More Than Meets the Eye

Chapter Two

Thorin closed the door to his apartments softly. Quiet. Bless Mahal, I needed this. It had been one of those days. What was supposed to have been a short jaunt over to Dale wound up taking most of the day, which meant the things he had to do back in Erebor would now be pushed into tomorrow. Effectively, his entire week was going to to spent playing catch up.

But at the same time, it could be worse. He owed the people of Esgaroth, of Dale, and most importantly, of Erebor, and so no complaint would pass his lips, no matter how impertinent a contractor might be, or how many nights he spent dragging himself back to Erebor after a long, dull day of reading over contracts, discussing them with Balin, who was his right hand man on matters of a contractual nature, and sitting in meeting after meeting while listening to residents of Dale or Esgaroth complain about this or moan about that as their towns were slowly rebuilt.

The last six months had been a long road for him, for his nephews—their near-fatal woundings at Ravenhill gave all three a new perspective on life, although he wouldn't have minded it if Kili would not be quite so serious all the time. He missed the high spiritedness that once drove him so mad. Perhaps it would come back again, once the Battle of the Five Armies was far enough behind Kili. Same with Fili.

Not one of them had emerged unscathed. Thorin glanced down at his own stomach. The scars were there—two slashes, one much longer than the other, just above his right hip, still raised but not nearly as pink, and they served as a reminder that life was short, even for a dwarf. He didn't know what magic Elrond worked on them when they were brought to Rivendell after their woundings, but he knew he was grateful for it just the same.

With a sigh, he sank onto the comfortable sofa in his sitting room. A fire crackled low on the black marble hearth, despite it being summer. Erebor was deep within the Lonely Mountain and no matter what the temperature was outside and above ground, it was always cooler below. He liked the cold, but one of the servant girls insisted on keeping the hearths lit and he didn't think it a big enough problem to scold someone over. Again, life was too short to spend over silly spats. And that, of course, was how he ended up with a valet. Six months ago, he lived outdoors, wherever he and his Company happened to set up camp for the night. Now? He had a blasted valet he neither wanted nor needed.

But Dis insisted and he knew better than to argue with her, either. She might be his younger sister, but she bossed him around worse than their mother ever had. He let her because, in all honesty, it was rather nice how she fussed over him, even though he'd rather slice out his own tongue with the Orcrist than tell her that. If he said anything, she'd be even more the force to be reckoned with than she already was.

A valet. He felt foolish even saying the word. Someone to dress him, as if he wasn't already perfectly capable of dressing himself. Same with washing. Keeping his hair neat? Well, sometimes he had difficulty with that. In addition to the slashes on his belly, he'd torn something in his right shoulder and it was taking forever to heal, so on some days, he had difficulty raising that arm much higher than his shoulder. Again, he'd rather stomp on his tongue than mention to to Dis, although he wondered from time to time if she'd seen for herself those days when moving that arm pained him. He'd only been back from Rivendell a few days when she arrived from Ered Luin—the Blue Mountains, and she'd taken one look at him and proceeded to order him to bed and fussed over him like a mother hen. Again, he didn't mind. He'd hurt that badly.

But it was over now. It was all behind him and now he had a blasted valet as well.

"Thorin?" Dis called. "Are you here?"

He sighed as he rose and padded out into the entry. "Come in."

She smiled, closing the door behind her. "You weren't about to get into your bath, were you?"