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Chapter 10 - An Unexpected Title
"Stand up straight," Dwalin commanded.
"I am standing straight," Hemery replied.
"Straighter." He grabbed her shoulders and pulled them up until her feet almost left the ground, as if trying to make her taller.
Hemery had finally managed to complete the knife throwing test in front of Dwalin, but if she thought she would now be allowed to wield a real knife, she was sadly mistaken.
"I'm not givin' ye a weapon til ye can control it and yerself. Any weapon ye carry can be used against ye, except fer yer own body."
He had told her to stand in the middle of the yard, and was now criticizing her posture.
"Shoulders back. Find your balance."
Balance? She was just standing on the grass. "What?"
He shoved her shoulder. Not hard, he was standing next to her, barely making an effort, but it took her by surprise. She stumbled and fell on her bottom.
"Ye have no balance. How are ye s'posed to fight if ye can't even stand."
"I wasn't ready!" Hemery protested from her place in the grass.
"Ye should always be ready. No one will give ye heads up."
Hemery stood and brushed off. As soon as she straightened, he pushed her again.
"Hey!" She yelped as she fell.
"Oh—my apologies. Ye weren't ready?" He did not sound sorry at all.
Hemery glared as she stood up. Her eyes were glued to him when she faced him.
Dwalin raised his arm, but this time she dodged it. However, she did not see his foot come out to trip her as she side-stepped which sent her sprawling on the grass again. She grunted from the dull pain in her back side, but clenched her jaw and stood again, glaring at him even more. This did not bother him one bit, his face in his usual grim frown.
He advanced. She ducked the arm he swiped at her, jumped away from the foot that tried to trip her, but could not withstand the pressure from his elbow at her abdomen, and was shoved backwards.
"Feet apart, bend yer knees."
Hemery got back up. Swipe, swipe, trip, swipe, push, and she was down again. As soon as she got back up, it started all over. She did not know how long they were at it, but she sensed that complaining she was tired would fall on deaf ears. Or worse, he would actually stop, and then he would never teach her anything ever again.
In the end, she did not have to say anything. Her body did the talking. Her legs burned as she stood up for what felt like the thousandth time, and promptly fell to her knees before he even touched her. Dwalin put a hand under her chin and turned her face up to him. Tears stained her cheeks, but she was silent except for the wheezing breaths her lungs could hardly draw anymore. Who knew simply falling and standing could be so exhausting?
His brows knitted together. He hummed gruffly and let her chin go. "This is why I don't train men. Ye have the endurance of a corpse."
If Hemery could speak, she would have informed him that was not the only reason. No sane man would want to train with Dwalin. What did that say about her? If she could breathe, she would have pleaded with him not to go back on his word. He had promised her. She could only raise her hand toward him as he turned away, as if trying to stop him.
He spoke over his shoulder.
"Tomorrow—wear gloves. Don't be afraid to stop the fall with yer hands."
Hemery smiled and let herself slump down in the dewy grass.
Hanah's walk to Erebor was slower than ususal, but her steps determined. She was on her way to deliver three of Lord Fili´s coats, she could not put it off any longer. It had been an awkward last meeting, but it had not been her fault.
He was the one who did not understand what it was like for women to work and live in this world. He did not know any better, having been born into aristocracy. Sure, he sat in some sort of royal council or something, but he did not know what it was like to be poor and work for bread crumbs. She could not explain that to him, though she had tried. And he had the nerve to suggest they explore their options.
Hanah's lip curled in derision at the thought. Lord Fíli and his richboy fancies.
However, he had been very generous to her and Hemery throughout their business arrangement, paying more than he ought, and not demanding more than she delivered. Because of him, they had somewhere to go after they left Blackwater. It was not his fault the Brage's were vengeful wolverines.
Then there was that other thing. Hanah could not let Lord Fíli believe she was married to some good for nothing man who had abandoned her and Hemery. Especially not let him believe she would stand by such a man and defend him. It was intolerable.
No one asked Hanah where she was going when she passed the guards on her way into the mountain. Neither did anyone stop her when she went up the stairs or entered the corridor that led to Lord Fíli's study. When she came to the red tapestry she recognized from last time, she halted and knocked on the door.
The day had progressed past regular working hours, so she did not think she would be disturbing him. After a moment, the door opened and revealed Lord Fíli on the other side.
"Mistress Skinner."
She bowed her head slightly. "Lord Fíli. I have three new coats for you." She showed him the large bag she carried on her back.
He nodded and stepped aside for her to enter. The fireplace was the only source of light in the big room, making it gloomier than usual. Lord Fíli cast a tall shadow on the walls as he moved to the desk. Hanah put her bag down on a chair next to the door.
"May I light some candles?" she asked.
He waved his hand in her general direction before he picked up a silver cup and drank from it. Hanah found a long splinter in the firewood and ignited it. She moved slowly, with one hand in front of the flame to not disturb it, and lit some lanterns which were placed around the room. She unfolded the first coat and turned, only to find him observing her. His direct gaze unsettled her and for a moment she could not move.
The firelight left half of his face in shadows and exaggerated the other, making his dwarven features especially prominent, the thick hair, his marked brow and nose, the unusually wide shoulders and powerful arms displayed by the simple shirt with rolled up sleeves. Together with his grave expression, it reminded her how different they were and how inexperienced she was with the social conduct of dwarves.
There had been instances when they had spoken and laughed freely together. Now she could not remember how those moments had come about. She hardly dared speak. Perhaps he had taken offense to her speaking her mind last time they met?
Then she mentally shook herself. She had been hired to do a job, and she would do it, regardless of whether she was comfortable in her employer's company or not.
She unfolded the other coats for him to look at. The first was a bluish purple with silver beading. The second was an earthy, dark brown with turquoise accents. The third was the colour of anthracite with red jasper stone decorations.
He did not touch them or comment at all, merely nodded in approval at each. She took his silence as a good sign. That meant she would not need to change them and could get on with the remaining nine.
"Would you like to try it on?" she asked where she stood holding the grey coat by the shoulders. He put his cup down and stood in front of her. She helped him into it, tugging on it a bit to make it fall evenly. She moved around him, looking at her hands adjusting the coat, never at him.
"Is it supposed to feel like this?" he suddenly asked.
Hanah froze.
"This loose?" he added.
She exhaled. "It's outerwear. You're meant to wear layers underneath, remember?"
"Layers," he muttered. "Right."
Hanah tightened the lacings under the arms to make it a bit smaller. She had put them in especially for this reason. She took a few steps away and knelt down to check that the bottom was in line with the floor, then she came to stand in front of him, checking the fastenings and the belt loops.
"I thought a belt would be best," she said. "Otherwise they'll look like formless, tacky, robes of temple priests. I brought some with me that you can choose from, if you don't prefer your own, of course. Included in the price."
"Is this how it's going to be now?" he asked.
"What?" She feared he had found some flaw in her design. She looked the coat over, trying to see what it could be, but she found nothing.
"We continue to do business, all the while you refuse to look me in the eye?" His voice was rougher than usual. Of course he would think it was rude of her to avoid his gaze when they spoke, and she recognized a challenge in his words.
She looked at him, and almost wished she had not. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, like he was waiting for an explanation or an apology.
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, anger boiled up within her. The only reason there was now an issue was because he had felt the need to share his thoughts on education and worldliness. And it made her feel small and ignorant, though she would never admit it even to herself.
This was good, Hanah thought. She needed a firm line to keep to when it came to Lord Fíli, and he had far too easily created a sense of friendliness between them. But they were not friends. She worked for him—nothing more, nothing less.
"I'm lookin' at my work, m'lord," she said, admittedly a bit childish. "It's what I'm here for."
"You have nothing to say?" He seemed surprised now, or was he provoking her?
"If you have something to say, you may. This is your study. Say whatever you like." She shrugged and refocused on her work. She could see his chest rising as he took a deep breath.
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Hanah stepped back and crossed her arms in front of her, looking at him with her chin raised. She kept her expression flat and waited.
Lord Fíli threw his arms out, as if not knowing where to begin. "I realize," he said, "how my opinions may have come across. And. . ." He looked at a spot over her shoulder. "I understand your situation, and I have no right to judge you or your family's decisions because, technically. . ." He glanced at her and away again. "It's none of my concern."
Hanah could tell it had been difficult for him to say that, which meant he probably still stood by his opinions, only he was sorry that he had expressed them the way he had. When it was clear he was done, she slid the coat off his shoulders and folded it.
Her anger drained away, but now he had tipped the scale. He had apologized—well, as good of an apology someone like her could expect from a noble. He backed off in respect for her and her family. Now she could not deny him the same courtesy.
When she was ready to leave, she turned toward him.
Lord Fíli had sat down in a chair by the fire, watching the flames, the silver cup once more in his hand.
"I'm not married," she said.
His head turned to her suddenly, as if he had forgotten she was in the room.
"The peltmaster was our father. He died last winter. We never told anyone, because we. . . I didn't think we could make a livin' on our own."
He stood then and came towards her. "The work speaks for itself. Who cares about who made it?"
Hanah pursed her lips and shook her head. "I was also afraid of what could happen if people knew two girls lived alone out there."
His hands closed into fists at his sides.
"And besides, who would pay two hundred silver pieces for a coat made by bairns?"
"But now you're here, selling just fine."
She nodded and cleared her throat. "But that's not why I'm telling you this. I couldn't. . . I didn't want you to think I would be with a man like that, who would. . . do those things you said."
They were silent a moment.
"I'm sorry about you father," he said. "I lost my father when I was very young."
"How, if you don't mind. . .?"
"In battle against orcs, a long time ago. How did your father die?"
She cringed inwardly. Her father had not died anywhere near as valiantly or honourably as that. Hanah thought of the phrase people around Blackwater had used to describe it. "The rabbit curse."
"Sorry—the what?" His eyebrows rose almost comically fast.
"You know, when hunters are out in the winter, they only eat what they catch. After a while they die from eating the same thing for weeks on end."
"Right. I've heard of that." His eyebrows were pulled down in a deep frown and he nodded in serious understanding, but the braids of his mustache twitched, his lips were pursed, and she could see his nostrils moving as if his face tensed up. Was he holding back a laugh?
"It's not funny," Hanah protested.
"No," he agreed, shaking his head emphatically. "Of course. Absolutely not. Sounds awful. It's just. . . the way you said it. The rabbit curse. It's maybe. . . a little bit funny?"
It may have been a bad way to explain it. Out of context, she herself found the phrase stirring a strange mix of emotions within her. Sorrow for her father, but also a bubble of laughter at the absurd nickname connected to the stangest of diseases, and then astonishment that she was even capable of laughter in relation to anything about her father, and a sensation of shame for letting out a baffled half-chuckle, half-gasp, in the situation.
"No, it's not," she maintained, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her.
"No, no. Obviously a horrible business. I completely agree." He sounded as if this had truly been his opinion the whole time, but the sparkle in his eyes had not been there before. "Shall we shake on it?" He reached out his hand.
"Why?" They had not made a business deal during their meeting. Why did he think a handshake was appropriate?
"To confirm our total agreement and to put any old vexations to rest."
Sounded reasonable, and Hanah did not want to cause further tension by refusing, however strange she thought it was that dwarves expected females to shake their hands.
She reached out and took his hand. Like before, his big, warm hand enveloped hers and, like before, they steadied the handshake by taking hold of each others' elbows.
But when she let go, he did not. Instead, he turned her hand over and raised it to his mouth. Before she had time to register what he was doing, his lips brushed her knuckles. Her chest tightened. The sensation of his warm breath and the scratch of his beard on her skin was still there a long moment after he let go.
He did not say anything after that, so she guessed she was excused.
"Right. I'll be. . ." She turned to the door, but remembered her manners and stopped before walking out. "Good evening, m'lord," she said hurriedly, and bowed her head.
"Evening, Miss Hanah."