Work Text:
Thorin stood in front of the fire, hands clasped behind his back, as his council argued with each other around the table in the middle of the room. After finding Payr unconscious in the hall Nori had slipped off to gather his people while Thorin got the guard to help him get Payr to the medic's hall. The peace-cup, Thorin had noted, was also gone when he and the guards on patrol had come back to where Payr was laying. Nori was still no where to be seen, having not come to the council meeting after Dáin's arrival late that evening. His cousin's presence there had been short but his words had kept the rest of them up for the rest of the night.
Thorin was tired down to his bones but there was no time to rest. Not now. Not when Dáin was demanding an answer as to why his valet had been attacked in Thorin's own Royal Wing, as well as a wergild for it. Not when many in the Iron Hills section of tents outside their gates were putting on armor and watching Thorin's people with hard, glittering gazes. Not when the elves and men were rousing in greater and greater numbers to watch both the Iron Hills and Thorin's people with wary eyes. Not when Thorin knew that he and his people were in a precarious position in the mountain and that one hard push from the Iron Hills folk could cause it all to collapse, in a variety of different ways.
“Dáin's demand is too outrageous,” Balin was the one to say it. Thorin bowed his head, listening to his councilors speak. “Thorin declared that he has a One decades ago, in front of the council of his own father in this very Mountain! The news was deliberately spread to the Irons Hills so that Náin and his counselors would stop sending their dwarrowdams to Thrór's court! To demand that Thorin marry one of Dáin's noble ladies –”
More than one of Thorin's councilors growled at that.
“It is an insult of the highest sort! Dáin knows that! What is he trying to do with this? All it will end with is a fight and the last thing we need is to show our asses in front of the elves and men at this moment!”
“He's trying to get his fingers into our coffers, that's what,” grumbled on Helv, the head of the banking guild. He was an old dwarf, of the same generation as Thorin's father, but he had been one of the first to arrive from their rough settlements in the Blue Mountains. Thorin privately thought that had Helv been a handful of decades younger, and without a widowed daughter with a young child to care for, Helv would have been part of their Company before Thorin could get the words out of his mouth. Glóin had been apprenticed to Helv since he was young and Thorin had seen how Glóin had picked up many of his mannerisms. The gruff old dwarf's hair was snow white, as was his beard, and a jeweler's eyepiece hung from a chain about his neck. Thorin remembered when that same eyepiece had been dotted with gemstones, a glittering thing given to him by his daughter on his hundred and fiftieth birthday, just before the arrival of Smaug to Erebor. Now it was devoid of gems, all of them having been pried off over the years, a sorry tale in plain sight, a reminder of all the hardships Thorin's people had gone through during their exile from their mountain.
“Dáin knows his demand is excessive,” Thorin spoke at last. He did not turn around. The dwarves behind him went quiet. “He is waiting for my counter.” This much, at least, had not changed. It had always been Dáin's way to demand for far more than he was due, pushing the bounds of propriety in such matters every time, just to see what he could get out of any deal he made.
“What are you considering?” That came from Lark, one of the judiciary guild masters.
Thorin raised his head with a sigh. “What Dáin wants is our artisans, transferred to him formally,” there were hisses of displeasure. “But that is not something I am willing to give.”
“He knows we need those clans!”
“And he does not care.” Thorin traced the carvings of the mantle with his gaze, fingers tangled tight together behind his back. “Uncle Náin taught my cousin well. There has to be a profit from this deal or it will make Dáin look weak in the eyes of his council. It is a position he cannot chance.”
“You think his rule is that unstable?”
“I think Dáin's rule is very stable,” Thorin turned and looked over his small council. “But there are elements within Dáin's court that have wanted a piece of the ruling pie for longer than the Line of Durin has been split. And with the changes going on in the world as it is, they will be all the more eager to grasp at what reins of power they can get their hands on.”
There were looked exchanged between his councilors. Dwalin alone sat back in his chair, arms folded over his chest and a deep scowl set on his face. Dwalin had not taken Dáin's original demands that Thorin take a wife from the Iron Hills well at all. It had taken Bofur and Bombur to hold him back. Not that Thorin wanted to hold him back. Thorin rather wanted to punch his cousin in the face himself.
“You think Dáin wants to unload those problems onto us,” Balin said at last. There was a knowing glint to his eye. “And keep our artisans for himself. A double prize.”
“Indeed,” Thorin walked forward and folded down into the chair by Dwalin. “I find myself...unwilling to humor him in this regard.”
“What of the dwarf that Dáin is upset over? Did he come to any permanent harm?” Jor, the head of the scribe's guild, asked from his position down the table.
“A bump on the head and some dizziness,” Óin answered when all eyes turned to him. “He'll be fine in a day or two.”
“Then why such an excessive show?” Helv muttered. “He sent a peace-cup, fine. It's not Thorin's fault the idiot fell over his own feet and knocked himself out.”
“Dáin is also claiming the mountain is haunted,” Balin's tone was as sour as Thorin felt about that particular fact. “He says Payr was attacked by the Betrayer's spirit.” His lips curled at the title Dáin had given their Bilbo. “He still won't see sense about Bilbo.”
“None of them will,” Thorin ran a tired hand over his face. “Appease him with this – tell Dáin that the holy ones will bless the mountain on the next new moon. We will step into the darkness and accept the will of Mahal that comes to us. Our people and Dáin's will be one at that blessing, so we might all take part in the rite.”
“The new moon is only two days away.”
“The holy ones have the forges set up and it will be good for morale for us all,” Thorin ignored the way his fingers were trembling. “Any news on the elves from Lothlórien that are supposed to be arriving today?”
“The ravens have reported that they'll reach the gates by noon,” Dwalin said from Thorin's side. “You need to sleep at some point before all that. We all do.”
“It's already almost dawn. I can just –”
“No, laddie,” Óin pointed a finger at him. “To bed for a few hours for you. We'll get the mountain settled for now. Dáin can stew in his tents until you can speak to him. You've been more than accommodating for his rudeness.”
From the way the rest of his small council was nodding Thorin knew when he was beat. “Fine. But I'll be the one to inform Dáin about the blessing. I can always punch him in the face if he decides to be an ass about it.”
“Thorin,” Balin sighed, one hand covering his face.
“Let's get you to bed,” Dwalin stepped in, holding Thorin's arm as they both got up from the chair. Thorin let him hover, knowing his partner was rattled about Payr's attack in the hall. The Royal Wing was supposed to be safe. All of them suspected that Payr did not simply fall over his own feet, not with the position of that bump on the dwarf's head. No, someone had done that to him, had tripped him, had caused him to spill that peace-cup, and then had clipped him over the head.
The question was, why?
They gained a shadow on their way back to the Royal Wing. Thorin noted that Dwalin had posted two sets of his most trusted guards on either side of the hall, even on the part of it that had been collapsed and – to their knowledge – had no way in nor out. There were new tracks in the dust in the hall, boots Thorin did not recognize but when Dwalin did not tense it had to be evidence of those same guards Dwalin had posted. The hall was cold as they made their way to their door and there was a prickling of something, almost like eyes on them, that made Thorin want his sword in hand but he could not say why.
Thorin took a seat before the now-banked fire in their rooms as Dwalin secured the door behind Nori. Their Spymaster looked a little worse for wear, his peaked hair flattened in one spot and a dark stain on his tunic where there had been none before. Nori took the seat opposite him with a wince that made Thorin frown. Dwalin had come to stand behind him, both of them watching Nori shift in his seat.
“I don't know where the cup went,” was the first thing Nori said. Thorin had found it was always better to let Nori speak first. “As far as I can tell – and my boys as well – the cup was there when you went to get the guards and then gone when you came back.”
“You had someone watching me?” Perhaps that was the source of that strange feeling in the hall.
“Thorin that is my job. There will always be someone watching you.”
Thorin frowned but set that argument aside for later. Nori had started their Quest already paranoid over their security. It had only gotten worse, since. “Then where did the cup go? Do you think Dáin has his own spies here?”
“I have no doubt Dáin has his spies here. It's not his spies I'm worried about,” Nori grumbled.
“What happened to you?” Dwalin was the one to ask.
Nori's hand stilled where it was pressed against his side. “A knife in the dark,” he let his hand fall. “Just a graze,” he added when Thorin surged forward in his seat. “I was careless. Stupid,” Nori scowled. “It won't happen again.”
Thorin let himself fall back into his chair and felt Dwalin put a hand on his shoulder. “And you don't think that was Dáin?”
Thorin felt a chill when Nori hesitated. “I don't know,” he finally said. “If it is...then he's being stupid about it. Why challenge you here and now? Why in front of the elves and men? That the part that makes no sense to me. There are years ahead of us that Dáin could make his move on you, on Dwalin, on Fíli or Kíli. Why now?”
Thorin looked away towards the embers in the hearth. It was that same question that had been circling in his mind the entire time during the council meeting. He only had one answer. “I do not know.”
Nori made a face. “Neither do I and I don't like answers like that. We need to figure out what is going on with him and his people.”
“I'm aware,” Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. “I can't exactly boot them out at the moment either or I would. These councils will have impacts on us all going forward and our people need to present a united front, especially where Thranduil is involved.” They all made a face at the elf king's name. “I'll need you and your people on point during the new moon blessing. The last thing we need is anyone trying to attack Dáin or his people – or make it look like we're attacking him. Dáin can call a king's challenge if he's attacked during that rite.”
Dwalin let out a low growl but it was Nori who looked over and said, “Do you think one of our people would do that?”
“No,” Thorin dropped his hand with a sigh. “But Dáin and his lot are acting so strange that I do not want any incidences at all. Nothing that they can use against us.”
“Consider it done.”
“Thank you, Nori.”
Nori left on silent feet and a silence settled over their rooms. Thorin watched the embers burn on the grate, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep in his chair but knew he would regret it in the morning.
“Come,” Dwalin said from behind him, the hand on his shoulder moving to cup the side of Thorin's head. “To bed with us. The mess will be there in the morning.”
Thorin leaned into the touch for a long moment, closing his eyes. Then he let out a breath and got to his feet in fits and starts, feeling far older than his years. The candles were doused behind him and when he crawled into his cold sheets he wanted nothing more than to grab and hold onto Dwalin and dream of...
Well. It was a dream that would never come true. But at least in dreams he had the ones he loved in his arms. So Thorin closed his eyes and let himself drift, thinking for one brief moment that he could smell the scent of Bilbo's pipe in the air...but then sleep took him and he knew no more.