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Chapter 26 –– Unexpected Defenders
After a long moment of gasping for breath, an eternity perhaps, Hemery felt hands on her cheeks. She blinked but could not focus enough to see who it was. The hands went to her shoulders, trying to help her to her feet.
She cried out in a broken, hoarse wheeze, as much as her paralyzed lungs allowed, at the pain bursting in the left shoulder. As she raised her good arm to shield it, they seemed to understand not to touch it.
Not until she was carried away from the upside-down world and the blinking lights did Hem know for sure that it was Raín who helped her. The blinking lights were not dancing bubbles anymore but transformed into tall burning flames in her periphery. The ringing in her ears lessened to uncover the shouting of a dozen voices, the creaking and breaking of wood as it crumbled under a heavy load, and splashing as the wood fell into water.
"What was . . . Was it . . . Where's . . .?" Hemery could hardly form words much less questions.
"Hush, Miss," Raín said gruffly. "No speaking now."
Hem did not know how long she was made to lay still in Raín's arms. Her head and shoulder hurt so much that it was a relief not to engage with her surroundings. She gathered that something horrible had happened at the storehouse, but she ignored it, selfishly. She kept her eyes closed, concentrating on breathing and keeping nausea at bay, letting herself be moved to wherever Raín wanted to move her.
A long while later, she realised she was brought back to her chambers. She heard Vannur's voice––forced calm but clipped with ire––as Raín carried her upstairs. Bror was probably there with them, only staying quiet.
Raín laid Hem down, and they tended to something on her head. Hem kept her eyes closed at all times, finding light and movement to disturb her equilibrium, only answering queries with humming or grunting short words.
For the first time, she truly trusted her guards with her life. She allowed them to tear open her shirt to examine her shoulder, to touch and prod any part of her, despite the pain. And she was grateful. For the first time, she felt gratitude for their unconditional presence and care.
At one point, Hemery closed her fingers around the hand nearest to her, halting its movements to catch their attention.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly, not bearing to speak louder. She knew they heard her.
"Don't bother with that now," Vannur said from the other side of the room.
"Raín?" Hem insisted, tightening her hold which probably was pretty weak at the moment, anyhow.
"Dwarves are made of tough flesh, Miss," Raín muttered. "Though I can't say the same for the damned fools inside that storehouse."
"Shhh," Vannur hushed them, pressing her palm on Hem's good shoulder. "There's time for that later. Let's set that bone right first."
Silently, Hem thanked the gods that they were all right, and tears of exhaustion and gratitude escaped her closed eyes.
When they were almost done tending to her head, Kíli burst through the door like a hurricane. Hem knew it was he because he had cursed up a storm already on the stairs that was heard all the way to her chambers.
She felt a blanket swiftly cover her upper body, and then Vannur hissed at Kíli.
"Sire, your discretion, please. And keep your voice down." None but King Thorin's personal guards would dare speak to a prince that way.
Hem cringed thinking about what he would have to say. This was just one more occasion for the Durins and their soldiers to admonish her for her negligence. Only this time, she had put others in danger as well. She supposed she should have had more patience, waited, but then perhaps the men from the storehouse would have gotten away. There was no right or wrong anymore; everything was just impossible, all the time.
"Report," Kíli demanded brusquely, his usual lighthearted humour gone. Here it comes, Hem thought, keeping her eyes closed.
Hem was about to reply when Raín spoke. "Miss Skinner was looking into the whereabouts of the wanted man, at a storehouse in the Ashes––"
"I know that much," Kíli interrupted. "What in the bloody name of Mahal happened when you got there?" he hissed. "There's nought left of but timber floating on the lake and a great hole in the dock."
"Booby trap," Raín explained. "Black powder primed to explode if anyone tried to enter."
"Id uthrab?" Kíli asked suspicious.
"She led us there, but she's not to blame for the damage," Raín replied. "The thief's the one who set it off. I don't think it was intentional. She's almost worse off than the wretches who were inside," she added with a mutter.
Hemery wanted to know what Raín meant by that, but she did not have the strength to raise her voice enough to ask.
"I don't care about them," Kíli said. "How is Hem?"
"Dislocated collarbone, perhaps some bruised ribs," Vannur stated. "But the worst is the blow to the head. You'll have your full report in the morning."
Kíli swore and started moving again. His heavy boots made hard, rhythmic thuds against the floor that reverberated through Hem's skull. She frowned and raised her palm as if to make a soothing gesture, hoping someone was paying attention.
"And sit down if you must stay," Vannur added. "You're disturbing Miss Hemery."
Hem felt her blankets being shifted, a weight settling beside her. A bowl was set down on the nightstand, with liquid inside, judging by the sound, water probably.
"Now, let's set that bone straight," Vannur said.
Hands held her chest still. Fingers ran along her skin over the bone. It did not hurt as much anymore, merely a dull throbbing in her joints.
Then the fingers pinched around the bone, pressing down in a sharp motion that felt like a stab of a needle into her very marrow. Hem opened her eyes and screamed. A short, cracked, surprised howl that turned into a gasp. A muted tock echoed through her ribcage. The fingers let go and were replaced by a cold, wet cloth.
The stabbing sensation faded into a persistent burn, and she finally drew breath, turning her head away from the pain, pressing the side of her face into the pillow. Then her eyes registered Kíli who sat by the bed; he had been the one to hold her down on that end to keep her from moving.
He watched her gravely. She did not like that look on his face.
"I'm not dead," Hem jested tiredly, but chose to close her eyes again. "Though I almost wish I was." Her head did not approve of any movements.
"You've survived orcs and Blackwater spies," Kíli said. "You can take a little knock on the head."
Careful fingers brushed at the hair around the wound in her skull.
"It may not look like much, but it really hurts," she moaned pitifully.
"Well, I hope it knocked some sense into of you, at least. Running around Lake Town at night, never a good idea."
"Kee. Not now." Hem frowned, not wanting to hear more disapproval. "I had guards with me. How was I supposed to know––"
"You were supposed to wait for me. Maybe you've had some sense knocked out?"
"Shut up before my head splits open. Unlike yours, I actually find mine useful and would like to keep it as it is."
Kíli gave a deep sigh, and Hem stole a glance at him beneath low eyelids. This time, his face was softer, a hint of a smile playing at his mouth.
"Uncle will kill me," he said, shaking his head.
A healer was called who gave Hemery a strong tea to help with the pain and to sleep. When the draught wore off, the pain in her head woke her. At her sleepy lament, a new cup was put to her lips by familiar hands.
"Hanah?" she managed pitifully after swallowing.
"Shh. Sleep. I'm here," Hanah answered. "Everythin' is alright."
Soft lips pressed against the back of her hand, blankets were tucked around her form, and a hand closed around hers, warm and real like an anchor. Hem fell back into painless sleep.
"The healer said it was fine," Hanah whispered.
The words slowly entered Hemery's mind through the fogs of sleep.
"They checked her sight and asked her all kinds of questions," she went on, impatiently. "When she wakes up, she'll probably be in pain again. There's no harm in letting her rest as much as possible. I'll not wake her before she comes to by herself."
Who was she speaking to? Why were there people in her chambers? She wanted to go back to sleep.
Hem attempted to turn on her side, but a burning in her shoulder like red-hot coal on her sinews made her jerk back, sharply drawing in breath through her nose and frowning.
"Hem?" Hanah's voice beckoned. A hand on her arm. "Try not to move."
She could not have moved her bad arm even if she wanted to, so that was fine. And her head still throbbed, though less than before, thankfully.
"Is there anymore of that nice tea?" Hem asked.
"Don't sleep yerself to death, ladybug," a gruff voice said.
"Dwalin?"
Hem cracked one eye open. The room was gloomy and dark, only a few candles burning. Night, she gathered. Hanah sat on the left side of her bed while Dwalin sat on the right.
"What are you doin' here?" she asked automatically, though she could guess the reason.
"Who else would have the patience to sit watch by yer sickbed only to be greeted with insolence?"
"'S nice to see you too," Hem slurred, groggily. "How 'bout a drink for a poor weaklin'?"
Dwalin huffed out a laugh at that.
"Later," Hanah replied. "You need to eat somethin' before you go back to sleep."
She brought a bowl of lukewarm soup up to Hem's chin. The broth that earlier would have turned her stomach now held promises of heaven in its scent. Hanah fed her, like a child, spoon after spoon of potatoes and carrots, and then soaked up the rest of the broth for her with a bread roll. Then she drank a cup of water, not realising how thirsty she was until it was empty.
"How long have I slept?" Hem asked Hanah when she felt more awake and less like a dying cripple.
"A day. Since early this mornin'––it's after midnight now."
She lit a lantern on the table. Hem hummed dismissively and shielded her eyes against it. Hanah moved it to the floor by her chair where its glare did not reach Hem.
"How are you feelin'?"
"My head doesn't feel like an anvil in Dwalin's forge anymore," Hem said. "It's simmered down to just a regular, murderous headache now. And I can't move my left arm. I can use my hand but nothin' above the wrist."
"It's probably the swellin'," Hanah said. "The healer warned about that. It should be better in a few days."
Hemery sighed. She was in for a dull few days, most likely staying in bed.
"You'll not yell at me?" she looked between her sister and Dwalin.
Dwalin just stared back, looking as disapproving as usual, no more and no less. Hanah shrugged.
"I think you're experiencin' enough punishment for your carelessness as it is, don't you?" Hanah said.
"I hope so because I don't think I could stand anythin' worse."
"Well," Dwalin began, "there might be somethin' worse for ye to look forward to."
Hem met his eye, apprehensive.
"Thorin's here," Dwalin went on. "Wanted to see ye as soon as ye wake up."
A thrill of warmth as well as anxiety went through her. "Dear Mahal . . ." And poor Kíli who had to face him first.
"You don't have to, you know," Hanah assured her.
It was not that Hem did not want to see Thorin; it was just the circumstances that were always so unfortunate.
"He's probably sleepin' at this hour. Maybe he can wait just a little while longer. . . ?" she said hesitantly.
"He can wait for the mountain to grow," Dwalin said. "I care not."
Hem smiled. "Thanks for the backup, Dwa."
"Let him stew. Ye're not his wife yet," he reminded, settling back in his chair.
No, but soon. Hem would rather not talk about it right now.
"Have you heard anythin' about what happened?" she asked them. "I mean, what happened afterwards?"
"No, nothin' besides your direct involvement," said Hanah. "And frankly, I don't care." She sighed, tiredly.
Hanah had most likely come from Erebor as soon as she had heard about Hem's . . . accident. A long trip, a long day, and a long night just to wait on her.
"I just want all this to be over with so you can come home."
Hem gripped her sister's hand. "I know."
Dwalin rose from his seat, going to stand by the window, looking out onto the dark streets.
"Kíli's been busy all day with Bain," he said. "A lot's goin' on. They're bringin' people in––interrogations, arrests. The courthouse is in a right state."
He did not seem to approve of their proceedings, or perhaps he was just annoyed that he was not allowed to butt in where he thought his expertise was needed.
Hem sighed. "I should be down there."
"Ye're not goin' anywhere until the healer says otherwise," Dwalin growled at her over his shoulder.
Hanah just shook her head meaningfully, not needing to articulate her agreement.
"I know. It's not like I can move properly, anyway," Hem said. "I just wished I knew everyone was alright. I think the guards were mostly unharmed, but no one has said anythin' about Lida."
Hanah tilted her head in thought.
"My guide," Hem elaborated.
"Oh," Hanah simply said but seemed reluctant to say anything else. Reluctant––not ignorant.
"What?"
"Ye mean the thief?" Dwalin questioned.
"Aye, but don't call her that. Her name's Lida. What news of her?"
"Heard from Kee that she'd been taken to the house of healin'. No word since."
"Oh, no," she groaned. Hem feared for her. Lida had been closer to the blast, after all. "If you have the opportunity, could you go and inquire about her? I need to know how badly she's injured."
"Just save yer strength for healin'," Dwalin said. "Let Bain and Kee worry about the rest."
"Please," Hem insisted. "This is important. She has no one to look after her, and I'm the one who put her at risk. Could you do this for me––for my peace of mind?"
Dwalin muttered to himself by the window before answering. "Very well. I'll make sure she's alive for ye."
"Thanks, Dwa."
He gave her a long glance and then finally grunted back in confirmation.
"I'll inform Thorin that ye're lucid and have been fortunate enough to keep yer arms and legs. That'll pacify him for the moment."
With that, Dwalin left Hem's chambers.
Hanah smiled at her. "He's been so worried. Been wearin' a hole in the floor outside with his pacin'."
"And you haven't?" Hem asked.
"Of course, but I have no problem makin' you feel guilty by admittin' that I've been worried sick. He does, though. Always have to be the untouchable, stone-cold dwarf."
"Don't they all?" Hem smiled back.
Hanah's smile faded after a moment.
"I hate to say it," she began, "but you'll have to be more careful in the future."
"Oh, gods." Hem scoffed. "Not you too. I'm already walkin' on fuckin' eggshells, tip toein' through the tulips with these bloody guards," she grumbled. "I can't be more careful. Shit just happens."
Hanah shook her head. "Then I guess you'll have to start trustin' people more."
"What do you mean?"
"Send your guards to check up on things while you stay put. That's what they're for. That way you're all happy."
"Accordin' to Thorin, that's not what they're for," Hem amended.
"Then send Bain's. Again––I don't care. Just send anyone else, and if they're stupid enough to go, then let them. It's not your problem––everythin's not your problem," Hanah repeated for emphasis.
"But this is what I do, why Bain chose me. Goin' places, talkin' to people––that's what I'm for."
"He didn't choose you to just send on risky errands at night." Hanah's eyes bore into her. "You're not expendable. You knew it was dangerous to go, and you still went, though you could have easily sent Bain's or Kíli's men."
"They could've gotten away––" Hem struggled.
"Then you would've found another way. These people, thinkin' themselves powerful, always makes mistakes." Hanah shrugged, enforcing her previous words; she did not care about the butcher and his business. "And you would not be lyin' here right now. Your friend, the thief, would not be laid up at the healers as we speak."
Hem had no argument for that.
"You're good," Hanah went on. "A good fighter and a good diplomat, but you're no soldier. Let the guards and the soldiers do their job, and stay out of harm's way, please. I'm sick of worryin' about you."
"Just because I'm not an ordinary smith anymore––because I now work for Bain, and I'm about to marry Thorin––I have to shut myself in, stop doin' things, stop bein' myself?" Hem questioned petulantly.
She knew she was being childish and had been well aware that these conflicts would arise eventually. Subconsciously, her sister allowed her to voice it all freely, like when she was a child and could rail against everything and anything.
"You've never been an ordinary smith," Hanah explained, unmoved and unapologetic. "Not since Father died. Ordinary smiths aren't in as much danger in their entire lifetime as you've been this last year. It goes hand in hand––people know your name, know your face, and nothin' will ever be the same."
Hanah was right, Hem admitted to herself. Her actions put her in danger, and what concessions she had made thus far were not cutting it. She would have to work harder at staying alive from now on.
Hemery slept a few more hours with a new draught of tea. She woke again at noon. Hanah was there with bread, cheese, and ordinary ginger and lemon tea. After eating what Hanah considered an appropriate amount, she cleaned her teeth and washed with Hanah's help. Her hair was especially challenging, but it had to be done; in its tresses hid not only dried blood but also dirt and grime. Cleaning it took a while since they had to keep water out of the wound.
She had managed to sit up while washing, but Hem lay back down on the bed in a fresh nightshirt afterwards, all her energy drained and her headache starting up again.
She had just begun to relax when a sound disturbed her. A sharp crack, like a snap of wood in a fire but stronger. It came from Hem's left, from the window. Then another.
"What in the bloody halls of . . ." Hanah muttered, moving to look out.
"Is it a bird or somethin'?" Hem asked, throwing an arm over her eyes to shield them from the light when Hanah opened first the curtain and then the window.
Hem undoubtedly heard birds as the window was pushed open––as well as dogs and carts and people's voices from the street below.
"It's Kíli and Dwalin," Hanah said, surprised. Then she called down to them, "What do you think you're doin'? Will you pay for the glass if it breaks?"
"Heads up," Hem heard Kíli's voice, distant as if he spoke from two storeys down––which he probably was. "Uncle is on his way," he warned.
"Oh, dear," Hanah muttered, pulling the window shut. "Think the jolly fellow wants to cheer you up?" she asked sarcastically. "Doesn't he realise you need rest?"
Hanah promptly tidied up the room, stacked dishes onto the tray with which they had been brought, stuffed Hem's dirty laundry into a bag, and removed the bathwater by emptying the basin out the window, aiming for the canal below. Being back at The Galley brought back the chambermaid in Hanah, Hem thought amused.
Half of the water landed in the canal, half on the docks––as was common in Lake Town; it would seep through the wide cracks in the wood anyway so no one cared. Unfortunately, Kíli had apparently not moved from his spot beneath the window and yelped as he caught some of the spray.
"Have a care, woman!" he cried indignantly, not used to Lake Town's domestic methods.
"Well, what are you loiterin' down there for?" Hanah barked, annoyed, as if he had inconvenienced her and not the other way around. "Stop leanin'. Don't you have somewhere to be?"
Keeping back laughter made Hem's chest hurt.
Leaving the window, Hanah came over to straighten Hem's blankets around her before there was a knock on the door. Instead of answering, Hanah leaned further over the bed.
"Remember," she whispered, "you don't have to. I can tell him you're sleepin' or tell him to bugger off––whichever you prefer."
Hem smiled. "It's fine. Let him in."
Hanah nodded. "Alright."
She opened the door for King Thorin.
"Your Highness," she greeted, bowing her head politely. "Come in."
"Thank you, Miss Hanah," he grunted, stepping inside with heavy strides.
His eyes swept the room, landing on Hemery in her bed for a moment and then away. He came to stand in the middle of the room, face blank, seemingly taking in his surroundings––the furnishings, the low fire, the dimness.
When he did not speak, Hem looked at Hanah by the door.
"You should rest as well, Han," she said, giving Hanah a thin smile. It was returned in a similarly tense fashion.
"I'll come back later," Hanah promised. Then she left, closing the door behind her.
Hemery turned her attention to Thorin. He was watching the windows, noticing the slight breeze allowed in.
"You will catch your death in this draft," he muttered, pulling the window shut with a jerk and a twist of the handle. "Still frost out." He pulled the curtain closed, as well, to soften the beam of sunlight pushing in across the room.
Then he sat down in the chair to the left where Hanah had sat earlier. He was not looking directly at her, more occupied with rubbing his hands together absently.
"So," he said, "You are awake at last."
Not a question that demanded an answer, but still.
"Aye." Hem felt like making excuses for some reason. "I haven't really had the strength for visitors."
"Visitors?" Thorin glanced at her with a frown. "No, I suppose not." He looked away again. "How are you?"
"I'll live. Dislocated collarbone, some bruises––"
"I received the report," he interrupted. "I know you're injured––but how are you?"
"Right," Hem said. He had gotten the report from his guards; now he wanted it from her.
"Rattled. Helpless. Worried about what's goin' on out there." She motioned with her chin towards the window. "I haven't seen Kíli since yesterday mornin'. I've no idea what's happenin'."
"Are you in pain?" he asked.
She could still feel the sluggishness in her limbs from the tea, but the agony in her head had not returned. It was merely a simmering smolder––at the moment.
"Not right now," she said.
He nodded.
"Will you tell me some news?" Hem requested. "What are Kíli and Bain doin'?"
Thorin leaned forward, still looking down at his hands as he spoke.
"You found him," he said. "Or at least his storage. Not all of it sunk into the lake––some spoils remained. Goods from other thefts carried out during the year. Only a fraction of the black powder was recovered which means the rest has been distributed elsewhere."
"Sold?" Hem asked.
"Perhaps," he replied. "Or stored somewhere else."
"Then it wasn't all used in the . . . incident?" She chose her words carefully, not wanting to trivialise her involvement but also not draw attention to it if she could help it.
He shook his head. "That was merely the work of a few pounds. A barrel full would have much greater consequences, to say nothing of five of them. Still, priming the trap, they could have no conception of what kind of blast it would produce. Otherwise, the fools would not have lingered in the vicinity."
"What of the men inside?" She was almost too afraid to ask.
"Two men died in the collapse."
Hem was taken aback, not sure what to feel about this. Death was always unfortunate, Thorin used to say. Perhaps seeing it as such would be sympathy enough. And they were not completely innocent men after all, themselves having rigged the black powder to blow.
"There may have been others present, though none but two were apprehended in their escape," he went on. "Faced with an official inquiry consisting of Kíli, Bain, myself, and the magistrates at the courthouse, their nerves did not hold long. One confessed to being part of the robbery––he was identified by the bookkeeper––but claimed the one they call the butcher was killed in the collapse. However," Thorin paused, glancing at her again but averting his eyes soon enough, "Beren was shown the bodies of the men and swore none of them was the man he met with."
Damn it, Hem swore to herself, fisting a hand in her blanket.
"The man may have attempted to protect his employer," he added, "but it actually worked in our favour. Rumours spread of the butcher's demise at his own hand, and hence others have been much cooperative, opening their doors and admitting to working with him––under threat of violence from the butcher, of course, not their own free will. The host of one of the pleasure houses that Kíli investigated helped identify several of the butcher's men who Bain consequently imprisoned. He has begun to unravel a tightly spun web, interrogating one prisoner at a time."
A knot inside Hem loosened a bit––not completely, but a little. They were moving in the right direction. She tried not to think about whether it all could have been resolved without demolishing a building and killing two men.
"Could I see the records of the magistrate hearings?" she asked.
Thorin hesitated. "You should not trouble yourself until you are healed."
"I wouldn't have to move from this bed," she attempted to compromise. "I could ask Vannur to collect––"
"Your guard has been relieved of duty."
"What?" she said, confused. She had a feeling he did not mean 'relieved' as in that their watch was ended merely for the day.
"Not all of them," Thorin went on. "But the ones who escorted you to the storehouse are suspended until we can establish whether regulations were adhered to or not, in order to rule out harmful intent and general carelessness."
Hem could not believe her ears. "But . . . Where are they now?"
"Returned to Erebor. Balin will oversee the interviews and the reports, deciding on possible reprimands or corrections."
"But that could take days––weeks," Hem calculated.
"Bror and the Iron Wolves will cover the rest of your stay here," he added, as if he believed her puzzlement was due to concern for her own wellbeing. If so, he could not be more wrong.
"Vannur wasn't even there that night. Her shift was ended," she argued, ignoring his comment. "She and Bror were sleepin'. Just Raín and some Wolves came with me. And Raín really did her best to protect me, specifically advisin' me that we should not delay. It was I––I decided to linger, talkin' to Lida instead of heedin' Raín recommendation. She did nothin' wrong––"
"That remains to be seen," Thorin countered, clearly having made up his mind about the inquest. "Vannur is the superior officer of your security detail. She is responsible for the others' conduct regardless if she is present or not. This is the way of things."
Poor Vannur and poor Raín, Hem thought. Though she did not believe such inquests were rare, she figured a suspension from one's duties was still a disgrace, however temporary. Or perhaps such an instance indeed was rare when a subject of a guard's watch was actually injured––like Hemery had been––judging by how severely failure was regarded.
Not for the first time, Hem sent a thankful thought and a blessing to her guards. They were the most hardworking people she knew, on shifts ranging from eight to twelve hours at a time, six days a week. And now they were under investigation. Hem could imagine none more undeserving of doubt.
"If you wish to help them return to full duty as soon as possible," Thorin said, "you may document your experience of the night in question in depth, as you also will be asked to bear witness to their actions preceding and during the event. A useful way to spend your indisposition."
Hem forced herself to relax her jaw and brow, since it worsened the tension in her skull, reluctantly conceding that his words were reasonable, no matter how infuriating. It was not totally Thorin's fault that Vannur, Raín, and the others were suspended; it was the proper procedure of things, existing to keep people safe. Though Thorin––king that he was––was well within his power to nullify the rule, just this once, if he was so inclined. Clearly, he felt no inclination whatsoever to do so or to accept Hem's assurance of Raín's probity and valour. Not even Vannur whom Thorin had employed as his personal guard was above suspicion.
"You don't believe me?" Hem asked carefully. Uncertainly.
Thorin sighed, unwilling to engage the issue. "I believe you think they are beyond reproach. But unconditionally trust your judge of character? You who are known to take strays from the market under your wings, nourishing thieves at your breast." He sounded almost amused.
She had indeed paid Lida, a known thief, to perform tasks for her, but she did not approve of the likeness.
"You called me a stray once upon a time," she snapped.
"The uthrab, Tarren Low, Brage's daughter––the list grows long," he argued methodically. "A bleeding heart has no place in a court room."
Hem knew Thorin believed in a pragmatic approach to leadership; the best solution is the one that results in the least problems for the most people. This was a lesson learned after two hundred years of trying to rule a nation. It was not easily bargained for empathy. Sometimes, however, Hem feared he did not see the people for all the rocks in his mountain and consequently forsook the moral action for the overtly prudent one.
"That's exactly where it is needed most," she insisted, impassioned.
Faltering in his resolve, Thorin shot her a fleeting look––one of the few during his whole visit––but got out of his chair and turned away before she could decipher the expression in his eyes.
"As soon as Kíli learns the end of the remaining black powder, I'll be expecting your immediate return to Erebor," he said evenly.
The veracity of the sentence was the only thing that stopped Hem from gaping in speechless rage at his arrogance and presumption. As it was, his rude reminder of her obligation to answer his call––together with his pronounced belief that Kíli ought to solve the question of the missing barrels of black powder, as opposed to her––met with silent acquiescence from Hemery. This because his impolite not-quite-request rang true; she had promised to return when the robbery was solved or when the month of their engagement had passed, whichever came first. Even if she had the strength––which she did not––and even if she had the desire––which she did not––she could not have argued with him over his infuriating bluntness.
Sullenly giving him the benefit of a doubt on the second point, surmising that Kíli would learn the location of the black powder the moment she herself did, she in turn answered him coldly.
"Indeed, Your Highness." She averted her eyes, turned her face to her left, and ignored how the movement put pressure on her skull in favour of avoiding his gaze as he had avoided hers so far.
His feet moved to the door; she could tell by his footfalls. Before he opened the door to leave, he spoke again, rougher this time, as if suppressing some emotion.
"I . . ." he paused. "I wish you a swift recovery."
"Thank you," she replied blandly, still facing away from him.
The door opened and closed, leaving Hemery in silence and solitude the likes of which she had only felt in the nightmares of the past months. Thoughtfully and restlessly, she fingered her knuckles only to find them bare.
Sitting up in nameless panic, she scanned the room. Her head began to pound, matching her heart.
Where?
In an instance, no longer than three breaths, her eyes settled on the night table where the clasp Thorin had given her rested next to the grey-gemmed ring. Exhaling sharply, her hand shot out, grasped the ring, and pulled it to her chest. Holding it tightly in both hands, she laid back, relieved, willing her heart and her breathing to slow.
After a moment, she relaxed enough to open her fist and raised the ring to look at.
Such a plain, bleak, little thing. Unassuming. Worthless? Priceless.
Why had she reacted so strongly just now? Her stomach had not stopped turning quite yet. But why had she been gripped by an anxiety, stronger than that she felt at the storehouse, at the thought that she had lost it?
Hem stared at the milky stone, filmy grey like fog filling a glass globe. Swirling fog over water on a summer night.
She gasped.
Did it just . . . move? She stared at it harder, raising the ring to her face.
The grey smoke inside did indeed shift before her eyes. Clouds taking shape, morphing into a coiling creature. It slithered like a serpent around its own body until its head lifted, enlarged, and opened its maw towards her in a soundless roar. Then it disappeared in a puff.
Was it the water demon from her dream? The dream of the door?
She had no time to dwell on it because new images were conjured on the jewel's surface.
Clouds elongated to pylons, moving toward her, as if she moved between them, among them. Or perhaps between trees in a forest, she could not tell. Were there creatures hiding among the trees? Wolves or spirits hiding behind them, moving alongside her. Suddenly piercing eyes and sharp teeth lunged at the globe's ceiling.
Hem flinched, hearing the screech of the attacker.
The door opened.
She looked up. It was only Hanah, back after seeing Thorin leave, no doubt. The screeching sound was the creak of the wooden floor beneath Hanah's feet.
Hem looked down at the ring again. Its surface as calm, smooth, and still as the marble in Erebor's walls. She breathed out in relief, embarrassed to have let her get so scared by a silly trick of the light. Or perhaps a trick of her exhaustion, the head injury, or the tea––one of those factors, surely.
Silently, she slipped it on and settled back in her bed, listening to Hanah chatter about the lacking standards at The Galley since they both worked there ten years ago.
And if Hem now and then glanced curiously at the dull gem on her knuckle, she would not admit it, even to herself.