[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori looked thoughtfully at Mali. Indeed, she had covered up her gender well, even when they were talking. And who was the other - Lin? Who would have thought, not one female amongst them, but two. Not that all the dwarves would have noticed the references to their gender, of course, but it could cause some unrest with the more traditional amongst them...

"Flori?" Ori's voice jerked Flori back to reality and he quickly looked back at his brother. Concern showed in his brother's eyes. "What is wrong?"

What, does he think I am scared of the journey ahead then? Think you that your brother cannot handle a quest as well as you, simply because you were a companion of Thorin, is that it, brother? Flori quickly caught these ridiculous thoughts and quelled them, but something of them must have shown on his face for a split second, for his astute brother looked surprised. "Brother? What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Flori muttered hastily, pushing away from his brother and continuing down the path at a right old speed, huddled behind his pack as guilty anger grew in his mind.

~*~

The King of Erebor stood on one of the steps up to his throne, his eyes turned up to the round window, set high up at the other end of the hall, one of thekead seperated quarters left open, about half a metre wide in all. Others may have wondered at his concern and intent based on this window, for it was too small to let in much cool air into the room, which was anyway made of stone, magnificent and cool, and what light it let in fell in a hazy square several metres from where the king sat. Yet Dain's bright gaze remained on that small, open part of the window. Waiting.

After a moment, a watcher would now have seen the King turn away from the window, sighing with impatience and sadness and walk slowly up the steps to sit heavily in the magnificent chair. Dain had had many trials and tribulations throughout his reign as King under the Mountain, but his impressive age was really showing now, not in his long, flowing white beard, in the wiseness of his eyes, or the deep laugh lines and wrinkles on his handsome face. Now, as he sat carefully alone in his throne room, his courtiers and servants and warriors and people all busy around him in their forges and fields and homes and palace, chatter ringing through the stone halls, songs through the fields, the clanging of metal in the forges...right now, Dain's age was becoming visible in the way he sighed so heavily, dropped so wearily into his throne, rested his hands against his forehead and closed his eyes.

The faint, croaking 'caw' of a bird made the king stiffen slightly, and as it was followed by the feathery, rustling clapping of wings, then king sat up, his eyes once more trained on the window. Then silence. The king sat frozen, as if suspended in time, until the clicking of feet was head on the roof above....then a small, black head, inlaid with glittering black eyes and a sharp, grinning beak, appeared at the round window. Dain seemed to relax, grinning suddenly in relief, and gave a long, low whistle. The bird gave another croaking caw, this time seeming, to the fanciful or just plain knowledgable observer, to hold a note of relief before the raven flew in, glided through the white stone room, it's wings stark against the walls, and settled itself by Dain's hand on the throne. The King beamed fondly at the raven, raising his hand so it nestled it's head against his finger familiarly as the king carefully untied the piece of parchement on it's leg with his other hand as it raised a foot obligingly.

As soon as the parchment was off and the King had unrolled it and begun to read, the bird gave another caw, this time of farewell, and departed, flying through the hall to the other side, where a high hole in the wall allowed it to slip through into the corridor, from whence it would probably go in search of the kitchens. There was rule in the palace: no one, under any circumstance, can kill a raven. The birds were under the king's protection. Once this one had found something to eat in the kitchen (Dain grinned at the thought - the new cook detested the birds and was most vocal in her accounts of how she would only feed the birds if the food was on the other end of a broomstick. Dain had obligingly and satirically provided her with a special broomstick with a hook on the end for the exact purpose), it would return to the King's hall. Taking a pen and a roll of parchment from his belt, Dain began to compose a reply to his young friend's letter.