How I Leave You

Iron Fist

Ever since Thrór learned that I would be partaking in the next royal meeting, he has been questioning my motives.

"What are you plotting?" he asks as we walk down the stone hallway together, his eyes narrow.

"You are awfully mistrustful of me."

I am wearing a dark blue robe with silver embroidery today, matching the metal of my beads.

"Are you here so that you may keep an eye on me? To ensure I do not get wrapped around a certain lady's pinky finger?"

We turn a corner, greeting the people coming towards us with a nod.

"I would certainly hope you were not foolish enough to fall for her flatterings. Hopefully, I would not need to be present to ensure that."

"Why, then?"

"Need I remind you, my son, that even though I am your mother, I am also the queen of this kingdom?"

"But you never go to these meetings."

When we enter the meeting room, we find that Thorin is already seated at the end of the ancient oak table. He is speaking to Dain, who sends me a mean look as we make our way towards them, but the moment we come close, he breaks into a large smile.

Ever since I beat him in another brawl a few years ago, he has taken a new liking to me. Dwalin, I still have yet to convince, but this is a start nonetheless.

"Heya, lad," Dain greets, smacking my son across the chest.

I can tell it knocks the air out of him, but Dain looks anything but sorry. In fact, he looks as though it was intentional.

"Do not forget, cousin," Thorin starts, looking at the lord of the Iron Hills with an expressionless face, "that you are dealing with the future King Under the Mountain."

"Forget?" Dain says, breaking into a howling laughter. "I ken well enough that the lad is a crown prince. That is exactly why he needs a good beating!"

My son scowls, knowing that he could not retaliate, lest he should want to spend the better part of a month repaying for it.

"Now that everyone is gathered," Thorin says, his deep voice immediately acquiring the room's attention, "let us commence the meeting."

And commence they do. Not even after all these years among the dwarves have I gotten used to the way they conduct meetings. Or the way they do anything, really. All this stomping of feet and shouting of words. When they agree with a proposal, they bang their fists against the table, creating half an earthquake in the process. And when they disagree, only the gods know which objects might come flying through the air.

"My king," another lord says, pushing his chair back as he stands to say his piece. "Lately, there has been a growth in dissatisfaction at the increase of dwarves lodging in this mountain. Ever since it was reconquered by you and your company, word of our prosperity has spread throughout the lands. We are taking more in than we can harbor, and the ones already here are eager to start families of their own."

At the potential mention of Moria, I notice Thrór sit up a little straighter, puffing his chest out a little further. I doubt he could make his eagerness to prove himself any more obvious.

"Build them more chambers," another lord offers. "Expand the reach of the Lonely Mountain."

"The Lonely Mountain was born of this earth and stone," Thorin bellows. "The more of it we take away, the more likely Erebor is to crumble."

"If I may?" Freiya tries, her voice cutting its way through my ears. "I believe the prince had a most excellent suggestion last time this topic was raised."