A knock came to the door in the wee hours of the morning. I sat up from my snuggled-up position on the couch and groaned. I'd apparently fallen asleep, waiting for an answer.

"Amariel!" Dwalin's gravelly voice was even grouchier than usual.

"Ugh! Just come in!"

The door swung open, and Dwalin stomped in. He didn't look like he'd gotten any sleep at all. "Get up," he growled. "You have less than four hours to prepare for your coronation."

I groan and slowly stand. "My...what?"

Dwalin gives a frustrated growl. "Come with me. You have to get fitted for a dress, and you are in desperate need of a bath."

I froze. "You aren't...?"

Dwalin scowled. "I am certainly not bathing you! What disgusting thoughts have those pointy-ears filled your head with?" He grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the room. "There are maids waiting for you. They'll—" He waved his hand vaguely, "—get whatever measurements they need and make you a dress while someone else will make sure you're presentable."

"Oh..." I didn't try to resist his pulling me along, even though my brain was still fogged with rudely interrupted sleep. "Um...I didn't think you'd reach any decisions this quickly?"

Dwalin gave a sharp, humorless laugh. "It's been five hours, Amariel, any decisions we reached were argued over extensively."

"Oh...okay."

I let him drag me down multiple corridors, until we reached a room I'd never seen before. Inside, a dozen or so Dwarf maids scurried around, already working feverishly to get ready for my coronation. In one corner sat a steaming bathtub, in another corner sat a massive vanity table, and the whole opposite side of the room was a series of tables and work spaces, where the majority of the action seemed to be.

"Here you are," Dwalin said, pushing me into the room. "Do whatever they tell you to, and don't you dare be stubborn. We don't have the time." And he shut the door.

The maids descended on me like vultures, and before I could blink twice, measuring tapes were being wrapped around my waist and hips, and numbers were being shouted out. Then I was being ushered over to the bathtub.

"Wha—no! Not with you in here!" I squawked.

They completely ignored me and started pulling my clothes off. I tried to struggle, but in my still-mostly-asleep state of mind, I was hardly any trouble for the hoardes of maids. I was reduced to crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at everyone and everything in sight.

The maids dedicated to my direct torture proceeded to scrub me "clean of years' worth of pointy-ear influence". I wasn't sure if they used sandpaper or steel wool, but by the time they moved on to my hair, my skin stung like nothing in Arda. But the worst was yet to come.

They combed my hair.

Mercilessly.

When my bath was over, one of the younger maids brought a fluffy towel for me. I was wrapped and marched over to the vanity, where they proceeded to style my hair while I glared at myself in the mirror. Every inch of my skin was a healthy shade of almost-not-there. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. This was not what I wanted to be doing at two or three o' clock in the morning.

A comforting hand on my shoulder made me open my eyes. The maid that had brought the towel for me, smiled at me through the mirror. "Take heart, melady. It'll all be over soon enough." She picked up a comb and began gently parting a section of my hair at the top of my head, then started a tight braid—presumably the first of many.

I sighed. "Thanks, but...that's the thing. This is only the beginning, I'm afraid."

The maid's fingers were quick to pull my hair into its tight restraints, but also gentle. "If you weren't strong enough, you wouldn't be getting ready for a coronation right now," she reasoned. "The Court would never let you become Queen if you weren't ready."

I gave the maid a small smile. "What's your name?"

Her fingers paused for a moment, then continued. "Larika."

"Larika, how would you like to be my first maid?"

She gasped, her wonderstruck expression in the mirror almost comical enough to make me laugh. "Really!?"

I grinned and nodded.

"I would love that!" she shrieked, drawing the attention of every maid in the room.

"Alrighty then," I said, chuckling. "Well, let's get past the coronation first, okay?"

"Okay," she answered, obediently returning to work on my hair.

The next hour and a half was spent in a much better mindset, on my part at least. Having someone to chat with greatly improved my mood, and for the most part, things got better. The seamstress maids literally made my dress while I was sitting there getting my hair done, so that when Larika finally let me stand up, my dress was waiting for me.

My vulture maids returned and dressed me, primped me, prepared me. My boots were given back to me, because there just wasn't time for shoes to be made, and the dress was floor length.

I was finally declared ready, and marched out of the torture room. Bofur rounded the corner as we walked down the corridor. "Miss Ama—" He stopped in his tracks, his mouth hanging open. He closed it and swallowed. "The coronation is to start soon." He looked at the maids. "I will take her from here; you should watch the ceremony."

They skittered away, leaving me with Bofur. He strode over to me and held out his arm, as a gentleman would. I placed my hand on his arm, and he began walking me to the coronation.

"You cleaned up very nicely," he said, flashing me a grin.

I scoffed quietly. "Why thank you, sir. You did, too."

He returned the scoff.

We walked in silence for several minutes, until I finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been nagging at my mind all morning. "Bofur...why so quickly? I thought my status would be under questioning for days, if not weeks."

He nodded once. A heavy pause, then he said, "We received a letter from Dàin Ironfoot last night. He informed us that his family and their close followers will be coming within a week. He means to take the throne, but Court decided he is less likely to take a throne that belongs to someone else."

I was quiet for a moment. Then I said, "When will they arrive?"

"Two days," Bofur answered. "Three, if we're lucky." He walked me up to two massive doors and stopped. "Are you ready?"

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes."

He pushed open the doors, and led me into the massive throne room, filled with people. Dwarves, Men, even a few Elves. Our pace was slow and reverent, and I kept my eyes fixed straight ahead of me as I worked to keep my breathing even. How had this many people heard about my coronation so quickly?

The Court of Erebor waited for me at the front of the room. Their table and chairs had been removed, leaving them to stand in front of the throne, awaiting my arrival. After what felt like an eternity, Bofur and I joined them.

From the back of the group of Dwarves, Dwalin came forward, carrying a large gold crown.

My stomach lurched. This was really happening. I was really becoming—oh Mordor—Queen of Erebor.

Dwalin spoke. "I, Dwalin son of Fundin, represent the Court of Erebor as I crown you Queen, the last descendant of Thorin Oakenshield's line."

I let out a shaky breath and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to place the crown on my head.

"Kneel," he muttered. "You're too blasted tall."

I sank to my knees and dipped my head a little, and the cold weight of the crown sank into my brow. A heavy pause, then, "All hail, Queen Amariel of Erebor." He added in a whisper, "Stand up and turn around."

I obeyed, finding my feet and turning to face the citizens of Erebor and Dale. They all called, "All hail, Queen Amariel of Erebor!"

Silence fell over the throne room. Every eye looked to me, watching to see what I would do. Expecting something. Any kingdom would expect a speech, or at least some reassurance. And while Dwalin probably hoped I would follow standard procedure, he surely knew better than to expect it. I'd never learned to make pretty speeches, and I didn't have the heart to make empty promises. But everything I had to say could be summed up in a single song I'd learned as a child.

"Oh, misty eye of the mountain below..."

The cavernous expanse of the throne room caught my voice and spread it wildly.

"Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls...and should the sky be fillled with fire and smoke...keep watching over Durin's sons."

The Court of Erebor began humming a background harmony, and with a renewed confidence, I dove back into the song.

"If this is to end in fire, then we should all burn together.

Watch the flames climb higher into the night.

Calling out, 'Father, oh! Stand by and we will,

Watch the flames burn on and on the mountainside.'

"And if we should die tonight, we should all die together.

Raise a glass of wine for the last time.

Calling out, 'Father, oh! Prepare as we will,

Watch the flames burn on and on the mountainside.'

Desolation comes upon the sky...

"Now I see fire, inside the mountain,

I see fire, burning the trees,

And I see fire hollowing souls,

I see fire, blood in the breeze,

And I hope that you remember me.

"And should my people fall, then, surely I'll do the same.

Confined in mountain halls, we got too close to the flame.

Calling out, 'Father, oh! Hold fast and we will,

Watch the flames burn on and on the mountainside.'

Desolation comes upon the sky.

"Now I see fire, inside the mountain.

I see fire burning the trees,

And I see fire hollowing souls,

I see fire, blood in the breeze,

And I hope that you remember me...

"And if the night is burning, I will cover my eyes,

For if the dark returns, then my brothers will die.

And as the sky's falling down, it crashed into this lonely town.

With that shadow upon the ground, I hear my people screaming out,

"I see fire, inside the mountain.

I see fire burning the trees,

And I see fire hollowing souls,

I see fire, blood in the breeze,

"I see fire! Inside the mountain,

And I see fire! Burning the trees,

And I see fire! Hollowing souls,

I see fire...blood in the breeze...

And I see fire burn on and on the mountainside."

I opened my eyes, not realizing I'd closed them. Suddenly realizing I had tears streaming down my cheeks. Because the lyrics that had been written sixty years ago, in a situation that had robbed me of my father, were applicable once again. Only now, I was Queen. Middle Earth was at war, and with Sauron's rise and the finding of the Ring—I shuddered—no one would notice a little dragon trouble in Erebor's little corner of Arda.

We were utterly alone.