A/N: Wren's dialog provided by the incomparable kkolmakov. Thank you for the help, 'cause this chapter just wouldn't gel without you. If you need more ThoWren goodness, you should really check out her page.
The money pouches being flung up and down the caravan line were no surprise to Beryl. What did surprise her was Gloin moving his pony up next to her.
"That was a clever bit with the ponies." Gloin didn't actually look at her, but seemed to be studying the road ahead.
"Thank you." Beryl waited, she really had no idea what to say.
"It was a hard thing, losing an entire branch of the family. Even these days, it worried some of us like a sore tooth. To have a bit of it come back, and as a Hobbit no less, takes a bit of getting used to." Beryl wondered if ever there would come a time the Dwarves wouldn't be able to floor her. It was a good thing she was riding, else he'd noticed her frozen in place. She could tell it cost him to admit that much, and it explained his strange aloofness. She could understand, even respect it. She still didn't have a clue as to what to say to it.
She was saved by the shriek of a woman waking to find herself Not Where She Belonged. Beryl turned her attention to the flailing figure in a laughing Dwalin's arms. Her eyes begged Gloin's forgiveness as she turned her pony to attend this latest kerfuffle.
"Dwalin, what did you do?" Beryl sidled her horse next to his, hoping to keep the whirlwind that used to be a sensible healer from breaking her neck in a fall off the pony.
"Nothing! She asked if breakfast were ready, an' I told her she slept through it. She didn't care for that." To say Dwalin had his hands full would have been a gross understatement. That he managed to keep his voice even was a testament to the Dwarf's temperament, stamina, and strength.
"Why am I on a pony?!" Finally! Intelligible words Beryl could answer.
"You agreed last night to provide your services for this venture, since one healer didn't seem enough. Do you remember any of last night?" Beryl kept her voice conversational, hoping to help calm Wren's nerves. Fat lot of good it did her. She could already see Thorin guiding his pony back to them, but apparently, the rest of the Company was told to keep moving. That was promising.
"Beryl Baggins, under no circumstances I could have even considered going on a quest!" The red haired healer was industriously wiggling in the arms of the tattooed warrior, who was holding her firmly while pretending to look elsewhere.
"Shall I show you your signature on the contract?" Beryl pulled the contract out of her breast pocket, and shook it at her playfully.
"What is going on here?" And there's the long nosed twit now. Beryl closed her eyes and prayed for wits enough to get through this in one piece with all players in place. Beryl eyed Wren's sudden lack of motion with some amusement. She currently resembled an exhausted landed fish, down to the silent and gaping mouth. Come to think of it, she'd lost all color, too. Well well.
"Our darling healer awoke without remembering she agreed to come along, and has had a sudden fit of homesickness." Beryl kept her pony between Wren and Thorin. She wasn't sure why it seemed important, but she wasn't going to start second guessing her gut. It'd gotten her this far in one piece.
"Because that is where she belongs," The Dwarf pointed at Wren with his hand still holding a reign. Wren's turn up nose twitched and she sat up straighter.
"She can decide for herself!" The healer apparently had found her voice. And her backbone.
The Grump finally turned and looked at her. Well, apparently, one good insult from the twit and she found her courage. Glassy eyes were now narrowed and spitting fire, the chin in the air daring him to say something else stupid. Beryl sat back, trying desperately to hide her glee. If she were lucky, Thorin's antagonism could very well do her job for her.
"And she wants to go home, since she is clearly unwelcome!" With a twist and a slide to make the best escape artists jealous, Wren freed herself of Dwalin's hold and promptly landed in a mud puddle seat first.
Or maybe not, thought a despairing Beryl. "Wren, it's too far to walk."
"I am not a child and not sickly! I will manage," the healer threw over her shoulder and kept on walking. Beryl nudged her pony after her. She noticed Thorin also followed, apparently mesmerized by Wren's mud coated posterior.
"Yes, and the goblin infested bandits will be entirely too happy you're not a child or helpless, I'm sure." mocked Beryl dryly. "Or do you forget how we met in the first place? The reason you agreed to come last night?"
"I agreed on nothing!" Wren's voice was heard much less now, she was apparently a quick walker. "I was drunk for the first time in my life! And if I do get gutted by goblins, you can blame yourself, Beryl Baggins!"
"And much more honest with yourself while you were. I suppose you don't remember admiring Thorin's curves when you signed, either." Beryl hissed in a private voice. She trotted her pony alongside the miffed healer. Showing her the signatures together on the contract.
Wren dug her heels into the mud of the road.
"I would never admire any man's… curves!" the healer's voice was squeaky. "I do not admire.. men in general! What are you?.. What?.." Wren sputtered like a teakettle losing steam. Beryl waited until she quieted like a ship becalmed, and then laid in with the heavy broadsides.
"Firstly, you did sign, because you know those fools can't stay out of trouble without appropriate supervision. Namely supervision provided by you and me. I had hoped another person with sense would help.
"Secondly, as torn up over the shape Thorin came in, I thought you might understand why having another healer was vital. Apparently, you fooled us both last night.
"So, go ahead, walk all the way back to Bree by yourself. You'll get yourself killed, be an oathbreaker, and leave these twits to the tender mercies of the road, which you had promised last night you would help see them through!" Beryl sat on her pony, chest heaving and eyes stinging. Until she had said all that, she hadn't realized just how important it all was to her. It was rather eye opening.
The healer stood still, her back to Beryl and her shoulders tense. She then slowly turned around, and to her shock Beryl saw a small smile on the healer's face.
"And have you packed my healer's sack, Beryl Baggins?" If she thought to catch Beryl out so easy, she was in for disappointment.
"I had another healer check your sack to make sure it was complete, and I packed your travel bags myself. They're waiting on your pony. So yes, your duties in Bree are covered, since they knew you were going." The healer cocked her head and gave Beryl a measuring look.
"You do think yourself very smart, don't you?"
"I don't know about smart, but prepared? Managing a village of Hobbits will teach you preparedness." Wren laughed softly and shook her head.
"Something tells me, managing thirteen Dwarves might be a more laborious task..." She sighed and looked down the road behind Beryl. Thorin sat in the distance, studying the surroundings carefully, studiously not watching the women in the road.
"I don't doubt it." Beryl's eyes narrowed on the Dwarven headache most definitely Not Watching them. "I'll need all the help I can get."
"Very well, I will go with you," Wren stubbornly jerked her chin up, "But only because I do not break my promises even if they were made in a completely muddled state. And no mentioning of any curves!" She pointed her small finger at Beryl's nose. It was all Beryl could do not to dance in glee.
"I give you my solemn oath. No mention of curves shall pass my lips." Stopping the small grin twitching at the corners of her mouth was well beyond Beryl's capabilities at the moment.
Mumbling something about "no more ale ever again" and "curse my promises" Wren marched back towards the company. On the way she passed the Grump who was busy fixing his pony's nosepiece as if it were the most important thing in the world. She walked by, head held high, and her back straight.
"Thorin," she spoke in a strained, pointedly cold voice.
"Honorable healer," he returned the line in the same tone, with a small nod, and she reached her pony and climbed on it.
Beryl was ready to soak both their heads.
