The King of Carven Stone : Part III

Through Ice and Fire (Exile)

2.

Do not look behind.

I was clinging to those words as to life, as I started to walk away from the Mountain, away from the Valley, away from everything I knew. For now, it was still familiar ground, for now we had not left Erebor's realm, but soon we would leave the lands I had explored and head into wilder roads.

I had discussed it with Balin, earlier on. He had held me in his arms the whole night and I had slept – a heavy, exhausted sleep, I had not felt him move when he searched for a blanket to wrap it around me. He held me close and kept everyone at bay until dawn. He kept even nightmares at bay, and when I woke I felt better.

The terrible heat of the fever was gone, and my wound was not as sore – I could move my fingers and clench my fist almost without pain. I recovered, slowly, and met his smile once more.

"Did you sleep?", I asked, noticing his worn features and his tired gaze – he must have stayed awake the whole night.

Balin nodded, and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened.

"I think I might have snored quite loudly, yet it failed to make you stir, lad.

- You should have woken me earlier..."

His eyes fell upon me – barely awake, my hair tousled and my body bruised under my worn-out tunic – and he shook his head.

"Indeed not", he said softly, and then he pushed my braids away, taking a look at the half-hidden marks on my throat.

"What of 'adad...?", I whispered, looking at Thráin who was still stretched motionlessly on the blankets, and making sure to hide my bruises again.

"I will take care of him", Balin said firmly. "He is better. I will manage him with Óin. You can come to him on the evenings."

I nodded wordlessly. I knew he was right. I had to be cautious about that, I could not unsettle him again. And I had to keep Frerin and Dís from him, until I could be sure of his reactions.

I rose to my feet with a sigh and pulled on my chainmail, my jerkin and my belt – they were heavy but I felt older in those, it was like a screen, a hard, grim, second skin that could hide just how thin and vulnerable I felt inside. I paused for a moment, looking at the only arm-guard I still had, and then I fastened it upon my wound to protect it from dust and dirt.

Balin smiled sadly when I faced him, and then he stroked one of my half-loosened braids – I realized then that despite my warrior gear, I looked nothing more than what I was to him: a Dwarfling just roused from sleep.

"I will be back...", Balin said, and I quickly pulled off my own hair clasps and my beads.

I ran my fingers through my hair – I felt unworthy of Óin's precious comb, and hurried through my braids, making them thin but tight. I was fastening my clasps when Balin came back, and he handed me a small bowl of wheat.

"Eat, lad. It's not much but it's good, and you'll need it."

I obeyed, realizing as I ate just how hungry I was, and then I looked at Balin, unsure – so terribly unsure.

"I... I don't know the way, Balin."

I had whispered those words, and he raised his eyebrows, mocking me gently.

"And all these maps we perused together, what of them, lad?"

I shook my head, and then I bent to draw a rough map on the ground. Erebor, the Mountain, the Elvenking's Forest – and the river, getting south and then east, until it reached the Iron Hills.

"I know we have to go east, and that it would be shorter not to follow the river. We could cross those lands straight away – that is what Náin did when he came, Dwalin told me so."

I felt my heart warm when I spoke his name – how I missed him, my tall, brave friend... He would have known which way to go, I was sure of it, he would have smiled, shouldered his axe and just started walking – not worrying. Not afraid. Unwavering.

"But... They had warriors, they had supplies, they were all strong and their journey was planned. They did not need to search for water, and they could defend themselves in those lands, while we cannot. We have to stay close to the towns, and the villages – our only chances of supplies lie with Men, and near the River."

I looked up at Balin – he had not spoken, he had let me unfold my thoughts without influencing me, just like when I was younger and when he made me explain a complicated grammar-rule or an arithmetic demonstration so as to understand it better.

"We have to follow the River", I said, my hand still resting upon the dusty ground. "But Balin – it will take weeks. Months even, with all the wounded, and the autumn is late already.

- It is the only way, lad.", Balin answered softly, and I felt dread invade me.

I was dooming us to months of exile – and I was not even sure it was the right decision.

"What does my grandfather say?", I asked, my voice tiny, and Balin sighed.

"Thrór? I fear he does not say much – at least nothing helpful. His mind is elsewhere, Thorin. We cannot rely upon his advice, as much as it pains me to say so..."

Despair invaded my heart then, and it must have shown in my eyes, because Balin gently laid his hand upon my shoulder.

"But, for what it is worth, lad, I think it is the right decision. So does Nár, and so do Óin, Dagur, and Itô. She has seen war – she's old but her mind is sharp, and she thinks as we do. Besides, Thorin... Frerin's advice is to keep close to Men to survive. He – what were his exact words when I asked him? Oh..."

He looked at me, his brown eyes sparkling.

"Thorin's head is stuffed with silly notions of pride and endeavour, but he knows what course to take, he knows where to lead us, and he will choose the River.

- I will make him swallow his braids...", I whispered, getting up with a swift move, and Balin laughed, quietly, for he knew better.

Some of the tents were being folded as I got out, and I went straight to the one where I knew my brother was. He was already outside, had helped some of the Dwarflings to gather their things, and when I laid my hand upon his arm he turned to face me.

His face brightened for a second when he saw me, and then became earnest again. He looked at me, taking in my face and my whole body, his eyes grave and searching.

"So...", I whispered, bending towards him – for I was still taller. "I am proud and my head is stuffed with silly notions, right?"

I had spoken quietly – I was not angry, not really, I just wanted to be even with Frerin again, for I had upset him the day before and still felt bad about it.

"Of course you are", he said dryly. "You are dreadfully overbearing, and you definitely have issues with the word 'thank you', at least when it comes to me. And you know what's even worse? That you feel sorry every time, and that it's still upsetting you while I have already forgotten all about it."

He was still looking at me, his grey eyes bold and sparkling – that shiny, insolent brother of mine, how small he made me feel sometimes...

"Frerin, I...", I begun, but he just cut me off and embraced me, saving me from speaking.

"Oh, keep it for later, Thorin", he sighed, and in the end I just hugged him back, drawing him against my chest and holding him close.

"I don't know where I would be without you...", I whispered, so low that he was the only one that could hear it. "Without you, and Dís... I would go mad – I would be lost."

I had breathed those words into his hair, thinking of my father, and my grip around Frerin tightened as I realized how much we already had lost, and how many things I had to keep from him.

His hands brushed my back, gently – he was not unsettled by my words, he knew me well and above all, he loved me as I loved him.

"How is your arm?", he asked, pulling back slightly so as to take a look at it. "Oh, it looks better."

His gaze found mine again, playful and kind.

"You look better too. Yesterday after Dale – Mahal, the state of you! I heard you speak to Óin – it barely made sense. Then you passed me, you actually swayed past me and then you vanished in that tent and just did not come out... I sent Balin after you, I was worried – what happened there? How is 'adad?"

I was still holding him – dear, lively Frerin, voicing whatever was in his mind, so open even after all these horrors... Shield him. I had to shield him, and keep him like that.

"He's resting. He's still not well – I don't want you or Dís to see him that way, it will upset him...

- You stayed ages with him, however!", Frerin replied, still looking at me, and I paused, feverishly thinking of an excuse, of anything...

"I fainted", I said – it was close to the truth, after all. "I passed out as soon as I entered the tent. As you said – I was... not well either, yesterday. Then Balin helped me dressing that wound, and then I slept. So, in the end – getting to him was not of much use..."

Frerin's grey eyes were still doubtful – it was so unlike me, to speak openly about faults and weaknesses, but it was the only excuse I could think of and, since it somehow matched my brother's expectations, he finally accepted it.

"Glad you feel better", he said, and then he let go of me.

"Where is Dís?", I asked, as we joined the Dwarrowdams to help them fold our tent.

"She's with Óin. She says she wants to help him with the wounded."

And so she was. I searched for her – I had not seen her for an entire day and yearned for her. But when I saw her, dressed in a worn-out tunic and in pants she had curled up, stuffing them in her boots just like a Dwarf, when I saw her calm, earnest childish face as she bent towards an injured warrior to help him to recover – I barely recognized my little sister.

The small child I had held against me – it was gone. That tiny body I knew so well, those graceful wrists and slender fingers – they were moving as usual, but the mind and Soul inside had unfolded, and Dís looked older. Stronger.

She had tied up her hair – she still wore the embroidered ribbons our women used to fasten their thick, silky braids, and the silver beads in her tiara caught the light, now and then, when her head moved. But apart from those small adornments, and from the fact that her cheeks were still smooth and beardless, she looked like a young Dwarfling, no more like a fragile Dwarven-Princess.

I looked at her – my eyes embraced that slender frame, pride and grief fighting for dominion in my heart. And then she lifted her gaze and saw me.

She gently laid her hand upon the injured warrior's arm, and then she walked towards me – I do remember that sapphire-blue gaze, so bright, so luminous, so faithful.

"We are almost ready to go, Thorin."

I could not speak, I just extended my hands, and Dís took them in hers, placing them around herself as she embraced me, her cheek resting against my chest.

I don't want to leave, Dís. I don't want to lead you astray. I don't want to lose you. I am scared. I am so scared.

Those words never passed my lips, and yet Dís sensed them – she always guessed my darkest thoughts, she always knew, the bond between us was so strong...

"You won't lead us astray, marlel...", she whispered. "You already helped to save so many. They all trust you. They all love you. Do not look behind."

And I did not.

As my steps took me further and further from the Mountain, as my people behind me stretched, moving slowly past the riverbank, leaving the burnt trees and the ash-covered ground behind – I did not look back.

My axe and sword were fastened again on my back, and my strides were decided and quick – even, unwavering, as they had to be. I pointed to the right direction, I laid a reassuring palm upon several shoulders, I stooped to relieve Itô from her small burden – the chestnut-haired Dwarfling, still too small to walk.

I looked so assured, but I was not. My heart was racing, and I clung to the Dwarfling I was carrying more than he clung to me – I held him against my chest like a precious shield, focusing on his small weight so as to be able to head on and lead.

"Svali...", Itô answered, when I asked her what his name was – the little one had not yet begun to speak and was only making sounds.

Strangely happy sounds, tugging at my braids and beaming at me every time I happened to look at him.

"You don't know anything...", I whispered to him. "You have no idea of where we are going, have you, Svali?"

I was walking far ahead of the rest and no one could hear my words. Svali made a small, shrill sound – recognizing his name, probably, his heels kicking against my chest.

"Neither have I, nadnith."

I brushed his back with my palm, smiling despite of myself when I saw his bright, hazel eyes, his small chestnut curls and his happy little face. I shook my head so as to tickle his cheek with my braids and he had a delighted laugh.

"And you do not care about that, do you? You little nut, you shining, little acorn – could you not have picked somebody else to throw your smiles away? I am not your mother, you know..."

Svali was looking at me, and I suddenly realized what I had said. My voice broke and I dragged him against me once more, falling silent, my steps the only sound on the leaf-covered earth.

Move on. Don't look behind. And keep your lips shut, for you are the one who knows nothing.

Night was closing in when Dís caught up with me. We had covered several miles – an encouraging first step, a small success that had helped to ease my mind a little. Svali was slumbering in my arms, and I had actually stopped thinking, the even pace of my walk lulling both him and my thoughts to sleep.

"It is so beautiful, Thorin..."

I turned to face her, wondering what she was talking about. Dís searched for my fingers and entwined hers with mine.

"The leaves, the moss on the trees... The pattern of those branches, and the sky – have you seen the sky? No boundaries, no window-frames to cage it... I wish I could be a bird, Thorin, and fly among the clouds to discover how far they stretch..."

Her eyes were shining – she was so passionate, so full of joy, there was not an inch of fear in her feelings. And it made me realize for the first time how different our lives in Erebor must have been. She was still young, and had hardly ever thrown herself in a tantrum, but several months ago she had indeed turned wild and furious one day, hitting me in the chest, her cheeks wet with angry tears, because my father had forbidden her to accompany me to Dale, and because I had supported him, for she was too young.

"You make me feel like a prisoner!", she had screamed, and then she had fled from the room, avoiding me for the next couple of days.

It had been the only time we had been estranged, and I had hated it. I had brought a bag full of goods, toys and precious objects from Dale, trying to bring back some of the City's atmosphere in Dís' room, and she had thanked me.

But it had not been enough, and as my gaze fell on my little sister who was soaking in the landscapes, revelling in the trees, the sky, the Nature, I suddenly understood why. She had only wanted a short, single day of freedom, and I had not even been able to grant her that.

"I am sorry, Dís", I whispered, and it was her turn to gaze at me in bewilderment. "I wish you could have discovered all that differently. I wish I could have shown it to you on a happier day."

Her fingers tightened around mine.

"I don't need you to show me anything. I have eyes as you have, a Soul and mind as you have – you and me, we are the same, we feel the same. We are both free."

She looked at me, earnestly, and I shook my head. Erebor's walls had crumbled – setting her free while burdening myself with the terrible task to leading my people to safety. Even if we reached the Iron Hills, even then, I would always have to think about my kin first. The dream of leaving them, to discover the world alone, only guided by my own wishes – it would remain a dream, a childish daydream.

There was no escaping this.

"I am not", I whispered. "I am not free. I will never be."

The words had left my heart before I could check them, and I hated myself for destroying her happiness. She was still holding my hand, and her gaze clouded – I swore to Mahal I would never voice any of my feelings anymore.

"Forget what I said, Dís, I am just tired, I don't know what I was thinking. Of course we are free, of course you are right, there are no boundaries to cage us here."

Night had closed in. It was dark, and behind us they had stopped, starting to unfold the tents.

"Why are you doing this?", Dís whispered, letting go of my fingers. "Why are you always drawing back every time you begin to voice your feelings? Why are you lying to me, and pretending you can handle everything alone?"

She was not angry – there was only sadness and hurt in her eyes, and I did not know how to answer, I just held Svali closer against me.

"I have been to 'adad, today.", she went on, her voice not above a murmur. "I have seen him, I went there with Óin, and I know what he did to you. I saw those marks on your neck – I am not blind, Thorin, I don't need you to shield me. I made Óin tell me what 'adad did to you, and what you did in return, and it made me cry. It made me cry because you did not share it with Frerin or me."

She was still looking at me, and I could feel myself begin to crumble inwardly – she was destroying all the fragile pretence of strength I had tried to build in the past hours.

"I am not afraid of 'adad's madness.", Dís whispered. "He has shared it with me, every time I went down to fetch him among the tombs. I know where he wanders, I know he misses 'amad, and I do not fear it. There is no need for you to bear this burden alone. No need to keep Frerin away from him – he is his son too, he has the same strength and love as you."

I tool some steps back, my arms so tightly wrapped around Svali's small body that he let out a moan. He stirred against me, and suddenly I was afraid to break down. I stooped to put him on the ground, and he began to cry, softly at first and then with loud, heartbreaking sobs, because I was running away.

I left Dís with Svali, turning my back on her, unable to face her and her words, and I ran. Down the small hill where we had been standing, away from the River whose course we had followed the whole day – I just ran, stumbling across wild bushes and their roots, tripping upon rocks and dead branches.

I ran until my breath failed me, until my lungs ached and burned, until there was not enough air left to cry. I let myself down on the ground, somewhere in the wilderness, and as I panted, my hands pressed against my ribs, I desperately tried to pull myself together.

I had one minute – one minute to regain my breath, and then I would stand up. I would brace myself and go back there, acting as I should – as it was expected of me. Dís could think whatever she wanted – I would not discuss my feelings with her, or with anyone.

Feelings only made you break down. Feelings were allowed if you were safe, if you could truly be yourself, and I could not.

I could not.

"I won't let you free...", I whispered, resting my hand on the earthy ground, and then I rose.

I was standing among wild bushes, not far from the riverbank – the river had drawn a slow curve on the mossy land, and in my run I had cut across the wilderness so as to cross its waters again.

What a glorious short-cut, Thorin.

I felt the ghost of a smile on my lips as those words entered my mind – Dwalin could have voiced them, I could almost picture him, standing against one of the trees, his hand resting on his axe, his bushy eyebrows raised and his brown eyes mocking me gently.

"Just keep it low", I whispered, not caring for the fact that there was no one there facing me, and that my words were blown away in the icy wind that had risen.

"You would have crushed down every bush, cursing them and calling them firewood-in-being. I know you would have, don't shrug your shoulders and don't shush me."

I was still smiling when I began to walk down the River – I did not want to return to the camp yet, there seemed to be light about a mile ahead, several lights that could point to a village, and I was curious to see how big it was. Perhaps we could find some work, or at least some supplies.

The River soon grew larger, and as I reached the group of houses that were huddled there I realized it was because there was another stream adding itself to its waters.

There was indeed a village – a small village, not above a hundred houses, yet it did not look abandoned. There seemed to be boats on the riverbanks, not only fishing boats but trading-barges, and I realized that the village was probably built along one of the locks, allowing merchants to transport their goods across the canal that lead to the west.

I could see a small bridge, a market place, and the harbour – not much more, for it was getting late and the moon was thin that night. Yet it looked promising, and I resolved to return there in the morning with several Dwarves, for I was sure we could find work there.

I turned then, following the river upstream again, feeling able to go back, now that I had the ghost of a plan in my head, now that I could at least suggest what could be done next. And it was as I reached the camp that I suddenly realized that for a couple of hours, I had completely forgotten about Erebor and the Dragon, and about my father.

"Hey, show yourself!"

I recognized Dagur's rough voice in the darkness – he was one of the Dwarves on guard, for this was a precaution Balin and Nár had agreed upon, that there should always be a dozen warriors watching over the camp every night.

"It's me, Dagur. Thorin.

- Durin's beard, lad!", he growled, as I stepped up to him, and when I smiled at him he just glared back.

"What are you doing here, roaming the riverbank like a ghost? I almost mistook you for some venison!"

He lowered his crossbow and I realized with a shudder that I had been close to be shot by one of his deadly arrows. Thank Mahal he first shouted at venison before shooting it – though this method did not strike me as a particularly successful one, when I began to think about it.

He was shaking his head at me, still displeased, and I swallowed my comment – he was right after all, I had behaved foolishly ever since I had left Dís.

"Dagur, there is a village down there. It's close to the canal, there is a harbour and some trading-barges. I think we should head there tomorrow, see what we can find.

- Well for now, you'd better head to your tent and see what you can find. Food's scarce, I would hurry to get my share if I were you."

He had grumbled those words while pushing me towards the camp, and as I walked away I heard him mutter:

"Steps out of the shade like a ghost and talks quietly of barges and boats – by my beard..."

The tents were all mounted and small fires were lit on each threshold – there was enough dry wood around us yet, and we were still close enough to Erebor so as to be safe from Orcs or Goblins.

I could see the shadows of Dwarves against the flames – they were warming themselves up, most of them huddled together. Quiet and weary – they had covered many miles in a single day, and the shelter and food they got for what they had strived was scarce.

A thin shadow rose as I walked between the tents and I froze when I recognized Dís – but she only handed me a bowl of warm soup. I closed my fingers upon it, realizing how cold and hungry I felt, yet I did not sit down to eat, because she was avoiding my gaze – angry or hurt, I could bear neither of it.

"I am sorry, Dís...", I whispered, and she had a sad smile.

"You keep telling me those words tonight."

She looked at me then, and saw hurt rise in my eyes. Hurt and guilt, for she was right.

"I cannot... I am not good with words, Dís", I said, my voice low. "I am not good with... all this. I am always... I am always saying the wrong thing while... while everything that really matters stays unvoiced. And... I cannot speak about what matters, about what I truly feel... because if I do... if I try to..."

Hot soup splashed on my fingers and I realized my hands were shaking. Dís stepped up to me and gently took the bowl, brushing my skin as she did.

"I know...", she whispered, and she rose on tiptoes to kiss me. "I do know, Thorin. Now please, sit down and eat. It is hot and good, it will warm you up."

She did not scold me, she did not ask anything from me, she just sat down next to me and watched me eat, and when I finished she parted my arms to nestle close to me, her face resting against my neck.

I stroked her hair, the ribbons around her braids, the beads among her locks – that beautiful, wonderful Dwarrowlass that was wiser and stronger than any warrior.

I love you, mamarlûna.

"I know, Thorin...," she said, her arms wrapped around my chest, and yet I had not spoken. "So do I. Never run away from me anymore.

- I promise...", I whispered, saying those words aloud, and she sighed, before pressing a silent kiss into my neck and closing her eyes.

That night I sang her to sleep, softly, just like I did when she was smaller. I sang because I could not speak, my voice deep and low, and when Frerin came to join me, sitting down next to me and resting his cheek on my shoulder, I did not stop.

"Keep watching, my Treasure, we'll be at the door..."

I do still remember those words that spoke of brighter days and yet allowed me to express my grief without falling apart, as I do remember Dís' small weight on my lap and Frerin's warmth close to me, on that first, cold night in the wilderness of our exile.

The next day we headed for the village, six Dwarves, including Dagur and me. Balin could not go with us, his leg was still sore and he was exhausted – he had tended to my father, had helped Óin with the wounded and, as if it was not enough, he had also been at Nár's side during my grandfather's latest outburst.

"Are you mad?!", Thrór had shouted, glaring at me. "You want to go to that village of filthy, swarthy Men who live their lives crouching next to the water – and for what? To ask for food, for supplies, to offer your services to them?!"

He had grabbed my shoulders before Nár could hold him back and he shook me – his blue eyes locked in mine. Shining, yet without any light. So cold.

"You are a Prince, a son of Kings – we do not beg, we do not ask anything, we rather starve! Have you no pride, no sense of honour?! What did I teach you, what did I pass on to you, I wonder?"

He let go of me and Nár gently took him by the arm, while I stood there, my face ashen, trying to overcome the pain his words had caused once more, listening to his shouts that were fading slowly as Nár led him away.

I flinched when I felt hands again on my shoulders – but it was Balin. Brown eyes were gazing at me, and the contrast could not be plainer – so much warmth, so much love.

"If you let this nonsense harm you – if you dare to remember any of those silly words, I will never speak to you again, Thorin. Let him starve if he wants to – fasting helps to clear up the mind, they say..."

He did not let go of me until he was sure I was steady again, until he managed to summon the ghost of a smile on my lips – and then he pushed me away, towards the River and the village.

"Well, lad, what are you still doing here?"

He winked at me, Dagur took me by the arm and we left. I was a tall Dwarfling, but I still was the shortest of our company, and when we reached the village I was the one Men stared at, their eyes wide and their mouths open.

"Dwarves! Look! I told you they were smaller than us – look at the dark-haired one, it must be a child still... See, he has no beard yet, not like that blond one, look, it reaches his belt – oooh, it's not his belt, it's his beard still, he has fastened his sword into his own hair!

- Wait until I thrust it into your fat belly, to teach you how to talk about my hair...", grumbled Dagur. "Are they dumb, or what, they think we can't hear them?

- Calm down...", one of the other Dwarves said, winking at him. "They are not used to us, especially not to you. And maybe they think we do not understand them."

He advanced towards the Men, making sure to show his palms in an appeasing gesture, and then he bowed.

"Hergíl, at your service."

Their jaws dropped even more when they heard him speak, and they gathered close to each other like frightened birds.

"We are currently crossing the lands around your beautiful village, and searching for work. We know how to shape metal, to manage heavy weights – we can do anything for you, and gladly exchange our skills for food."

He had a friendly smile – but those Men, they still gazed at him like he was a strange, wild animal.

"Idiots", Dagur signed in Iglishmêk, and I would have laughed at Hergíl's discreet yet firm reply, had I not been anxious to get to an understanding with those Men, so different from those I had known.

"Keep – those hands – of yours – where they belong. In – your – damn – trousers – with everything else."

Hergíl's fingers were nimble indeed, and his face betrayed nothing, still open and smiling.

"Well, I s'ppose... You could try the forge... There's always work there, horses need shooing."

They grinned to each other, no doubt thinking that Hergíl would shrink from the horses' height – but they did not know him, or any of his skills and courage.

"And there's the lock. Old Wilfred, the lock-keeper – sure he would like some help. More time for sipping his ale... He's seen enough water for a lifetime."

They laughed freely then, a rough, coarse laugh – how I missed Cillian's clear, kind gaze, the earnest, friendly faces of those Men at home... But there was no more home.

And so, minutes after, we split up. Hergíl and the three others heading for the forge, and Dagur and I searching for the lock and its keeper.

"Keep close to me, lad...", he growled, and I obeyed – I was not really scared, but I definitely did not feel at ease, everything here was so different, so... so unpolished.

"Must be him. Mahal, what a creature..."

A creature indeed he was. Thin, crooked, and so dirty – incredibly dirty for someone who spent his days close to so much water. He smelt of ale, urine and tobacco – he was chewing at some leaves, eyeing us suspiciously as we walked up to him.

"Light upon your day...", I said shyly, too nervous to remember how Men used to greet each other, and using the Dwarven fashion instead. "Are you... are you the lock-keeper?"

His eyebrows had shot up and he had a gravelly laugh as he took me in – I had neither chainmail nor weapons that day because Dagur was supposed to stay with me, and only wore my dark leather jerkin above my tunic.

"What if I am?", he asked, his speech slow, still chewing.

"The Men in the village... They said you could use some help – with the lock. We could run it for you today, if you want...

- What for?", he questioned, and Dagur pushed me aside.

"Those boats – how much do they pay you, when you move those gates to let them pass?

- Two silver coins...", the Man replied, after a small pause where he seemed to consider if it was wise to answer.

"What about that – you get your work done today, have some ale while I run that lock for you. One silver coin for me, and one for you, I working, and you sitting down, how pretty does that sound to you?"

He was glaring at the Man, but his voice had remained almost polite, and it did not unsettle the lock-keeper.

"Sounds nice. Strange request – but nice one."

He had again that ugly laugh, full of leaves and dribble, and I almost shuddered with disgust.

"Deal", Dagur said. "Take me to that lock."

The Man bowed ironically, starting to walk away, and I felt Dagur's arm barring my chest as I was about to follow him.

"No, Thorin. Not you. I'm not witnessing that – you are not to strive like a troll for that disgusting Man who knows nothing of you."

He had spoken in Khuzdûl, in a deep, growling tone, his broad, strong arm still holding me back. And I answered in the same language, putting my hands upon his fingers and pulling myself free.

"You will have to get used to it, Dagur. The sooner, the better."

He shook his head, displeased, and I faced him – this strong, fierce, tall Dwarf that could kick me into the canal with a single hit.

"Where is our kingdom now?", I asked softly. "What use is there to cling to pride, when there is work to do?

- You should not have to do that!", he answered, his face dark and hard, and I shook my head.

"And neither should you."

I had spoken gently, and when he didn't answer, I turned to the Man who had witnessed our discussion, his brow knitted and his gaze suspicious again.

"Tell us what we have to do", I said, and the Man eyed me for some seconds, then spat the tobacco he had been chewing, aiming for the water and missing it.

"Simple task enough", he said, his speech slow and thick. "Boat comes. Upstream or downstream, doesn't matter. You open the gate for the boat. It gets into the chamber and you close the gate. Then you lift the gate's paddle to let water out or in, it depends where the boat is going... When the water is on the right level, you open the other gate, and off the boat sails..."

He pointed to the lock gears next to the gates.

"You lift the paddles with those. Think you can manage that, eh?"

He looked at me, eyeing me from head to foot.

"Or perhaps that brain of yours is small too...

- Kamnûl 'urmarum udu 'ihan", growled Dagur, stepping forward, and I extended my arm to hold him back.

"I think I understand", I answered, my voice calm yet icy. "The task sounds simple enough... even for us."

The Man looked at Dagur, then at me – I was still facing him, not lowering my gaze, and he seemed uncomfortable, suddenly. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, and then he muttered:

"Well, fair enough. Don't break anything, that's all I ask."

I bowed slightly – I was so full of contempt for that Man I didn't trust my face anymore – and watched him go away.

Dagur was breathing heavily, his face flushed and his eyes ablaze, and his strong fingers enclosed the lock gear as if their only aim was to bend and break it.

"That miserable canal rat...", he growled. "I could have... I could have done anything to him, I still can, you just have to ask!"

I smiled at him – I did not mind the Man and his words, he was unworthy of our anger. I just felt glad, suddenly, to be with Dagur and to see that there was someone who actually cared, who was hot-tempered and proud just as if we were still roaming Erebor, and who was not afraid to show his anger to me.

"I won't, Dagur, and you know it."

He let out his breath noisily, and then his eyes turned to the water.

"Boat, Thorin."

A hard day it was, but an interesting day – because the way that lock worked was fascinating. Such a simple device, allowing boats to cross the canal and to overcome different water levels... The Man had spoken quickly, not caring if we understood what he said, but it was simple, you only had to understand which gear to move so as to lift the correct panel. Filling the lock with water when the boat had to get upstream – emptying it when it headed downstream.

Dagur and I worked without speaking. We only spoke with the Men who greeted us, astonished to find us running the lock – and often pleased, for these were merchants, used to travelling, who had seen some Dwarves in their lives and had a sincere interest for us.

"Is that your son?", one of them asked, his voice gentle and his round face looking at me with a smile.

Dagur shook his head wordlessly, and the Man did not press him further, streetwise enough to know when to drop a subject.

"Well you do strive hard indeed", he only added, and as he was about to leave he bent towards me, handing me a small parcel.

"There. Some cake, and some apples. You might enjoy them both, between two boats – lucky we are indeed to have you, may you keep your strength so that our travels stay swift."

He smiled at me and I bowed, not daring to smile back, holding the parcel against my chest – if that Man knew how his gift found its way to my heart... I would not eat the cake or the apples, not here, not alone. I would save it for the Dwarflings, and for Dís and Frerin.

The sun was low when we finally left the village. Dagur had kept his word – sixty shiny silver coins we had earned, and he poured thirty into the lock-keeper's lap, without a word, and then he went to the miller to get some wheat.

Hergíl and the others had worked hard too – two heavy sacks of wheat were the reward of their day, and one was added thanks to Dagur and me. They hoisted the sacks on their backs and then we left.

"Glad to get away...", Dagur grumbled, and I agreed inwardly.

I did not carry anything, they did not even consider it. I stumbled along the other Dwarves, too exhausted to speak, for I had strived for hours without pausing, and the work had been way harder than in Erebor's forges. As the days would pass my body would get used to it, getting stronger as my muscles hardened, but that evening I was done for – utterly done for.

"Well, laddie, how did it go?", Balin asked, embracing me as we reached the camp, and I handed him the parcel.

"Apples, and cake. And wheat – three heavy bags..."

He smiled at me and kissed my forehead, and then he led us to one of the fires – the six of us, we sat down together while the Dwarves around us cheered and handed us some water.

Dagur dragged me against him with a rough, fond move, and I can still hear his roaring voice as he vowed that, since we had helped to gather the food, there was no way we would lift a single finger to cook it, and that it had to be brought to us.

"And quickly, for that lad is done for!"

He brushed my shoulder affectionately, and I rested my head against his broad arm, smiling at his outburst. I fell asleep long before the food was brought, propped up against Dagur's arm, my lips half-parted and the grip around my glass slackening slowly.

Dagur took it off my hands and gently shook me awake so that I could eat. I remember that meal through the haze of sleep – I think I did not even finish my plate, handing it to Dagur before lying down on the ground, resting my head against his massive thigh.

"Shame for the cake...", he teased me, ruffling my hair, but I barely heard him, falling asleep almost at once.

I have to tell Frerin about that lock-keeper – I have to tell him how he spat out those leaves and managed to miss the water...

Such were my thoughts as I fell asleep, and Dagur said I laughed, once, before my breath became slow and even, and I oblivious to everything around me – the talking, the heat of the flames, and above all, the still uncertain future of the next, hard weeks.

Hard they would be indeed, but that night I slept – a Dwarfling among warriors, exhausted yet not entirely without hope, or shelter.

That night I slept.

Neo-Khuzdûl translations :

- marlel : love of all loves, Dis' nickname for Thorin.

- nadnith : young boy

- mamarlûna : she who is loved, Thorin's nickname for Dis.

- kamnûl 'urmarum udu 'ihan : dirty canal wormling, more exactly "dirty tiny worm from a lesser River"...