Chapter Text
Erebor
“Thorin, will you just listen to reason?”
Thorin spun about to stare at his younger sister with a look that would have terrified a lesser person. Although it took more than his ire to make Dís back down, that didn't mean she wouldn’t be sorry she stood up to him in the first place.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. You are being unreasonable.”
“Am I? Am I truly being so unreasonable? Because from where I stand, I’m being perfectly reasonable.”
“You need to settle down, to marry and hopefully produce an heir. You’ve said so yourself. So, why is this such a terrible idea?”
He rolled his eyes as he paced along the length of the Throne Room. In the two years since he and his Company retook Erebor, and since he finally recovered from the near-fatal wounds he’d received in the process of said reclamation, the kingdom had come a long way. When they’d first returned, the once-mighty kingdom beneath the Lonely Mountain was little more than a ruin, having housed a treasure-obsessed dragon for over a century. It had taken work beyond measure to return the kingdom to its glory and for the first time since he and Balin had first come through the secret door, Thorin thought they might actually accomplish the task.
But, there were rumblings once more. The orc army, nearly decimated with the death of their leader, Azog the Defiler and his son and heir, Bolg, appeared to be growing stronger once again. And while Erebor was on its way to its return, it wasn’t there yet and its army was nowhere near large enough or powerful enough to take on a renewed orc power. Plus, he’d heard the rumors of Sauron, and if those rumors were true, Erebor could be in very real trouble in a very short time.
However…
“She is elven,” Thorin said once he’d reached the far end of the large, rectangular chamber. Erebor’s throne, a massive block of elaborate carved obsidian, etched with gold and silver, was the only thing in the room and that was fine, as Thorin only usually came into it when he needed to think.
“So? The elves fought alongside you, didn't they?”
“She is the daughter of Thranduíl and I’d eat the Arkenstone if anyone told me he would be willing to allow his only daughter to come here.”
“There’s only one way to know. And Kíli said one of Thranduíl’s advisors brought up the possibility of an alliance between his family and ours. They took quite the hit themselves, if you remember. So apparently, he is quite open to the idea.”
He rubbed his forehead with one hand, a heavy sigh rising to his lips. Yes, he needed to think about marrying. And yes, Erebor’s army was only barely such. And finally, yes, an alliance between Erebor’s ruling family and Mirkwood’s ruling family would be wise and powerful. Especially now that the elves of Rivendell had been slowly taking leave of Middle Earth. They’d just begun their exodus, but he knew from his last visit to Rivendell that Elrond was also planning the time when he would join his kin.
But Thranduíl, of all people. The same smug princess king who’d simply tossed Thorin and his company into the Mirkwood dungeons over a perceived slightly that Thorin himself actually had nothing to do with.
And now his sister, and his nephew, (and most likely his nephew’s wife, Tauriel, who had been a captain in the Mirkwood guard) were already making plans and testing the water for him to marry the princess king’s daughter. His only daughter. Who was, no doubt a spoiled and pampered princess to boot.
“She’s very pretty,” Dís broke in, her voice slightly singsong in tone. Then, in her normal voice, she added, “At least, Kíli thought so.”
“Kíli thinks anything female is pretty.”
“Now, that is neither true nor fair.”
Dís was right. They’d traveled to Mirkwood only weeks earlier for Kíli and Tauriel’s wedding, where Thorin had caught a glimpse of Mirkwood’s only princess. Tall. Slim. Hair so blonde it looked almost white. Typical elf of the Woodland Realm. Pretty, but she probably knew it and he could only imagine how conceited she was as a result.
Still, this was one argument he knew he stood almost no chance of winning. Dís had thought her points through and perfectly so. Like it or not, he would most likely be marrying Eirlys of Mirkwood.
He sighed, his shoulders slumping, and lowered his hand. “Dís, think about what you suggest? The Line of Durin would become half elven.”
“And the line of Thranduíl would become half dwarven.” She offered up a mischievous smile. “And I take a rather childish delight in that, myself.”
“Of course you do.” He strolled back toward her, then skirted her to sink into the cold obsidian throne. “And you see no problem with this? None at all?”
“Thorin,” she moved closer, her hand coming to rest on his knee, “is the idea so abhorrent to you? I mean, you do have to marry sooner rather than later and if Kíli is to be believed, you could do far worse than Eirlys of Mirkwood.”
Despite what he’d said only minutes earlier, Kíli did have a eye for pretty girls, and Eirlys was most definitely striking from a distance. Up close, she was probably even more so. If nothing else, he’d at least enjoy gazing upon her. Small comfort, but if it was the only one, he’d take it.
But Thranduíl.
He drew in a deep breath. Exhaled slowly. Then met his sister’s gaze and he knew he was doomed. “What if she does not agree with this?”
“What if she does? Think of it, Thorin. Think of how much stronger Erebor will be, and how Mirkwood would be forever allied with us as well. This can only benefit us.”
“Which means I will never be rid of Thrandy.”
She didn't trouble to hide her smile. “No, you won’t. But… that might not necessarily be as terrible as you think.”
“Dís, you spent but a short time with him. Barely enough time for a conversation.”
“Oh, don't be silly. Of course I had more than a single conversation with him and I found him to be rather rather personable.”
“Even so.”
“No, no even so. If you insist on forcing a divide where one only exists in your mind, you will never be happy.”
“Dís.”
“Thorin.”
He just stared, and she stared right back. Seeing that he was not going to win this argument, arguing was wasted time and breath, and so he slowly bobbed his head. “Very well. I suppose it might be worth at least discussing it with him.”
“Ah, at last, you’re seeing reason.” Dís grinned. “And I’ll wager she is not putting up that much of a fight about this, either.”
“You have lost your mind!”
Eirlys could only stare at her father, wondering if he truly had gone mad, for that was the only explanation for his ludicrous suggestion that she consider taking Thorin of Erebor as a husband.
But her father remained his usual cool, collected self, his blue eyes unblinking and his face void of emotion as he replied, “Why? Because I promise you that I am quite sane and this is a logical solution the problems at hand.”
“He is a dwarf, Father.”
“I am well aware of that, Eirlys.” He tapped his fingers on the woven branches that made up the arm of the woven sticks and vines that made up his throne. On those fingers, he wore several rings, one set with a gold and brown tiger’s eye stone, another that, like his throne, was woven vines set with a golden topaz. “But, as I know you are also well aware, an alliance with the dwarves would be to our advantage.”
“You speak of the Gundabad orcs, don’t you?” She didn't wait for him to nod, for she knew she was right. She’d overheard him and her older brother, Legolas discussing the orcs from the north the previous evening. “But orcs never come this far south.”
“They have been, though, and you know you heard that as well.”
Heat flitted through her at the stern look in his eyes and the definite scolding in his tone. But that didn't stop her from retorting, “Then allow me to fight, as you do Legolas.”
“No. I take no chances with you, Eirlys. And in Erebor, you would be safe, should our perimeter be breached.”
A small knot twisted in the pit of her belly. “You mean to simply send me away?”
“Of course not. Don’t be a fool.” He slowly rose and carefully made his way down the woven staircase to descend from the throne. He had to be careful because not only was the staircase curved, but he wore a ridiculously long robe of gold, green, and brown silk. His hair, the same nearly-white blond as hers, spilled over his shoulders and down his back like spun gold water, and was held out of his face partially by the crown of woven sticks and leaves, dotted with the same topaz and tiger’s eye as his rings.
He stood only a few inches taller than her, shaking his head as he went on, “You are not being banished, only married.”
“To a dwarf.”
“It is not ideal, but elven royalty is at a premium these days and a suitable husband will not be found amongst those left. King Thorin will give you the life you should have, and that you will be safe, tucked beneath the Lonely Mountain, is only a bit more icing on the cake. He and I have had our differences, but he has since proven his worth and I would trust him with one of my most precious assets.”
She rolled her eyes. “Precious assets?”
That earned her a smile. “You do not agree?”
“You have gone mad.”
He let out a soft sigh, moving to drape his arm about her shoulders, a gesture he would not have done, had anyone else been in the throne room with them. He was loving, but reserved when others were about. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.
“Eirlys, you must know that I have only your best interests in my heart.”
“By marrying me off to a dwarf?”
His smile faded. “Stop that. You met him at Tauriel and Kíli’s wedding and did not look down your nose at him then.”
Yes, she’d met him. Smiled and bobbed her head and then went off to dance with her friends, hardly giving the long-haired, rather shaggy-looking dwarf king a second thought. She had no idea what plans were going to be in the works following the rather modest wedding.
“You didn't intend for me to take him as my husband then. And I don't quite understand why I can’t just stand alongside you and Legolas, should the orc army come this far south. You’ve let other women do so.”
“Enough now. You know full well why I will not allow it. You are not simply other women. You are my daughter. And I will protect you with every fiber of my being and if it means protecting this wood and those within it at the same time? I will do it. And in time, you will thank me. You will see.”
Eirlys offered up a long look. “I’ll not promise to not say I told you so, when you are wrong, you know.”
“I expect no less.”
“Good.”
“But, I have the feeling I won’t be wrong, either.”
She ignored that and the smug smile that accompanied his words. “So, when am I to be shipped off?”
Now it was Thranduíl’s turn to roll his eyes. “You’ll not be shipped anywhere. I will send word to Erebor that Thorin and his company should come here and we will work out the finer details at that point. But, you needn’t worry. The wedding will take place here.”
“Because that is my biggest concern. Where the wedding is to be held.” She pulled away, then turned to face him. “May I go then?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.”
She was almost to the doorway of woven vines when Thranduíl called, “Eirlys?”
She paused, peering over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“You will see, this is for the best.”
She met his gaze and although she wasn't entirely happy with his decision, she knew that he did have her best interests at heart and would do nothing to put her in any danger. If anything, he was always overprotective of her and had been ever since her mother’s death. Knowing he did what he did out of love was enough to make her sigh softly as she nodded. “I know, Papa.”
His eyes softened and a hint of a paternal smile played at his lips. “Good.”