House and made her way to the baths. She was largely ignored by those inside, though some nodded to her or waved, but they were the older and younger guards. The hundred men and women in her unit that she had trained with were not as friendly, but that was their own problem. It was not her fault she had beaten them all to become the best in their class.
She was halfway to the baths when Graham materialized at her shoulder, nearly bouncing on his feet.
"Well?" he said. "How did today go?"
She shrugged. "Well enough. There's this stall in the market run by a dwarf woman that makes the best pound cakes I've ever tasted—"
"Not that," Graham said, waving her off. "I meant this morning, with the King!"
"Oh. That." She frowned. She really didn't want to tell Graham about the King's offer. His lips were far too loose, especially when he started drinking, and she knew for a fact that the ale barrels had been restocked that morning. "It was…interesting."
"That's it?" he said. "You won't even tell me what you talked about?" He stuck out his lower lip. "Am I not your best friend in the entire world, Asta?"
She rolled her eyes. "You are, Graham, but I'll tell you tomorrow. I have to wash up before meeting Myra. I smell dreadful."
"Too true," he said, laughing when she gave him a vulgar gesture. "But I'll hold you to that, Asta. You can't keep me in the dark forever."
"I wouldn't dream of it," she said drily. "Now, go bother someone else. I have to bathe."
He sketched a dramatic bow, nearly cracking his head on the floor in the process. "Your wish is my command!"
Asta rolled her eyes again before stalking into the baths.
"I work with children," she muttered.
Graham's laughter followed her inside.
Thanks for reading if you made it this far! I promise not every chapter will be this long, but if you prefer it this way, do feel free to let me know!