Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

Fifteen days before Durin’s Day, the Ravens of Erebor reported that the caravan of the Lady Dís, Princess of Erebor, was less than forty-eight hours off from the Lonely Mountain. It only two short days, the first two thousand of Thorin’s people would be arriving in Erebor. More caravans, smaller ones, would make the journey east eventually, but this was to be the largest and was, in Glóin’s rather biased opinion, the most important. Because his Gaela was amongst the dwarrow led by the Dúnedain Rangers and, by Mahal, how he had missed her.

He could barely stand to wait, especially now that she was so close. He was eagerly anticipating being able to show her the wonders of Erebor, to lead her through the Royal Wing to their new home, which he had designed with her in mind. He wished for her to meet Bella, to know his Namadith’s kindness and bravery, for her to become reacquainted with the dwarves who had become his brothers through blood spent and tears shared. He yearned to hold her close and love her.

All this he eagerly looked forward too. Unfortunately, there was one thing, however, that caused him trepidation. And that one thing, it was their son.

Glóin was immeasurably proud of his child, of course he was. Gimli had helped to save all of Arda, had protected Bella and given her strength when she needed it. Gimli’s name would pass in legend forevermore and his bravery was already heralded in song inside Erebor. He could have marched into the Mountain with Bella and would have received a hero’s welcome, (Thorin had revealed that he intended to name Gimli a High Lord in his own right as soon as he Presented himself to the king), but Gimli had chosen to tirelessly hunt Saruman first. There was no dwarf in existence that would not be swollen with pride over having such a child as their own.

But there was one slight issue, an issue that Glóin had not felt appropriate to bring up with his Gaela in a mere letter. Glóin was not particularly looking forward to discussing this issue with his wife at all, actually, but at least he had the good sense not to spring it on her in an epistle as if it were not momentous news that deserved to be told, should only be told, face to face. Gimli, it seemed, had not been taught that particular life lesson yet.

Glóin smoothed out a worn piece of parchment that he had read over and over in the twenty-eight days since Fíli had given it to him. He’d had four weeks to work out exactly what to say to Gaela and still… well, he still didn’t have a ruddy clue. He looked down at his son’s messy handwriting for the umpteenth time.

‘Adad,’

‘I trust that you and Idad are still well. My Namad-Imad has assured me that you both survived the Battle of the Fire Armies intact and Tharkûn backed up her claims. I expected nothing less, of course, you are both incredible warriors.’

‘I imagine that you were quite worried when you discovered that I had chased after you, and were quite exasperated to learn that my directional skills were as poor as our King’s, but I am fine. I bear a few scars, but that is to be expected when one goes to a place like Mordor, and neither you nor Idad, or Amad, for that matter, should be upset about them. You probably will be anyway.’

‘I cannot come to Erebor yet, Adad. I must see Saruman dead before I can allow myself to be called home, even if I must gut him myself. He is an evil that must not be allowed to endure and his spawn harmed someone most dear to me. I have found my Umùrad’akar, Adad, and Saruman’s Urak-Hai nearly took him from me. For this offense, he will pay; I swear this on my honor as a dwarf.’

‘This might be a comfort to you, to know that I am loved as much as you love Amad. It probably won’t be, though, to learn that my One is an elf. The Prince Legolas, to tell the truth.’

‘We pledged ourselves to one another in Mordor. An elopement is not, I know, considered a legal marriage by dwarven law, not without the King’s say-so, but Legolas is my husband as far as I am concerned, even if we never wed in dwarven fashion. I’m sure that you’ll be upset to read this, which is why I am more than willing to travel the Wildes until you think you can meet my husband, properly, him arresting you doesn’t count, Adad, without trying to kill him. I’m rather fond of him and I like him breathing.’

‘I love you, and Amad, and Idad very much. Be safe and do what you can to keep Bella from getting herself into trouble. She’s good at it, for someone so small.’

‘Gimli, son of Glóin, son of Gróin’

His son, his little star, had gone and eloped with Thranduil’s son. The pompous weed-eater who had dared to insult both Glóin’s beautiful Gaela and his headstrong boy, as he tied Glóin up, had somehow managed to seduce his only child.

Glóin didn’t hate all elves. Tauriel was perfectly alright, someone Glóin was proud to call his friend, for example, and the Lord Elrond hadn’t been that bad, for a tree-shagger. Queen Arwen couldn’t be too terrible, either, since Bella spoke so highly of her and the Lady Galadriel had been kind enough to send aid during the brutal winter that had followed the Battle. But Glóin had not been in the Prince of Mirkwood’s presence for a full five minutes before he was certain that the elfling was very much Thranduil’s son.

Perhaps Legolas wasn’t all bad, since he had turned on his father for banishing his cousin and had protected Bella in Mordor, but there was no way that the elf could have possibly changed so much as to be good enough for Glóin’s son. Even if he was Gimli’s One; and Glóin was half convinced that Legolas had cast some kind of spell on Gimli to make his son fall in love with him. He would have been surer of this, but Óin, when Glóin had brought the topic up, had rolled his eyes and took away his drink. But, surely, his elder brother could not be right about everything.

Glóin was still frowning at his son’s letter when a knock sounded at his door.

“Come in,” he called, smiling a bit when the door opened to reveal his sister, wearing a burgundy dress and a golden tiara set with rubies in shades of maroon.

In her hair was a mithril betrothal bead, with a tiny rose of ruby and emerald set upon it and engraved with the Crest of Durin, dangling at the end of her betrothal braid. A second bead hung on a mithril chain around her neck, Glóin knew, hidden beneath the neckline of her dress. A gold bead with the outline of a wolf in mithril inlaid flawlessly into it; Thorin had returned it to her and she insisted on wearing it on a necklace since she could not wear it in her hair.

The King Under the Mountain still wore Bella’s hair around his wrist, but, at least Glóin suspected, it was more of a comfort to him than a painful reminder now. How could it be, when she had to yet take off the ring that he had given her in Lake-town a year earlier since they had returned from being the Master’s guests and had taken one look at Thorin’s courting gift, a dwarven dagger, (to balance out the elven weaponry she relied on), made of mithril with a hilt set with dozens of snow-white pearls, and kissed him senseless? Thorin, too, wore a betrothal bead in his hair, a cylindrical emerald engraved with Greentongue runes of love and loyalty.

Their wedding had already been set to occur during Âfkidhuz'abad, on July the twenty-fifth to be precise. The date would fall several months short of September the twenty-eighth, their engagement’s year mark, but Bella wished for a summer wedding and Thorin wished to give Bella everything and anything he could to make her happy. It would speed up the timetable of the rest of the courtship process, but that was nothing that overeager dwarrows had not done before.

Dori, bless his prudish sensibilities, had tried to insist that the happy couple be given a chaperone, but Bella had put paid to that idea immediately, announcing that it was a bit too late to worry about such things and, besides, she couldn’t get pregnant anyway. While the majority of the Company had sputtered at the sheer brazenness of their sister’s words, because Bella did not just say such things, and the rest tittered, mostly in disbelief, Thorin had pulled Bella into his arms and whispered something into her ear that’d had her blushing and laughing.

Dori had sighed, as he was wont to do, and had begun designing Bella’s wedding gown.

“Óin asked me to find you,” Bella announced, grinning at him. “It’s dinner time.”

Bella looked healthier after just a few days of her appetite returning to her; her face had already lost the gauntness that had so worried her brothers. Hobbits needed seven meals a day because they burned energy more quickly than other races did. The Company had learned this in Lake-town, from Tauriel, because Bella had been reluctant to be seen as more of a burden than she perceived herself to be. She had received quite the lecture for that particular omission.

“I’ll be right there,” Glóin replied.

Bella tilted her head at him, considering, and then questioned gently, “Why are you upset, Nadad?”

“Gaela will be here soon,” Glóin sighed.

Bella blinked, “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Yes!” Glóin exclaimed, “Of course it is. It’s just… Gimli.”

“Does she not realize that he isn’t here?” Bella inquired in alarm.

“No, she knows that,” Glóin huffed, “It’s his elopement with that ruddy elf that she doesn’t know about. It didn’t seem right, telling her in a letter. Though, it would perhaps, have been safer if I had.”

“You think that she’ll be very upset?” Bella asked tentatively.

“Of course she will!” Glóin declared, “I’m very upset about it.”

“Because Legolas is an elf,” Bella stated, frowning now.

“Because I have borne witness to the character of the Prince of Mirkwood and I find it lacking,” Glóin returned heatedly, “I would not be surprised if the coward is merely playing with my son’s heart in order to cause strife to the dwarves of Erebor.”

“That is an extremely inappropriate comment to make,” Bella snapped, and Glóin turned to see that Bella looked quite angry with him. “Putting aside the fact that you met Legolas once and that amount of time was hardly enough to discover every nuance of his heart and soul, do you really believe that I would not have intervened had I even suspected that Legolas was using Gimli in such a torrid way?”

“I would never think such a thing!” Glóin swore, “You risked everything to save Gimli in Mordor, Namadith, I do not doubt that you would defend his heart as well as his body. But elves can use magic in terrible ways.”

“Legolas did not bewitch your son, Glóin,” Bella retorted, sounding seriously unimpressed with him.

“How can be sure of that though?” Glóin asked.

Bella looked away and took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for a battle, “What I’m about to tell you, Glóin, never leaves this room. Promise me that.”

“I promise,” Glóin acquiesced.

“Azog was called the ‘Defiler’ and for good reason,” Bella looked directly at Glóin, managing to keep her voice sharp and steady, though, he noticed, she could not stop her tightly clenched fists from trembling at her sides, “But he was hardly the only Orc with such… predilections. Gimli and Legolas were held captive for three days before I managed to get to them. During that time, Legolas ensured that the Orcs had no reason to harm Gimli, at least not physically. Ask yourself, Nadad, what Legolas had to have done to make certain that your son remained untouched by those filthy creatures and then tell me that he is a coward who is only interested in your son because it would upset a few dwarves in Erebor.”

“By Mahal,” Glóin breathed, instantly shocked and horrified as her implication hit him. “He…”

“I suggest that you never even imply such falsehoods about Legolas in your son’s hearing,” Bella told him firmly, “Unless you believe that you would not furiously tear apart anyone who accused your wife of such things. Gimli has your temperament, after all.”

“Aye,” Glóin agreed, subdued and contemplative, “He does.”

************************************************************************

“Is something wrong with Glóin?” Kíli asked, around a mouthful of trout. “He doesn’t seem to be his usual loud, brash self tonight.”

“He… he’s simply finally adjusting to the fact of his elven son-in-law,” Bella explained as she spread a thick glob of golden honey, a gift sent to Erebor from Beorn, on a piece of bread with her platinum and opal knife, “And don’t talk with your mouth full; it’s unseemly.”

Kíli rolled his eyes but made a show of swallowing before he spoke again, “He keeps alternating between looking upset and relieved. And he hasn’t even touched his mead yet.”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it, given enough time,” Thorin assured him, before taking a sip of his mulled wine, a beverage that had brought from the east by the same traders that Bella had, eventually, purchased spices from in larger quantities that she expected would still be available. Thorin had seen the wine and bought every case, later confiding to Bella that it had been Frerin’s favorite.

“You seem rather sure of that,” Fíli noted.

“Well, if I could get over it then I’m rather sure that Glóin can,” Thorin pointed out. “Bella has repeatedly assured me that I am the most stubborn dwarrow in existence.”

Bella smirked and popped a piece of fried potato into her mouth, heartened by the delight and laughter that she could see dancing in Thorin’s sky-blue eyes.

“True,” Kíli snorted. “Since we’re on that topic… I need to ask something of you, uncle.”

“What is it, Kíli?” Thorin replied, as Bella took note of her brother’s anxiousness.

“I have been in correspondence with Amad regarding this issue and she agrees with me,” Kíli rushed to get out, “I believe, and so does she, that Tauriel should be here, standing by my side, for her arrival. She thinks that our people should get used to seeing her in Erebor as quickly as possible.”

Perhaps the overwhelming joy of returning to their homeland would soften the blow of learning that their Prince was going to wed the niece of Thranduil, Bella translated privately. Until they could discover for themselves how different Tauriel was from the King of Mirkwood, the dwarrow heading toward Erebor would be wary of her, to say the least.

Thorin cast a look over at Dáin, who had challenged Dwalin to a drinking contest, and then nodded, “Give Tauriel your courting gift tomorrow afternoon in Dale and then bring her back to the Mountain with a betrothal bead already in her hair.”

Bella was unsure, just as Thorin seemed to be, if Dáin was going to be a problem. She certainly hoped that he wouldn’t be; Thorin would find it difficult to forgive his cousin for the transgression of stupidity a second time. Dáin had celebrated with everyone else when Thorin had announced that he was going to wed Bella, but a Hobbit marrying into Erebor’s Royal Family and an elf doing the same were two very different things.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Kíli breathed, looking relieved and excited beyond measure.

“Her rooms have been finished,” Fíli chimed in blithely, “There’s a secret passage that leads from her bedroom and into yours, Nadad.”

“There’s a what?” Thorin demanded of his heir.

“I had the builders add one,” Fíli’s expression was one of unflinching innocence as he gazed at his uncle, a look he only adopted when his current actions were far from virtuous, “I was only trying to safeguard the propriety of the Royal Family, Idad. Not that you’re particularly concerned about it.”

Bella flicked a chunk of potato at him, hitting him square in the nose and then she raised an eyebrow at him when he turned to her accusingly, his steel blue eyes wide and mournful.

“Since you’re so interested in the things that occur between Thorin and me, Fee,” Bella said pointedly, in response to the look, “Would you like me to tell you exactly what your uncle and I did this afternoon?”

“Bél!” Fíli wailed, covering his ears in horror.

“Hey!” Kíli protested, “I’m here too and I haven’t expressed any interest at all in anything of the kind! I don’t care what you two do as long as I don’t have to hear about it or even think about it.”

“Oh, relax, Kee,” Bella rolled her eyes, “We spent all afternoon discussing which types of flowers, berries, and vegetables that I’m going to plant in my garden.”

“That was a euphemism of some sort, wasn’t it?” Fíli declared miserably.

Thorin snorted in amusement, “I’m sure with you everything is, my sister-son.”

“Bella,” Dori called from a bit down the table, “Do you prefer ivory or cream colored linens?”

“Ivory,” Bella replied quickly.

“Good choice!” Dori praised, though Bella rather thought that he would have said the exact same thing had she chosen cream instead.

“What’s the difference?” Kíli asked.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Bella admitted, “They’re both shades of off-white.”

“Hobbit wedding have lots of flowers, don’t they?” Fíli questioned suddenly.

“Well, yes,” Bella agreed, “Flowers are the Hobbit equivalent to gemstones; they’re used as decorations for every occasion, including wedding. One of my cousins married her husband in a dress sewn of white and pink calla lilies. It was pretty but also ridiculously impractical.”

“What do calla lilies mean?” Kíli wondered.

“Feminine beauty and delicacy,” Bella wrinkled up her nose, “They’re lovely flowers to look at, but they’re not exactly my cup of tea.”

“Why?” Kíli followed up with, simple inquisitiveness in his expression.

“Calla lilies are used to represent the standard of women that is accepted in the Shire, and I’ve never fit that standard,” Bella explained, and then grinned. “Neither did my mother. My grandmother, Laura Baggins, used to send mother calla lilies every chance that she could but mother always stripped them apart and put them in our bird feeder. What the birds didn’t eat they took to line their nests.”

“No calla lilies then,” Fíli said decisively. “Do Hobbits always wear white when they marry?”

“No,” Bella replied, sipping at her own wine, “Many do, but just as many wear pastel colors, light blues, or purples, or pinks. My mother wore an ash blue dress when she married my father. Do dwarrowdams wear white?”

“They can wear whatever they like,” Thorin answered. “The wedding gown is supposed to be the fantasy of the bride made real.”

“I imagine that’s led to some rather interesting dresses worn over the years,” Bella remarked wryly.

“Yes,” Thorin admitted, “It has; during one of the last weddings before Smaug came, the bride chose to wear a gown made out of this translucent, golden silk gauze that left nothing to the imagination. Amad was furious, she dragged Frerin and Dís out of the hall and sent them to their rooms; I had to stay because I was the heir.”

Fíli blinked and then looked at Bella imploringly, “Bél? Please don’t wear anything like that.”

Bella huffed and flicked another potato at him.

************************************************************************

“Nûlukhuh,” Tauriel greeted upon seeing Kíli enter the quarters that Bard had so graciously provided for her. She closed the book that she’d been reading and set it upon her bedside table, “Is everything alright? Has Bella gotten kidnapped again?”

“Everything’s absolutely wonderful,” Kíli promised as he sat beside her on the bed, the joy radiating off his person in the moment so infectious that Tauriel could not help but smile in the face of it. “I’ve come to ask you something, Gimlilukhuduh.”

“What?”

“You gave me an arrow once, an arrow that saved my life and that of my kin. I am presenting you with this,” Kíli replied, drawing an arrow out from beneath his green cloak and holding it out to her, “In the hope that it shall both provide you with the protection that your arrow afforded me as well as serve as an offering of courtship. Tauriel, will you do me the greatest honor and consent to marrying me?”

Tauriel had never seen an arrow such as the one before her now. Its shaft and fletching were solid silver and its arrowhead was a perfect cone of jade. A gift both beautiful and functional; Tauriel knew instinctively that the aim of this arrow would always be true.

“There is nothing that I wish for more in this world than to be able to call you my husband and be called your wife in return,” Tauriel murmured, taking the arrow reverently. “Your uncle?”

“Has bid me bring you to the Mountain today so that you may greet my mother tomorrow,” Kíli illuminated, presenting a bead of white wood and mithril to her, “Wearing this in your hair.”

“I would like that very much, Kíli,” Tauriel responded, tears of happiness welling up in her eyes. “Will you teach me how to braid it in?”

Kíli’s dark eyes shone in return, “Of course, Amrâlimê.”

The pair sat themselves in front of one of the large mirrors that lined the hallway outside of Tauriel’s room, so that Tauriel could watch as Kíli diligently braided a section of her hair on the right side of her head into a plait of betrothal.

“Once we are wed,” Kíli explained to her, as he finished her new braid and attached her bead to the end of it, “A second braid identical to this one will be placed on the other side, so that your face is framed by them.”

“May I braid in your bead now?” Tauriel inquired, feeling a swell of comfort rise within her due to the sensation that came from the slight weight of her bead.

“I would love that,” Kíli assured her.

Tauriel stood and returned to her bedroom, Kíli following behind her. Inside her side table was a small box of Maplewood, which Tauriel retrieved and passed over to Kíli. Kíli opened the box and Tauriel watched as his eyes widened upon seeing the orb of red-gold, inscribed with Sindarin and Khuzdûl Runes of devotion that only she and Kíli would ever be able to see, that was nestled inside.

“I’ve never seen gold such as this,” Kíli remarked, his tone curious as he picked up the bead and cradled it his palm. “It feels… it feels as if I am holding a part of you, Tauriel.

“That is because you are,” Tauriel revealed. “This gold did not come from the earth; I created it in a way that elves do not share with outsiders except rarely.”

“It’s alright if you cannot tell me,” Kíli assured her.

“I can,” Tauriel replied, “You are to be my husband and I have no desire to keep any part of myself hidden from you. The bead in your hand was once a strand of my hair, spun into gold and shaped by touching it repeatedly with my grace over a period of several months.”

Kíli looked astonished, “That’s… that’s amazing, Tauriel. Incredible, really.”

Tauriel blushed under his praise, “I’m glad that it worked. Few elves ever attempt it and there have been less than a dozen throughout the ages who did it often enough to become truly proficient in the skill. But it was very important to me that you have a bead of this kind.”

“Why?” Kíli inquired.

“It was a part of me, given new form by my magic,” Tauriel told him.

“Which means?” Kíli prompted

“As long as you are wearing it,” Tauriel announced, “I shall be able to find you no matter where you are in Arda.”

Kíli blinked, “That’s useful. Does it work in reverse?”

“I’m afraid not,” Tauriel answered, “If you wish it, once we are married, I will be able to touch your soul with my own. It will not allow you to locate me, but you will never have to wonder if I am hurt or worse should we be separated for some reason; you will just know.”

“Yes,” Kíli said softly, taking her hands into his own, “I definitely wish it, Tauriel.”

************************************************************************

The air was quite crisp, the blue and silver flags of Erebor snapping in the breeze from where they hung off of the ramparts, as the first caravan of Thorin Oakenshield’s people approached the Gates of Erebor. Even at this distance, Bifur could see the gleam of the Princess Dís’ armor as the sun struck it.

He, the rest of the Company, Tauriel, Dáin, and many of Dáin’s dwarves were waiting eagerly at the Gates to greet the Princess and those she brought with her. It was much more convenient, for the King to welcome everyone at once, as they filed inside the Mountain, than for a least four hundred Presentations, whole families could be presented together, to be scheduled. This way would still probably take several hours, but the process would be expedited by the fact that Thorin already knew, courtesy of Dís’ careful records, exactly who was coming into his Mountain on that particular day and because of the assistance of several of Dáin’s advisors, who had helped Balin determine where each family or individual dwarf was to live within Erebor, based on their needs. Many would be able to reclaim the living spaces they or their parents had once called home before the dragon’s arrival.

In the coming weeks, the arriving dwarves would be allowed to petition the King for positions within one of the Guilds, if they had not already been promised a job of some kind within the Mountain, or to rent spaces in one of the four quarters of Erebor’s Royal Bazaar.

The excitement of those by the Gates was tangible, like lightning striking brilliant though the sky. There were two individuals, however, who seemed less enthusiastic about the event and more apprehensive.

Bella was fidgeting, twisting and untwisting a small section of her thick, ash pink dress between her forefinger and thumb repeatedly. It was almost imperceptible; those who didn’t know her well wouldn’t catch on to the truth of her nervousness, they wouldn’t notice how her fingers worried at the velvet brocade roses sewn on that patch of dress. Certainly, Bifur knew, most of the dwarves in the room had not the slightest clue that something was amiss with their Queen-to-be.

Her brothers and Thorin could tell though.

The specifics of what, exactly, had transpired between Thorin and Bella during the, thankfully, brief time that they had been trapped together in the Master’s dungeon was a secret shared only by Bella and Thorin, who seemed disinclined to give any details about their conversation, but it wasn’t all that difficult for Bifur to speculate that Thorin’s apology and Bella’s forgiveness had both been emotional and compelling and, above all, healing. The experience had served to more than mend the rift that had grown between them because of the gold madness. They’d barely gone anywhere without the other in the days that followed and before the sun had set on the Mersday in which they had emerged from the Royal Wing, every dwarf in Erebor knew that Thorin was going to marry Bella Mira Baggins, the Sunrise Princess of Arda. So far, there had been none who were stupid enough to protest this development but, if there had been, they would have swiftly found themselves facing the business end of Orcrist or Dáin’s war hammer.

It was because of that long-awaited reconciliation that this was able to happen –Thorin reached over and took Bella’s hand in his own, murmuring something that only she could hear when she looked down at him. Whatever he said caused a beautiful smile to blossom across her face. Like the dawn setting the world awash with color, that smile seemed to brighten up the hall and even the gems set into the walls seemed to sparkle a little more than they had before. Bifur relaxed as he saw it bloom, feeling lighter in the face of his sister’s obvious joy.

But there was still one other who was tense and edgy.

Tauriel did not fidget as Bella had; she stood perfectly still, looking for all the world as if she were the very epitome of cool serenity. She was garbed in a dress of emerald green and bright silver, Kíli’s colors, that had been fashioned to seem both elfish, in cut, and dwarfish, in the geometric patterns that covered it. She wore Kíli’s bead in her hair, carved painstakingly by the Prince from Linden wood with several sparkling stars of mithril faultlessly adorning the wood and making it stand out as a betrothal bead fit for royalty. She seemed completely put together, except Bifur could see the trepidation that she could not quite vanquish swirling in her eyes.

That just wouldn’t do. Tauriel was a hero; the dragon could not have been slain without the black-tipped arrow that she had stolen from the weapon’s vault of the Elvenking. When her own bow had burnt in dragon fire, Tauriel had risked incineration to get the arrow to Kíli so that he could kill Smaug. She had fought fearlessly and ferociously during the Battle, saving Bard’s life and his children’s, at one point, and had worked tirelessly in the aftermath as a healer, nearly depleting her energy entirely to mend as many wounds as she could with her magic. She had been a friend to Bifur, as well; she could not restore his ability to speak Westron but she had been able to eliminate the severe aches that the axe in his skull caused at times by providing him with a potent pain tonic. She should not be so worried about the approaching dwarrow, even if Kíli’s mother was amongst them.

Bifur stared hard at Kíli, who sensed it and turned to raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Your starlight is upset,’ Bifur signed in rapid Iglishmêk.

Kíli whipped his head around to look at Tauriel, his own betrothal bead, made of a strange red-gold that Bifur had never seen anywhere else, swaying as a result. Kíli placed a hand in the small of Tauriel’s back and, when she looked at him, grinned widely. The result was instantaneous, Tauriel melted, smiling back at Kíli in pure adoration.

Satisfied, Bifur turned his attention back to the procession, which was almost upon them then. He could see Bombur’s Rína now and their children, almost directly behind the Princess Dís. The little ones had grown so much Bifur noted with a grin, they were all at least six inches taller than they had been when he and his cousins had left Ered Luin. Judging by the way that his younger cousin was all but bouncing at Bifur’s side, Bombur had spotted his family too.

Dís came to a stop before Thorin, “Hail, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain.”

“Hail, Dís, daughter of Thrain, Princess of Erebor,” Thorin returned solemnly before softening his voice, “Welcome home, Namaduh.”

************************************************************************

“Sister, allow me to formally introduce to you my betrothed, Bella Mira Baggins, the Sunrise Princess of Arda,” Thorin said several hours later, once the Royal Family had migrated from the Gates and into the Royal Parlor to unwind. Thorin look tired from having to stand on ceremony for so long but also greatly pleased to have so many of his people back where they belonged.

“Just ‘Bella’ is fine,” Bella quickly interjected with a shy smile.

The Princess Dís was a sight to behold, certainly. She had changed out of her traveling clothes and into a ruby red gown with a square neckline, golden geometric patterns crossing the rich silk fabric, and so many gems that the whole dress sparkled whenever she moved; it one of several that the Tailor’s Guild had made to greet her upon her arrival. She looked very much like her brother, although her ebony hair was a bit longer and had an intricately braided beard to match it and her face was a bit softer than Thorin’s was.

“Long have I looked forward to meeting you,” Dís began, her brown eyes warm as they looked at Bella, “I’ve heard from many different sources, in song and by word, that among the many great things you have done, you stopped Azog from murdering my eldest son in Ravenhill, killed Bolg when he attempted to avenge his father, and ensured my sons and brother were taken to safety before plunging yourself back into a fight that you had previously done everything in your power to prevent. I’ve also been told that Gandalf begged you to leave before the Battle ever began, but that you refused to abandon your kin, your love them unfaltering even during the greatest of tests.”

Bella set her teacup back in its saucer, pressing her memories of Fíli held aloft by Azog, his sword pressed close to Fíli’s back, and of Bolg advancing on her barely conscious brothers and betrothed, Dwalin too far away to help even if he weren’t busy with the Orcs attacking him, down with sheer force of will, “That is all, more or less, true. Hang on, what do you mean song?”

“I mean ‘The Ballad of the Bél Flower’, of course,” Dís revealed. “Have you not heard it?”

Bella knew from vast experience that her whole face had to be pink as she answered, “Er, no, I have not. I wasn’t aware such a thing even existed.”

“How remiss of us,” Kíli decided, his voice laced with mischief, “My favorite part is the verse where you lecture the trolls about their bad manners for so long that the sun rose and turned them to stone.”

And then he opened his mouth as if to sing it.

“Speak one line of that verse or any of them, Nadad,” Bella threatened, “And I’m never baking you gingerbread cookies ever again.”

Kíli’s mouth snapped closed at once.

Dís grinned impishly, “You owe me ten gold coins, Nadad.”

“What for?” Thorin asked.

“I told you many years ago that your One would a brave warrior with a heart of mithril and the cleverness to match it, did I not?” Dís replied, “I was clearly right.”

“Yes, you were,” Thorin agreed, causing Bella to blush some more.

Dís turned her attention to Tauriel then, “Oh, look at you, dear. You look terrified. By Mahal, Kíli, what have you been telling her about me?”

“Nothing bad,” Kíli assured his mother at once, “It’s all Dáin’s fault; he’s the reason that she hasn’t been allowed in the Mountain until now.”

“I’ll be having words with Dáin about that, believe you me,” Dís promised, “In fact, there are several points of interest that I need him to clarify for me.”

Thorin sighed, “Do try not to kill him.”

“Killing him would be easy and no fun at all,” Dís returned, before turning back to Tauriel, “Risking the wrath of both the Elvenking and a dragon for the sake of my son was no small thing, dear, and you will forever have my gratitude for it.”

Tauriel relaxed with each gentle word that Dís spoke, her eyes shining by the end, “Kíli is the heart of me; I could not have done anything less.”

“I can see that, your love for him is so evident that it is undeniable,” Dís told her, “I will be quite glad to call you my daughter when the time comes.”

A smile broke across Tauriel’s face and Bella decided that she quite liked Dís, daughter of Thrain, very much.

************************************************************************

The gown before Bella was made of several layers of soft pearly-white silk that clearly displayed the hundreds of Khuzdûl runes that had been painstakingly woven into the fabric of the wide skirt with claret thread. Outlining every single rune were tiny fragments of blue diamond, ensuring that the embroidered characters would not be overlooked.

The runes told a story, the tale how of Durin I became the first King of the dwarrow of Arda and how he was so loved by his wife and Queen, taken from the grace of the earth. A subtle way of hinting to the dwarves present at the Durin’s Day Festival that Durin’s One had been, and would be, a Hobbit, something Ori and Bella had found proof of in the Greentongue section of the Great Library a few days earlier. Thorin had been ridiculously pleased by the discovery and was planning on announcing it outright as soon as the two back-to-back festivals were over.

Paired with the floor-length ball gown were several pieces of intricate jewelry, including a diadem and a dozen hair pins, made of white gold and set with blue diamonds of varying sizes as well as a pair of dress boots and a pair of gloves, in the same rich shade as the runes, that stopped just before her elbow.

Bella had just pulled on her satin slip and boots, because putting shoes on while already wearing the gown would be impossible, when she heard a knock at her bedroom door. She walked over and opened it, smiling upon seeing that it was Thorin, dressed in a midnight blue doublet that was studded with blue diamonds and silver, which matched his silver cape, and carrying something wrapped in waxed, golden paper, “Hello, dear heart. I was just trying to figure out how get myself into the gown that I’m supposed to wear tonight. I’m afraid that I’ll become lost in it if I try to do it myself.”

“If you had ladies-in-waiting,” Thorin pointed out, entering her sleeping chamber, “You would not find yourself in such a dilemma.”

Bella wrinkled her nose to conceal the agitation she was feeling, “Thank you, but no.”

“I’ll help you,” Thorin offered, “And then I’ll do your hair, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it is,” Bella returned gratefully.

“This is for you,” Thorin offered her the package.

Bella opened it and then raised an eyebrow at the sight of the thick, silver silk bodice within it, noting that it weighed more than your average one would.

“It came to my attention that you were not wearing your mithril coat underneath your dresses because of the cut of their necklines,” Thorin explained, “So I had this designed. There are diamonds sewn between the layers of silk which, while not as invulnerable as mithril, should stop the average knife or sword or arrow from harming you.”

Bella kissed his cheek, “Thank you, my darling.”

Thorin helped her put it on and then assisted her into her gown before guiding her over to her dressing table.

“Dori has informed me that I’ll be wearing a different gown tomorrow and for the memorial and for the opening ceremonies for the fête in Dale,” Bella said as he began to braid her hair, leaving her betrothal braid alone but pulling the rest of her hair back.

“Well, yes,” Thorin shrugged, his fingers never faltering as he twisted Bella’s curls, “Female members of the Royal family are not supposed to wear any dress or outfit more than once a fortnight. It would be seen as a statement that the kingdom cannot provide for you if you were to do so.”

Bella blew out a breath of air in exasperation, “No one told me that. Is there anything else I should know, Khaeluh?”

Thorin hesitated.

“Thorin,” Bella sighed.

“The Queen Under the Mountain, or the Queen-to-be, is traditionally supposed to have at least four ladies-in-waiting,” Thorin admitted tentatively, “It was not a concern while there were no dwarrowdams to choose from in the Mountain, as Huma and Bania are of the Iron Hills and Arnura and Arníra are your sworn bodyguards, but now that there are…”

“It is one,” Bella finished.

“It’s not a concern quite yet,” Thorin countered, “No one expects you to choose such intimate companions without foreknowledge of their personalities and hearts. Eventually, though, people will begin to wonder why you have not selected ladies-in-waiting and it could cause… tension between you and the other women in the Mountain; they could perceive it as a slight against them. Especially since you are a Hobbit.

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Bella demanded in mortification, “Thorin, the last thing I wish to do is insult your people, accidentally or otherwise.”

“I know that, Sankurdûh,” Thorin assured, “I hesitated in telling you this only because you seemed almost horrified of the idea when I brought it up last. It seemed as if your reaction stemmed from more than just you being unused to such things.”

Bella bit her lip and then carefully revealed, “Until Tauriel, the only woman I had ever been close to was my mother. Even before it was discovered that I was barren, females in the Shire that were my age tended to give me a wide berth; I was much too wild as a faunt, you see, too prone to playing in the mud and too little interested in dolls and dresses. Both of my grandmothers resented my existence, Laura Baggins and Adamanta Took née Chubb hated each other with a passion and the only reason my parents were allowed to marry was because my mother became pregnant with me. After it was discovered that I could never have children, Adamanta told my mother that I was a punishment from Yavanna for daring to fall in love with a Baggins. Laura was slightly kinder, I suppose, though only because I tried so hard to be respectable so that my father would smile at me and my mother again; it didn’t work though.”

“I rather hate your Hobbit relatives, Bella Mira,” Thorin stated in a gruff voice.

“I find that I don’t care about them one way or the other,” Bella replied, looking at him via her mirror, “I have a beautiful family here that I am quite proud to call my own.”

Thorin smiled softly at her, “It would not be a family if it were not for you, Ghivashel.”

“It was easy to befriend Tauriel,” Bella continued, after grinning to acknowledge that statement, “She and I found ourselves united in our desire to protect Kíli and elves, even Thranduil, tend to adore Hobbits as a rule. They look at us, the children of Yavanna, and see walking, talking flowers because of their own closeness to nature. Éowyn, Arwen, and I grew close because of our unified intention to destroy the Ring, but that took time. It was much easier to bond with Gimli and Legolas, to be honest.

“Your sister has been wonderful to me, Gaela and Rína have both been so as well, and Arnura and Arníra are brilliant, but… the majority of your people are either in awe of me, which is ludicrous, by the way, or they are utterly baffled by my customs, which I’m rather used to; I’ve been mystifying the people around me since I was born. I’m either a hero or a curiosity and that would not bode well for any kind of lasting friendships.”

“I’m afraid there is not much I can do about the first,” Thorin said in a dry voice, “You rather fixed your reputation as the savior of Arda when you killed Sauron, Bella Mira. As for the second, if given the proper time, the bemusement will fade.”

“I… alright,” Bella conceded, swallowing her remaining anxiety for Thorin’s sake, “Are there any rules I should be aware of concerning this matter? I’m not going to offend anyone if I choose a dwarrowdam who was born on a full moon in December, or on a Hevensday in June, am I?

Thorin chuckled, settling her tiara upon her head and pinning it in place, “No, Nanging, the choice is entirely at your discretion.”

“Okay,” Bella assented, because it would hardly kill her to branch out more, even if she would rather stay nestled, content, in the safe, little niche that was the relationships she already had.

“There,” Thorin announced, moving his hands away from her hair, “Done.”

He held up Bella’s hand mirror so that it would reflect of the larger one she sat before and so that she could see the result of his work.

“They’re flowers,” Bella cried in delight, “I didn’t know you could even do that with hair. They’re amazing, Thorin.”

There were flowers, two of them, shaped like roses to be precise, that were accentuated by the blue diamond hair pins.

“I’m glad that you like them,” Thorin responded, setting her hand mirror down and picking up that day’s necklace, fastening it carefully around her throat, over top of the one she already wore.

“I love them,” Bella rejoined, standing pulling her gloves on over her bracelets from Fíli and Kíli and her knives, the material of the gloves thick enough that one could barely tell she was wearing the precious ornaments and weapons. Her ruby ring was slipped up the third finger of her left hand and then she fastened Sting and her new dagger around her waist.

“Ready?” Thorin asked, stroking her cheek tenderly.

“Yes,” Bella answered, leaning into his touch, “I am.”

************************************************************************

Translations

• Umùrad’akar – One; Soulmate
• Tharkûn – Dwarven name for Gandalf
• Âfkidhuz'abad – Moon of the Golden Mountain, (The Tenth Month on Dwarven Calendars)
• Ghivashel – Treasure of all Treasures; Beloved
• Sankurdûh – My Perfect Heart
• Nanging – Flower
• Khaeluh – My Wolf
• Nûlukhuh – My Moon
• Gimlilukhuduh – My Starlight
• Amrâlimê – Love of Me
• Adad – Father
• Amad – Mother
• Idad – Uncle
• Imad – Aunt
• Namad – Sister
• Namadith – Little Sister
• Namaduh – My Sister
• Nadad – Brother
• Nadadith – Little Brother