I was in Laketown.
Bells tolled. Their panicked ringing mingled with distant screams to fill the air, and from the sky above Smaug wrought his fiery devastation upon my people. The house around me stank of burning wood, and another smell - one far more sinister, which would be ingrained in my memory for all time: burning flesh.
Things had gone so wrong.
I was in my home, with my family. My mother, a vision of loveliness in her red dress, wore the silver necklace I had carried with me from the troll hoard half a world away. She was worried about me, fretting about the house and urging me to make haste, to escape the town while I still could. My father was there as well, having returned to us after being away for so long, coming in when we needed him most to rescue us from certain death.
I was hurried out the back door of our house and across a narrow wooden alleyway to where my father's barge lay moored, laden with thirteen barrels of fish brought from one of the fishing stations where the River Running drained from the Long Lake. As they climbed aboard and beckoned me in, the sight of the barrels gave me the uneasy feeling that I was forgetting something, but before I could turn to look back upon my house, smoke filled the air and I began to choke. I spun around, but the house was engulfed in a maelstrom of fire.
There, through the blistering heat and flame, I saw Bofur in the top window, gazing out at me with sad eyes and an even sadder smile. Had he stayed behind, so that I could be free? Or had I left him behind?
I tried to shout to him, but in a sudden gout of fire and heat, what was left of the house was consumed. I drew in a horrified breath, and another rush of heat and ash filled my lungs. My chest tightened uncontrollably, tears welling in my smoke-blind eyes and forcing them shut.
When I opened my eyes, there was only darkness, but the stinging did not subside, nor did the tears.
I was wracked with coughs as I tumbled over the side of my bed, trying desperately to get low enough to avoid the smoke that I now realized was rolling through my apartments in Erebor. Forcing my bleary eyes to stay open, I oriented myself to the dying remains of the fire, it too choking for lack of fresh airflow, and then staggered and stumbled for the door of my chambers.
Bells were ringing here in the mountain too, and distant shouts filled the air. I burst out into the hallway, struggling to see anything through the dark smoke. The few torches that remained lit did little to cut through the gloom, but from what I could make out, a gathering of dwarves was forming at the end of the hall. Fighting my oxygen starved muscles, I shuffled forwards, and was met by one of the dwarves who rushed forward, grabbing the back of my arm and guiding me towards the others.
"Come on." I heard Dwalin urge as he led me, his voice even rougher than usual. As we approached the group, I did a head count, and noticed a few missing.
"She's the last. We need to go, now!" Gloin urged, but when I turned towards Dwalin, resisting his pull and meaning to protest leaving without Bofur, he answered my silent question before I could ask it.
"He's gone to the kitchens to try to find Bombur. He'll be fine."
Something about the dwarf's blunt reassurance made me believe it, or at least accept that there was nothing I could do to help him now - so long as I wasn't leaving him behind, like in my dream. Even still, as I allowed myself to be ushered away towards safety with a hand upon my back, I couldn't help but look over my shoulder towards Bofur's door with a pang of fear.
We made our way quickly through the mountain, and as we went I became more and more aware of how widespread the problem was. Only in the larger chambers were we given some small respite from the oppressive smoke, where congregations of dwarves were gathering before heading out towards the outer slopes of Erebor. Some made for the main gates, as we were, but others were no doubt heading to the nearest balconies or windows to find relief.
As we neared the main thoroughfare, the air began to thin out, a sign that order was being restored to the mountain. Fires were being extinguished, and what smoke remained in the mountain was escaping through all the little unsealed doors, openings and fissures. While that should have been the end of it, and many of the warning bells had quieted, new ones now rang in their place, accompanied by a distant shout that echoed through the hallways.
Zimrith ib-bekan!
"A call to arms." Dwalin stated, and the general pace of the group picked up to a near jog. As we exited into the Hall of Kings, we were met with general disarray as dwarves rushed here and there, though the general direction seemed to be contrary to what one would expect in the case of smoke flooding the mountain - rather than making for the entryway, most were rushing towards the forges. Nori appeared from out of the throng with an armful of weapons, shouting to us as he approached.
"Orcs are attacking the forges!"
Dwalin left my side without a word, grabbing an axe from the pile as he rushed past Nori towards the battle. Several of the others followed, though Óin at least had the decency to stay with me. Whatever fighting ensued, it did not last long. Only moments after the company raced off, the bells quieted altogether, and the overall pace within the mountain slowed significantly.
It was waiting in the Hall of Kings that Bofur, Bombur and Bifur found us. I had relocated to a bench to wait in close proximity to the main entrance, which seemed to be the only place still inside I could get sufficient air into my lungs without feeling like I was going to throw up or erupt into another coughing fit. Even there, though, when I spotted Bofur and rose up to rush to him, I fought and failed to contain an outburst. He rushed to me and put an arm around my shoulders, rubbing my back until the fit subsided.
"There now, love. Here I worried you'd been hurt, but now I see you must be the reason the mountain's clearin' up. Seems you've inhaled the better part of the smoke." He put on his cheeriest smile, though I could tell it was masking worried eyes. I had to keep from chuckling at his desperate attempt to bring humour into the situation, as I feared it would start me coughing all over again, so instead pulled him into a comfortable hug, holding onto him for a long while as life in the mountain began to settle back to some semblance of normal.
When I finally pulled away and looked at him, I noticed one of his eyes had been blackened, and with him being a dwarf I imagined it would take a rather hefty blow to cause such bruising. I lifted a hand up and tenderly brushed the side of it, which caused him to wince.
"Oh no... your beautiful face." I lamented soothingly with a soft smile. "Did you join the fighting in the forges?"
Bofur rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly; stepping out of my embrace and glancing sheepishly back at his brother and cousin, who were shuffling about with similar embarrassment.
"Ah... no... the fact is, we never left the kitchens," he explained, then added "not just because we couldn't drag Bombur away, mind you. Bifur here," He gestured to his cousin. "...found Bombur just before the alarm went up. The pair of them holed up in the kitchens, they've got their own chimney systems so they were a bit less smoky. When the battle started, they armed themselves with whatever they could. Bifur got hold of a rather hefty cast-iron pan, and then I made it to the kitchens. They were both a mite jumpy at this point, so Bifur sort of..."
Bifur tilted his head to one side and took over for Bofur. "I hit him square in the face." He admitted, his grin reminiscent of a nervous tick as it flashed quickly across his features then disappeared. "I'm, ah... still recovering, from my condition." He added as he tapped his gaping head-wound to illustrate the point.
"Oh... Well, no shame in being over-cautious." I said, biting back a small grin.
We all quieted when we noticed Dain and his family stride into our midst. The king was silent, having wandered in quietly from the direction of the throne room. Out of everything that had happened this evening, that was the most ominous, second to the fact that it seemed as though the king's entire royal guard had been called out and were now taking up defensive positions around our small party. Ganin stood close by Méra, who glanced at me and offered a small smile, which I returned. The fact that she, too, had nothing to say became my new most ominous moment.
The king looked up at us all, his face covered in soot and blood.
"We though' it might'a been an avalanche at first, you know, up on the higher reaches. Been shoring up the chimneys and air shafts, haven't gotten to them all though - anyhow, I left the lasses and went to sort things topside. Soon as I left, the mongrels attacked my family. If Ganin hadn't been there, Durin knows what might have happened." He explained this solemnly, but then shook himself from his ill-natured reverie. I studied Méra, who seemed a little shook up but still managed to roll her eyes as her father praised Ganin as the sole reason for their survival. I was sure I would hear the whole story sooner or later.
"Where's your brother?" Dain then asked Dwalin specifically, but continued before there could be a response. "Those schist bastards concentrated their force in the forges - trying to light the damned things and choke us out for good. All this happening at once, they're organized, so here's what's going to happen: take the day to clear up your quarters best you can. At dusk, meet me in my chambers. Come through Balin's apartments, and bring him along if he's kind enough to turn up." He paused for a moment, regarding all of us in turn, and then added as an afterthought: "In fact, best if ye all come. We're going to figure out who's behind this and show them the business end of a hammer! The earth never forgets... and neither do we."
After leaving the Hall of Kings, Bofur and I made our way back to our wing of the mountain, which fortunately was airing out now that work crews were scaling the mountain walls and unblocking the main ventilation shafts that had been clogged up by the orcs. Several of the others had accompanied us, along with some of the dwarves lodging in the area, but eventually each made their way back into their respective rooms to assess the damage caused by the smoke, or headed off into the mountain to see what could be done to help.
As we neared our hallway, we caught our first glimpse of Balin since waking that morning. He was emerging from his rooms, looking rather shaken up, though when spotting Dwalin among us he tried to regain some composure. The large dwarf rushed forward ahead of us, and Balin took in a shuddery breath.
"I thought... blast it all, I thought it was another dragon." He explained.
Dwalin shushed his older brother and guided him back into his rooms, leaving the rest of us to make our way to our own quarters. I had expected Bofur to part ways from me when we reached my room, but when I stepped inside he followed me in and closed the door.
"My my," I declared as I turned around to face him. "Whatever will the neighbors think? A dwarf and his intended spending time together, alone?"
He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway.
"Oh, ha ha. I expect everyone's too busy to have noticed, but who's to say I'm not just helping to tidy up a bit? I'm sure there's something in here for a strong, able-bodied dwarf to do..." He winked, but then moved towards me while rubbing his neck.
"Actually, ah... I wanted to apologize." He explained, his hands dropping to encircle my waist.
"Apologize for what?" I asked, wondering what he could have done wrong.
"When things went bad, I should have come for you first. I promised I would never leave you again, but what
did I do instead? I rushed off to see if I could help - made sure the lads would get you to safety, but that's no excuse - it should have been me protecting you. The only good I ended up doing was lessening Bifur's anxiety some by letting him nearly drop me with a cooking implement..." He looked into my eyes. "I've got someone else to live for now, someone to look out for... And when I lost my last wife, I lost a part of myself. I can't risk putting you through that."
I draped my arms around his neck. "Thank you." I said sincerely. "But honestly I don't begrudge you for trying to help, and making sure your family is safe - of course I'd always prefer you to be nearby in case I need to rescue you," I smiled at his smirk, "but you're a strong chap." I added teasingly, dropping my hands down to his biceps and giving them a squeeze. "Just try not to get your face marked up anymore, I'm the one always having to look at it, you know."
"S'all about looks with you, isn't it dear?" Bofur jibed, pulling me close against him and nuzzling into my neck. "It's a good thing I'm so ridiculously handsome." he growled softly into my ear.
I smiled. "Ah but beauty is fleeting," I retorted wistfully, tilting my head back as he began to kiss under my jaw. "Luckily you're also charming enough, so maybe I'll just stick with you even when your good looks fade."
I bit my lip as I felt Bofur's hands slide down the curve of my hips and around my bottom.
"Speaking of looks," he said softly, pausing his administerings for a moment and looking back up to my face, "you are looking very well lately, love, perhaps being engaged suits you?"
I smiled in thanks at his words. Truthfully it was probably refreshing to look upon me now and not see my skin marred with bruises, my face pale from overcoming injury, my eyes sunken from lack of sleep - but truthfully I had secretly been feeling very self-conscious about my hair as of late. Bofur had in no way had caused me to feel this way, and I acted as if I didn't much care, but I spent more time than I cared to admit half-dressed and privately scrutinizing myself in the mirror at night. My whole self-image, the one constant in my life, had been wildly transformed in a mere moment of time. Along with the hair, and likely amplified in part by the short style, I noticed my figure had begun to change as well.
After a few months of decent sleeping, and regular, rather hearty meals, I had actually managed to put on weight. My thighs were a bit thicker and my hips and bust slightly fuller, plus I had gained a small pudge of fat across my lower stomach. I was still slender, and doubted very much that I would ever have the full figure of a dwarrowdam, but I had begun to noticeably fill out and this added to my new apprehension as well.
Yet it had been a few weeks since my unorthodox haircut and the sharp cut-edge had softened. I was now rather accustomed to the look and actually sometimes appreciated the advantages of the shorter style. I had also begun to train with Méra more often, a few times a week, since my cleaning duties had somewhat petered off now that many of the intact smaller areas were complete. I felt rested, and strong, and confident enough to accept Bofur's advancements.
After tidying up my rooms, among other activities, it was still only an hour past daybreak - the winter months delaying the rising of the sun as they did. It was the time when any respectable person should have been just considering waking up and setting about their day, but we had already been up for what seemed like forever. Bofur didn't seem to mind, curse his dwarven resilience, but I was already feeling the effects of having my beauty sleep interrupted, and the only thing that could keep me going was food.
Fortunately for us, Bombur had taken it upon himself to prepare a makeshift buffet in Balin's common room for anyone working nearby. The room's ornate hearth was now playing host to several familiar looking bits of camp cookware that the dwarf must have kept in his rooms for just such emergencies (and perhaps to cook himself up a midnight snack every now and again). In any case, I thanked him heartily and laden a plate with as much sausage, eggs, bacon and toast as I could, and then felt guilty and set some back to avoid judgment by the other dwarves in the room, all of whom were likely too engrossed in their own large meals to care what I ate, or how much.
As Bofur and I took a seat, I glanced over my shoulder to listen in on a conversation between two of the guards
nearby, only to be frustrated by the fact that they were speaking in Khuzdul. Too often this was the case, and I was itching to learn more of the language than what I could pick up by mere exposure, but I knew Bofur's hands were tied in the matter. Fortunately, at least when he was around, he seemed willing to translate.
"There's been no sign of those responsible for damaging the ventilation shafts. The repair crews are under guard, but they've not seen hide or hair of orcs since the attack, which means we got them all, or they're back in hiding."
"Bofur, has anyone been hurt? Or worse?" I cut in before he could eavesdrop further.
"One of the young bairns from Dís' caravan tripped in all the commotion and split his lip - poor lad, only about..." He paused and looked at me somewhat awkwardly, but withered under my pointed gaze and continued "Ah... only about twenty or so."
"Anybody else?" I asked, trying to move on as I didn't particularly want to linger on our vastly different ages.
"If there were any other injuries, everyone's been keeping them to themselves. Wouldn't be very dwarvish to go admitting your knuckles are delicate enough to be split punching an unarmed, half starved, lanky little orc; 'you don't hear the stones complaining', as the old 'dams say. Since this morning, I've heard more about smoke damage in dwarrowdams wardrobes than I have about bloodshed, actually."
I wondered how Bofur felt about the injury he sported after his encounter with Bifur - whether it stuck out as a badge of shame - especially given the circumstances with which he had received it. As I had already pointed it out once today, though, I decided not to press him further about it, to save him further embarrassment if that was the case.
Bofur seemed happy enough to translate gossip in the common room for a while longer, but as the day dragged on we both agreed that we should prepare ourselves for the meeting with Dain. As we were leaving Balin's chambers, I was a short ways ahead of Bofur, who had taken our plates over to add them to the pile of dirty ones to be sent back to the kitchens. As soon as I emerged into the hallway, I was set upon by a blur of red and blue - Méra grabbed my shoulders and swung me off to one side.
"Have you told anybody?" She demanded in a whisper so loud that it really wasn't even worth the effort of keeping it quiet - fortunately for her, I spotted no one in the hallway save for Ganin, who seemed to be keeping a lookout at the next hall junction. When I just looked at her in stunned silence, my brain trying to catch up with the events, she let me go and gestured wildly with her hands.
"The orc in the training room, do I need to spell it out?! After this mornin', did you tell anyone?"
Before I could respond, I heard the last voice I wanted to hear at that exact moment.
"Orc?" Bofur asked accusingly, emerging from Balin's rooms with a frown to stop between us, arms crossed. "What orc, and what training room?"
Méra shot me a look between shock and guilt, her whole mood immediately deflating.
"Oh... he, ah... doesn't know then."
Bofur looked at Méra, and then back to me, sizing us up as co-conspirators. I fidgeted under his scrutinizing gaze, but could think of no words to cover up the secret now that it was revealed.
"Will you excuse us, Princess?" Bofur asked, clearly straining to maintain proper decorum in the situation. "My intended has some explaining to do."
Méra bit her lip, looked at me apologetically and then hurried away without another word, glancing back over her shoulder towards me as she reached Ganin. I frowned back at her, watching her go to avoid Bofur's gaze for as long as I could.
I cringed at the noise of my chamber doors slamming shut after Bofur unceremoniously dragged me back inside the privacy of my rooms.
"Tell me." he demanded, rounding on me before I even had a chance to make my way further into the sitting area.
"Bofur, there is no need for concern-" I began, but he cut me off when he realized I wasn't starting with the explanation he wanted.
"Well, it sounds like you've been lying about something, and something serious at that. The entire mountain was put in danger today, and if it's found out that you kept something secret, something that might have prevented it... well you best tell me now." he said, his voice deep and serious.
I felt a lump form in my throat, his words stinging with deadly truth. I had been a fool.
"Méra and I have been training, just for fun, in an abandoned guardroom." I began softly, meeting his eyes every so often as I spoke, but feeling too ashamed to keep contact for long. "One time I went before she arrived and found a lone orc in there... it escaped before I could get to it, but then Méra thought-"
Bofur surprised me by raising his voice at this point. "I don't give a cold stone what Méra thinks! The fact o' the matter is that I should have been told immediately that my betrothed was threatened by an orc! And, to put the whole of Erebor at risk because, what, your friend made you promise? I mean, what were you thinkin'?" He lapsed into a stronger accent as his speech became more forceful .
"The Princess of Erebor made me promise. What was I supposed to do?" I snapped before I could help myself, taking a few steps towards him. "I would think you could relate - you're no stranger to blindly following the orders of your king - your friend - against the will of the woman you love!" I knew that was going too far, and I gasped in shock at my own desire to cause hurt. I froze, and he stared at my stiff posture for a moment, noted my now carefully emotionless face. His face fell, and when he spoke up again I could tell I had knocked him down a peg.
"Wasn't I just sayin' earlier, apologizing that is, for taking unnecessary risks because I have you in my life now, someone to live for? I would never have guessed you hadn't been paying me that courtesy." He threw up his hands and became pacing as he went on and his voice rose once more. "I mean, haven't you had your fill of danger? Haven't you seen enough of death? Do you value your life so little? And what of mine? Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you?!" he shouted, stopping to look at me. "You have no idea how defenceless you truly are. Your luck will run out. You cannot keep doing these things!"
At that I felt my walls of defence begin to crumble away, and another tidal wave of anger surged up, threatening to cascade over the broken barriers and wash Bofur away. Defenceless? I had beaten every obstacle my hard, crazy life had thrown at me, I wasn't some weak-kneed, prattle-brained silly maiden that feinted at the sight of - Suddenly there was a loud, sharp rap on the door. I stared at Bofur, my scowl deepening, yet at the second knock I spun around and yanked open the door, about to lay into the poor soul who dared disturb us before I could provide my counterattack. Dwalin's equally as impressive scowl, however, caused me to hold my tongue and simply nod curtly when he ordered us to follow him to the meeting.
We all walked in strained silence and I wondered if Dwalin had heard us shouting. If so, it had been the second time in a few short weeks he had broken up our quarrels.
We gathered in Dain's inner chambers, just as we had the day my courting braid - along with the rest of my hair - had been shorn off. On that day I had lost the physical symbol of my relationship with Bofur, today, however, a small part of me worried about the risk of losing something far more important - his trust.
My anger had only slightly cooled on the short walk through Balin's secret chamber, and I was still irked enough to make sure several dwarves stood between Bofur and I when we took up positions with the rest of the company. If anyone noticed our hostility, they didn't make a point of it; there were far more important matters to discuss. The company was joined by all of Dain's top generals and advisers, most of whom were now familiar to me, but whose names I was only beginning to grasp. Dain wasted no time in getting to business.
"You lot are here because, as of tonight, I don't know who to trust." He started, nodding in our direction. "Anythin' said here doesn't leave this room, on pain of death," He finished this up with something in Khuzdul, which I took to meant 'understood?' as all the dwarves, company and Dain's men alike, nodded and grumbled acknowledgement. I nodded too, and once Dain was satisfied he continued.
"The saboteurs who blocked the air shafts haven't been found." He explained. "As damned hot as it got in here today, out there it's one flake short of a bloody blizzard. Now, at first we suspected it was the work of goblins. Those scraggly little buggers could make it up the mountainside and into the vents easier than naught. Then, we found this." He tossed a coil of rope onto his desk - it had been half burned, as if to hide the evidence.
"One of our trackers found this half-buried on the Southern slopes. Climbing gear means orcs, or - less likely in these circumstances, but still to be considered - humans." He paused for a moment, and then continued. "Based on what tracks we could find, the bastards have made it to Dale."
This revelation caused a stir in those who hadn't heard the news, myself included, and immediately I wondered if Bard had been warned. I would have asked, had Dain not held up his hands and continued.
"There's more. Reports are that the fishermen have been having problems of their own."
For some reason, I felt a little resentment at my people being called that, though it was true for all intents and purposes it still felt derogatory coming from a dwarf.
"They've had wells fouling up, buildings repaired by our stonemasons collapsing, stolen food rations and the like." Dain explained. "So, that means there may be more of them in Dale, and Bard's not made any headway catching them." He paused for a moment, taking a breath before summing up his thoughts."So, here's where we're at. They attacked us in our homes, tried to murder my wife and daughter, and then fled cowardly to Dale, where they join up with another group - who knows, maybe even some of those filthy Easterlings have infiltrated Bard's people and have been stirring up trouble. In any case, something needs to be done about it."
Discussion filled the chamber once the king finished his briefing, and Dain allowed it to go one for a few moments, listening to various comments in Khuzdul and replying in kind. I was left alone with my thoughts, my usual translator pointedly avoiding my gaze from across the hall and causing my frustrations to return to the forefront of my mind.
"We need someone in the city." The king suddenly announced, and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking in Westron once more, which meant he wanted me to hear him. "Someone who can blend in, find them, and then root them out like the vermin they are." His eyes lifted to fix on me.
"Absolutely not." Bofur stated once Dain's meaning sunk in. "She's one of us, and she's earned her place here. She is not a pawn!"
My look of initial surprise turned to an instant glare directed at Bofur - how dare he speak for me? He looked back at me, his emotions hard to read, though his face was stern enough to suggest he didn't want me playing any part in this. I decided to do the exact opposite.
"Why don't you just speak to Bard?" I began cautiously, suspicious of why the task should fall to someone so under-qualified as I. Dain looked at me reproachfully, but remained silent.
"You don't trust him." I accused, stepping forward. Any feelings of shock or worry I had towards the task were quickly overcome by hostility, all the anxiety and frustration that had built up with Bofur whirling about to latch on to a new target: the King. "They have lost everything for this mountain! They fought and died with you!"
"They'd just as soon have fought and died against us with the Elves if Azog's legions hadn't gotten involved! And if I'm no' mistaken, you were among the pointy-eared bastards by the time we started spilling each other's blood."
"I wasn't there by choice - but I would have been, to get them what was owed! I like to believe you would have done the same in my position - or do the promises of a king mean so little to you?" I asked spitefully.
His hands slammed loudly on the arms of his chair before he got abruptly to his feet. He strode forward while pointing angrily at me. "I'll not have my honour questioned by a human whelp who clings to the coattails of a low-class miner with delusions of grandeur!"
The dwarf king was living up to Gandalf's reputation at last: quick to temper - and while likely just as quick to forgive, being on the receiving end of his wroth was momentarily petrifying. The effect was not felt among all of us though. The small assembly erupted in a cacophony of Westron and Khuzdul, dwarves from the company and Dain's entourage shouting and bustling against each other. Bofur, held back by Bifur, was shouting something at the king, who was trying to demand order.
Through the madness Dwalin pushed himself from the wall near the doorway and set a warpath towards Dain, who rose up to the challenge. Smaller dwarves scattered before them, two giants on a collision course, and into all the chaos a more slender figure wove expertly through until it drew up alongside me, positioned between the pair.
"Idribîtu! Takata!"
There was no mistaking the authority in the voice. A strong, feminine voice, whose discordant counterpoint to the masculine shouts had an immediate effect on all present. It happened so suddenly from when the fight began, only seconds prior, that I was still reacting to the onset by the time it ended.
Queen Barís stood beside me, and while she came only to my chin her presence dominated the room. Bofur glowered towards Dain, who was altogether focused on Dwalin, the pair of them still silently challenging each other much as I had once seen Bofur do to Thorin. Dain's wife continued, this time in the common tongue for my sake.
"This is no taproom floor where you may brawl as you please. This is my home. Treat it as such!" She looked from dwarf to dwarf as she spoke, fire in her eyes. One by one they settled, some abashed, others still fuming, but all relenting nonetheless, until only Dwalin and Dain remained in conflict. The standoff continued, everyone tensely awaiting the outcome, until finally Balin approached his brother and placed a hand on the larger dwarf's shoulder.
Whatever unspoken bond they had between them then was enough to end the dispute. Dwalin visibly relaxed, and with a slow turn, during which he shot me a supporting gaze, he strode like thunder from the room. Dain watched him go, and then returned to his seat where he heaved a stressful sigh and sat down heavily.
"Look... At least consider my offer." He asked me, his tone as apologetic as I had ever heard it, yet even then the request held an undertone of command. When he spoke no further, we took it as our cue to leave. I, for one, was glad to escape the awkward encounter.
As we filed out of the royal chambers, Bofur seemed lost in his own brooding thoughts, and did not approach me. Being in no mood to reignite our own argument, I left alone. Balin, however, caught up to me fell into step on our way towards the throne room.
"Don't hold it against him, lass." He started, and then seemed to take a while to consider how best to explain such a malicious outburst. "Dwarven kings have never been known for discretion when speaking what comes to mind, even if they regret it immediately thereafter."
"Travelling with you lot taught me that much, at least." I remarked with a small, tired smile, reflecting on the truth of his statement in comparison to my own experiences.
"You being present in that room tonight, it shows that Dain has more trust for you than any dwarf has had in a human for an age. Before the dragon, the last kings of Erebor and Dale had a lukewarm relationship at best - driven in part by Thror's own sickness, mind you. It goes back further than that though... back beyond memory, since the dawn of the ages, dwarves have always felt at odds with men and elves. Now, old alliances have long since given way, and the chasm between our people has grown so deep that it will take a great deal of time and effort to bring us back together." We had reached the bridge to the throne, and so we started out onto it, side by side. He stopped me after we circled around to the front.
"Give him time and he will come to trust. There is always hope, and you are a part of that."
"Do you really believe we can work - and live - together?" I asked, somewhat doubtfully given the current state of affairs.
"We may yet live to see a day when all the people of middle earth, dwarves and men, perhaps even elves, are united together in the bonds of Fellowship." He nodded to himself. "These old eyes have seen many things, but that - that would crown all else."
With that he clasped my shoulders, smiled genuinely up at me, and then bade me goodnight before turning to make his way off into the mountain's depths.
I turned away three messengers the next morning in as many hours, each one more important than the last and the final being one of Dain's top generals who recognized me from the battle. Though he surely had better things to do, he did me the credit of asking after my recovery and my current circumstances even after I declined his request to accompany him to the royal apartments. As I bade him farewell at the door, I couldn't help but look down the hallway towards Bofur's apartment.
"We've got a squadron of my soldiers scouring the mines for signs of orc scum..." The general commented, noticing the reason for my lingering in the doorway. "Last report is that he's gone to help."
I thanked him, though I was sure I was scowling by the time I closed the door on him. Of course, I thought as my mood went downhill once more, of course Bofur would be off putting himself at risk, even after promising yesterday that he would not do so again - just because he's angry with me no doubt.
Following those thoughts, I spent the next little while grumpily tidying my quarters, but not long after the general's visit I was drawn to another knock at the door.
As it had sounded meeker than the last three, it drew my attention, and so I hurried to open it. Méra stood looking somewhat abashed, a look I had never seen on her before.
"Méra?" I asked, somewhat taken-aback.
The young dwarrowdam clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth on her heels, biting her cheek, before finally speaking.
"My father sent me..." She explained, looking up at me apologetically. I could see the guilt in her whole body - it made her smaller, less vibrant - but most so in her eyes.
Having had the whole night and most of the morning to cool down, I was hardly going to blame her for coming, or for her small part in my fight with Bofur; perhaps it said something about dwarves, that she came expecting me to still be in a fit of rage. Instead all I felt was somewhat embarrassed that she had been dragged into my mess. I grabbed her arm and yanked her inside, feeling a bit strange to be the impulsive one for a change.
"Oh get in here!" I urged and then shut the door behind us. "The last thing either of us needs right now is to feel sorry for ourselves."
She revived a bit at this energetic response, relaxing visibly and flopping down into one of the armchairs in the sitting room.
"Phew, I was sure you were going to be cross... especially after... well, you know. Father told me you've turned away all the other messengers. That, and Ori warned me against disturbing you after what happened to the first messenger..." She picked up the fire poker nearby and idly prodded the embers beneath the tea pot. I offered her a drink, moving to take the pot of water from the hearth, but she brandished the poker to stop me.
"After the day we had yesterday, we're going to need something stronger than tea."
With that, and before I could object about it being such an early hour, she fished out a flask from between one of the many layers of her dress, where she had stitched in a hidden pocket that I was sure old-fashioned seamstresses would never have approved of.
"I heard him, you know, praisin' Ganin as though he dropped all twelve of the buggers while us wee, fragile maids cowered with fright. Sure, the old man did kill half a dozen in the span it took them to draw their last breaths, but mum and I dropped two apiece before he even showed up, and the last two while he was busy with the others."
I allowed her to regale me with specific details of the battle, and from the flush of excitement she had in reliving it I got the feeling that it was her first time being in real combat. Fortunately for her, all the training she had had paid off. Her account of the story, less all her embellishments and exclamations, went something along the lines of this: When the king had left his wife and daughter, they had made their way through the mountain towards the nearest balcony - a location accessible only via the royal apartments. The orcs had been waiting for them there, and ambushed them. At this point, Méra couldn't help but gush at the surprising combat prowess of her mother who, though unarmed, managed to disarm and dispatch the first orc to fall upon them. Méra had retrieved the orc's weapon, and faced off against the next set of attackers while her mother flung her next foe off the balcony - no easy feat in a full dwarven dress. Ganin had arrived then, and in short order the ambushers were routed.
"Gah, ya should'a seen her!" the young dwarf emphasized once more, clearly seeing her mother in a whole new light after the skirmish. Her accent was growing thicker as the night went on and she consumed more alcohol - the only sign of intoxication that I had yet seen in a dwarf. "The best part o' it es, after th' battle, no' one braid out o' place, no' even a single ruffle in 'er skirts, an' she straightens up lookin' all prim an' proper, then praises Ganin for his bravery in dispatchin' all twelve o' the buggers! The ol' gaffer jus' nodded, an' played along when Da' showed up all flustered a while later." She lifted her flask up thoughtfully after retrieving it from me once again, then took a swig. "If I didn' know better, I'd ha' figured she's been trained by Ganin too."
Once she was finished, I told her of my own experiences that morning, which were significantly less exciting than her own. Still, to her credit, she listened intently. I spoke of my dream, and waking out of the dream to real danger, of scrambling to the door (she mentioned teasingly that I must have had a hard time of it, with smoke rising and my being so much taller than everyone else in the mountain), Dwalin coming to my rescue ("Again? If you weren't already with Bofur I'd say you had found yourself a suitor!"), finding out that Bofur had left me behind (that was how I put it, as I was still somewhat cross with him especially after he didn't return this morning and the alcohol only aggravated this), and our eventual flight through the mountain to the Hall of Kings.
Méra was able to catch me up from there, based on what she had heard from her father and through the gossip mill of the mountain. In short order, I knew all about the attack on the forges, and the defense mounted by the dwarves. None of the attackers had survived.
"If ah had ta guess, ah'd say that blighted orc you saw will'no be among th' dead - crafty little one, that."
Bringing up the orc in the guardroom brought me right back to my thoughts about Bofur, and I voiced my worries.
"I told you in my dream Laketown was burning..." I started, and she urged me to go on. "...In the dream, I was leaving the town with my family - the rest of my people. I didn't tell you earlier, but in the window of my house, I saw Bofur. I think I was leaving him behind." I frowned and looked down at my hands. "What if I do go to Dale, and I find that all the frustration of living here - the rules, the stubbornness, the... hostility - what if I realize it's not worth it?"
Méra sat for a long time, looking into the flames of the fire, and when she spoke again it was slowly and with deliberate clarity, emphasizing her words.
"If my understandin' of human love is right, falling in love - true love - with someone you've known for so short a time is rare. I'm not saying you and Bofur aren't in love - it's just that, well, he was the first friendly face you had met in a long time..."
I felt my heart ache, but I found that I couldn't bring myself to stop Méra. If she was going to talk hard truths, I was forced to endure them, but then she continued.
"But I believe you are in love, otherwise, you wouldn't be worryin'. So, here's what I think you should do: Go to Dale; prove to him that you can look after yourself - besides, if he'd of wanted a pasty faced dwarrowdam he'd of had his pick after liberating the mountain - and then prove to yourself that nothing in this world will sway your love for him, least of all a silly, wee argument!"
Roused by her words, and perhaps fortified by the drink, I made up my mind.
So it was that I became a spy amidst my own people.