"How long is this going to take, Balin?" Thorin said, looking at him levelly. "I was hoping to meet Bilbo in the market and show him around today. Actually, I wanted to take him on a tour of Erebor myself, but you told me we had business about Dain to address."

It was almost a growl, the way the King Under the Mountain was speaking to him. Balin felt his ire rise and his face start to flame. Was it his fault there were so many things about the repair and running of the kingdom that needed Thorin's attention? Was it his fault his king held so little control over his emotions these days? Was he destined to become a punching bag for the rest of his life?

Balin sighed, longing for the Thorin of old. Yes, he had been difficult and temperamental in years past, but this was something far different. At times his old friend seemed a dwarf possessed.

There had not been any wine or bread throwing tantrums since the night Thorin found out about Kili and the elf maid. By no means, however, was Thorin suddenly free from swinging dramatically between paranoia and love.

It was exhausting to watch, to be part of. This morning at breakfast, things were as pleasant as they had been in a very long while. Thorin was actually speaking to Kili again, and he had been almost wild with enthusiasm to show the hobbit the wonders of Erebor and the repairs going on.

Two nights before, at dinner, however, the king had been sullen and brooding, eating quietly and making conversation with no one. The rest of the party talked around him, but in a timid manner interspersed with tension. No one seemed to have any idea what set him off that night.

In their private meetings, Thorin was far more stern, cutting, and demanding than he'd ever been. Increasingly unwilling to listen to what could and could not be done. Impatient. Unrealistic. And when it came to any discussions about the other dwarven kingdoms, his answer to settling disputes was that he was the one who had the Arkenstone and therefore the other dwarf kings would do what he said. Balin expected the talk they must have about Dain would be little different.

"I've received word that Dain's ambassadors will be arriving in about two weeks. They probably -"

"When did I agree to a visit from Dain's people?" Thorin interrupted.

Balin sighed. Did he truly not remember? "You agreed to it as part of the negotiations of using Dain's workers to help re-build Erebor. You told him we would be happy to host his ambassadors at any time. It's in the contract you and Dain signed."

As Thorin did not reply, Balin continued. "He is sending two ambassadors - Lorin, and his younger brother Dawin. I believe Lorin might have visited with Dain once or twice in years past."

"I do not recall that name, but perhaps you are right. We had many visitors in those days, from those seeking the beauty of Erebor."

"Yes. Well, I've requested the maids get two chambers in the royal guest wing prepared for their arrival. It sounds as if they plan to stay for two weeks."

"And what are their plans when they arrive?" Thorin asked, starting to pace the room as he so often did.

"Nothing concrete, but I would expect them to want to tour and view the re-building. Probably assess it and give feedback. I would also expect we would host a more formal dinner or reception for them at least once while they are here. Perhaps we can invite Bard and his family to attend."

Thorin snorted. "That is not so complicated. Invite Bard, and hold the reception the second night of their stay. Give them a day to settle in first. If we are done, I will make my way to find Bilbo."

"No." Balin spoke, in a steely tone. "We are not done. Far, far from it."

"What else could there possibly be?" Thorin looked at him in stupefication.

"I think we need to discuss the possible agendas that Dain isn't telling us, Thorin. So we can respond appropriately if and when those issues arise. For instance, I expect Dain wants more gold, somehow, even though the contract stipulates a fair wage for his workers. More than fair."

"He will get no more gold from me," Thorin roared.

"It is not just that. I would not be surprised if the ambassadors are planning to discuss a marriage between the kingdoms. Dain's daughter Deria is still unwed, despite numerous offers for her hand from the other kingdoms that have been made in the past several years. All of them were good offers, too, from what I heard."

"I am not interested in marrying Dain's daughter," the king growled, getting up to pace the room. "I am not going to marry anyone. I have no need or desire to do so. I have my heirs."

"Then perhaps they will suggest Fili as the groom."

"I don't understand why Dain did not take the other offers for his daughter. She would be well settled and provided for by now."

Balin stared at him, astonished. "Do you truly not understand? Do you truly not see his motivations? He gambled. He took a huge risk on Deria's welfare, on the welfare of his kingdom. You know that Erebor was and still is, even in disrepair, by far the richest of the dwarven kingdoms. Very influential compared to other kingdoms of Men and Elves in Middle Earth. He knew you wanted to re-take it. Everyone knew how badly you wanted that. He gambled that we would succeed, and we did. A marriage between Deria and Fili would be a way for him to gain influence here, and access to more funds for the Iron Hills. Access to far more wealth than all of the other dwarven kingdoms put together."

"I do not see a problem here," Thorin waved his hand in dismissal. "Wealth transfer is not uncommon between kingdoms - that is all contracted in marriage settlements. And Fili will do as I say when the day comes that he is king. He is a Durin."

"Thorin, do you not know Dain hates you?" Balin persisted. He had no choice but to push on. "He despises you. He always has. He hates that you had the riches of Erebor at your feet. I think he will do anything to get in here and find a way to take what he wants. And I mean anything, Thorin Oakenshield. Maybe even murder!"

"Balin! How dare you speak so of a dwarven king! You know not what you are saying!" Thorin raged.

"But I do, Thorin. I do know," Balin said quietly. "I heard Dain and his father Nain speak of you long ago." If not for the sharp ears, mind, and guts of a newly minted advisor - himself - Balin would never have overheard a very illuminating conversation.

Erebor, sixty-five years ago

There was something off about Nain, Balin thought, watching the king of the Iron Hills as he sat near Thror and Thrain at the king's table. The formal reception for the visiting monarch and his son was going, far into the late hours. The hall was still well supplied in ale and wine, but the attendees were starting to drift off to bed.

Balin was somewhat new to his formal position as a political advisor to Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. He had studied history, languages, diplomacy, and even military strategy for years and years. He was the very first scholar in his family, and one of few in Erebor. Now the king's son was willing to see what all that vast education could do. But it wasn't just education that Balin had. It was an ability to observe, to see, and to assess people.

He didn't know Nain at all. In fact, they had been introduced for the first time this morning. And he'd also met Nain's son Dain, who was just a few years younger than Thorin, Thrain's son. But something about the man - his son too - bothered him.

It was in the way they looked at things. The golden goblets, the chargers, silverware. The piles of treasure in the treasure room. It seemed very odd to Balin, but Thror had taken them both to walk amongst the vast horde, along with Thrain, Thorin, and a few select advisors. "Look at how it grows!" Thror had exclaimed, to which Nain had agreed. He'd seen Dain touch some coins, and was almost certain Nain had mouthed "not now" at his son.

What did that mean? "Not now?" Was something to happen later?

Tonight the very best dinnerware was in use. The looks the father and son from the Iron Hills gave it could only be described as covetous, though they tried to hide it.

And the way they looked at Thrain and Thorin, even as guarded as they were, could only be described as envious.

Balin had nothing concrete, just suspicions. All he could do now, especially against a visiting king and prince, was to observe and listen. But how? The room, while no longer full of people, was quite open, with few places to hide and eavesdrop. He scanned the room, wondering where the passage was behind the long velvet curtains that hung against the wall behind the king's table. Young pages had specially served the king's table tonight, and had come out from the curtained area. There had to be some way in there from outside the hall, but where?

Pretending he was heading back to his rooms, Balin left the celebration as quickly as he could manage, staying close to the dark walls of the hallway outside the reception chamber. Looking closely, the entrance had to be somewhere on the right. Going around a corner, he found a door, and went inside.

The room looked like a staging area for the kitchens. This was not where food was cooked, but where it was kept warm, plated, and served. Balin walked forward through the space, shut down for the night already. Ahead, he could see the room narrow to a hallway. Maybe this was the way in!

As he walked farther, he could hear the sounds of voices, the volume increasing with each step he took. Just before he came to what was the velvet curtain, he heard them.

"Finally, they're gone," a voice sighed dramatically. A voice belonging to the Prince of the Iron Hills.

"Hush, you should not speak so, boy, certainly not in public," another voice replied. Nain. "We are guests here, we do not want to insult our hosts."

"You mean we do not want anyone to see or hear that we insult our hosts."

"Of course."

"Well, Father, if none can hear, and none can read lips, how can anyone know what we say? No one is sitting close enough to hear now." There was a low chuckle. "Come, Father, you have been playing a part all day long. Making nice when you wanted to do something far different. Surely you must be close to breaking?"

"This is part of being a king, Dain. Having a public and a private face, and knowing when to speak and how to act, and when not to. But yes, you are right. It is taking a toll. How I long for us to return home where I do not need to pretend."

"Father, must I go tomorrow with Thorin? I cannot stand the fellow, his preening and his high and mighty attitude! 'Look how wonderful is my home'! So many times today I wanted to smash my goblet right in his face!"

"Dain, it is a hunting trip. You will not be required to converse that much. Show him what the people from the Iron Hills can do, lad."

Balin smirked a little. It would more likely be a show of what the people from Erebor could do. His people were renowned for their skill in the hunt. And this disgruntled prince would be even more angry about that!

"Maybe there will be a way to take that Thorin down a notch tomorrow. If only I knew the terrain around Erebor as I do the Iron Hills, I could arrange for a little excitement. An accident, perhaps."

"Don't be a fool, boy!" Nain hissed, low, as Balin struggled not to let out a cry of rage. How dare they discuss an "accident" to a member of the royal house of Erebor! "An accident befalling your cousin Thorin might soothe your pride in the short term, but how in the name of Mahal will it get us any closer to all that gold? You must plan for and play the long game, not the short one."

"How long will it take?"

"I cannot say, Dain. I understand your feelings, I hate them too. Especially Thror. If they were to die tomorrow I would not miss them at all. Shoving their endless piles of gold under my nose for years and years! Rubbing in the state of Erebor compared to the Iron Hills! As if their state of affairs would be any better, situated so close to Mordor as we are! Someday they will see, they will get their comeuppance, mark my words! I would not be surprised if a dragon eventually finds its way here, if any are left. The scent of all that gold would be tantalizing."

"So I must wait, bide my time, wear the mask, play the game. Find a way in to get that gold. Even though it sickens me to play up to that horrible Thorin?"

"Yes. That is the only way."

"This is false! I do not believe you!"

"I also saw him go in your tent on the battlefield, once when you had not called him in to see you. The two of you were alone in the tent, I don't know where the healers were. I waited a few moments, and then entered. Dain was so startled he almost fell on the ground. And when he got up, there was a look in his eyes that made me think he was planning to do something to you!"

"That is a lie!" Thorin raged.

"Believe me or not, as you will," the old dwarf said sadly. If Thorin ever believed him, it might just be when it was too late to do anyone any good. "This is what I know about Dain. With regard to our wealth, I do not trust him or his ambassadors. While they are here, we need to keep our eyes and ears open to them. I will speak with Fili and Kili and Gandalf. They should be on their guard."

Thorin shook his head, his hair rippling wildly in the air. "Dain would never betray or even think of manipulating me. Never! I am the king of Erebor, and I have this," he exclaimed, pulling the Arkenstone out of a pocket to hold in his hand. "I am leaving to meet Bilbo," he declared, storming over to the door. "See that the arrangements are made for the reception. And do not dare to trouble me with this nonsense again."

Balin slumped into the chair at his desk, putting his head in his hands. "That went well, I'd say. Just as well as I'd expected."