Chapter 56
Ale was busy brushing out Lady Malin's coat, freeing it of dust and falling fall leaves. Thankfully it was dry - the furs would become dreadfully heavy with rain. Rugre, Dis's maid, was cleaning out her lady's boots.
"I'm surprised it hasn't rained," remarked Rugre, "The Grey mountains are called so because of the interminable rain, the mud and the bog."
"What a dreary place," shuddered Ale, "Truly grey,"
"It is," Rugre agreed. Her folk were of Grey Mountain stock.
"Bifur is very distant," Ale remarked, catching sight of her unmistakable beau amongst the dwarves of the camp, "I think he worries for his family."
"His cousin has left, his brother's daughter's husband is missing, perhaps he should not have left."
Ale's face fell.
"I shouldn't have let him come. They need him."
"There, there," Rugre said, "I didn't say that. He loves you and there's nothing to apologize for. Everyone deserves to be loved. My own husband was a perfect dwarf mate."
She continued scraping at the shoes, pausing not for a second. Ale turned to her,
"You were lucky."
"Aye, I was. But not so lucky. He fought with the Iron Hill army and perished in the Battle for Erebor. Our son Turo died on the same day."
"My," Ale gasped.
"And so it was in their stead that I was granted the honour of being her lady's shieldmaiden by the king himself," Rugre continued, loyally. Under her cloak, she could feel the heavy steel of her sword. To most, she was nothing. A lady's maid. But she had sworn her sword and fealty to her lady.
"I have done nothing to deserve this position," Ale shook her head, "Won no battles, sacrificed nothing."
"You were engaged by Balin uzbad," Rugre corrected, "For good reason."
"I suppose," mumbled Ale.
"We all have a part to play," was Rugre's last word on the matter. It lingered in the air like the bogland mist about them.
Drof tossed and turned in the infirmary bed. One hand was bound tightly in a sling and the other sat protectively over her slightly protruding abdomen.
"Amad," she turned to her mother, who sat by awkwardly as she usually did, not knowin what to say, "They'll find him, won't they?"
She had worked herself up to a fever once or twice already, and have to be given herbs to help her calm down and rest. Various bruises were peppered on her face, shoulders, arms and torso.
"Lie down," Iga snapped, "Your father is out looking for him, as is the rest of the mountain."
She paused, regretting her harshness. Bombur was the more tender one, she an impatient parent. Then again, she had never asked to be a parent.
"He'd want you to rest," she said brusquely, not knowing how to comfort her daughter. Iga's feet were restless and she longed to be at work. Work was bliss, silence was agony. What she knew disturbed her, and she did not know how to silence Drof's pestering worries.
The merry brass distiller whistled and chugged. Elekh hummed to herself as she made notes in a small, secret notebook (a beautifully bound leather and parchment tome given to her by the king with the promise of more to come). Using her long-handled spoon, she measured herbs into a jar and looked around for the brass funnel.
"What's happening here?" Meru stepped in, basket in her arm and ready to attend to yet another labouring patient, "New medicine?"
Meru sniffed. The combination of herbs was puzzling, to say the least. She could not imagine who or what it was for. But she was a middle-aged midwife and knew how to rein in her curiousity, and her tongue.
"Personal brew for a patient," Elekh didn't turn around as she fiddled with some delicate green powders, "Fortify, strengthen... all the rest. I'm trying a new combination. Got high hopes for this one."
Meru helped herself to some packets on the shelf, getting ready to depart.
"Could you drop in to see Lallek later on? Effa has just sent for me, and since it's her third I've no doubt it will go swiftly."
"Aye. After it's not far from where I'm going."
The king's halls, thought Meru. But didn't say a word. Elekh was busy pouring the liquid off the distiller into a green bottle.
"I think I should have some of the wizard's tail infusion," Meru considered aloud, "Do you think? Just in case."
"It's there," Elekh pointed to one amongst several identical green bottles on the counter, "I made up some this morning. Gets the blood going."
"We need labels," sighed Meru, "Ask Tagh to fetch some soon."
"Is Fili in?" Elekh glanced around the room where Gimli, Floi, Fona and Grof were excavating some paperwork and groaning over bills. She had been admitted by a guard.
"Popped out to get some more beer. Mahal knows I need it," Floi was almost near tears.
"Better dealing with some old scrolls than with even older dwarves and their stubborn joints," Elekh rubbed her hands together, stiff from vigorous massaging of some patients she had just called on.
"I'll switch places with you," offered Gimli, to which Elekh snorted, bowed and excused herself.
She bumped into Fili in the hallway, carring a barrel between himself and a guard.
"Oh," Fili recognized her, "I'd nearly forgot. Apologies."
He stopped, and asked another passing guard to life the barrel and bring it to the rooms ahead of him.
"This one," whispered Elekh, "It's strong but I think this might do the trick. Let me know."
"I hope so," Fili accepted it, "I really do. Thank you."
It was late at night when Fili finished his duties, as much as he could. There was still so much left undone, but he forced himself to leave them until the morrow, knowing that as soon as the guests arrived he would have little time for sleep. As prince, he felt the burden of responsibility keenly on his shoulders, and, consequently, had stayed right to the very end. . Elekh's new brew had worked wonders, truly, and he was not half as exhausted as he would have been without it.
Fili did not want to be a ruler who simply ordered his councilors around and did nothing. He would be above doing ordinary, whether lifting crates or setting up market stalls. Dwarves are remarkable industrious, and can a great many things in a single day, building walls and carving out mines almost over night. In that way, some say, dwarves are like the ants.
It was truly embarrassing, however, how the other dwarves looked up to and respected Fili. He was an ordinary bloke made up of the same, ordinary, mortal stuff as the rest.
It was late now, and bidding goodnight to Dala, the guard on the final watch, he made his way to the pantry, wanting to fix himself some supper without waking the servants or his uncle.
Two weeks in the same quarters with his uncle! That was something Fili dearly wished to avoid.
"Well," came a familiar voice from the dining room, and Fili's shoulder's sagged.
"My liege," he stepped into the room and bowed.
"Have you eaten?" the king ignored the ceremonial gesture, raising a glass of wine and commanding, "Join me."
Fili sat down, and the king rang for a servant to bring bread and meat for his nephew.
"Not wine, I don't think."
"Actually, I think I shall," said Fili in a small voice.
"Very well. Tell him what you want."
The meal proceeded awkwardly. Thorin noticed his nephew shrink into the chair, almost flinching when he moved.
"I never told you about life before the dragon," Thorin took a big gulp of wine and continued, "Perhaps it is right that I should now."
"We never talked about it before. Mother doesn't remember much."
"What does she remember."
Fili paused.
"Her grandmother."
"Ah yes. Siginamad." Thorin reflected on her memory, "She was a silent force behind the mountain. Well, not silent in the least.. but she wielded a great deal on influence in her way."
"Did she have the the..." Fili paused, unsure of how to broach the subject, "Gold..."
Thorin caught on to his meaning.
"At first, I remember the wealth gave her great pride. King Thror built a kingdom out of nothing, and she was glad for the gold and all the rest. But as his... desire... surpassed his better judgment, she was one of the first to speak out. To no avail."
"I see."
"We will talk of her another time, but I do have some memories that I would like to share with you."
Fili felt awkward. Whenever his uncle tried to be personal it always felt really unusual, like the time he gave them the Talk.
"There was a woman," Thorin coughed, suddenly feeling as if he couldn't continue, "I do not speak of her. She died the day the cursed fireworm swept through this mountain."
He reached into his pocket and touched something, something he wore hidden under his vestments but over his heart.
"I regret I could not have saved her, but perhaps she did not want to be saved. Ghizim chose to sacrifice herself for her young sister."
Thorin paused as it become difficult to see past the resentment and anger that surfaced.
"That sister, Ghiza..."
He lost his words for a moment, and focused instead on pouring some wine for Fili.
With his mouth full, Fili couldn't reply save for a sympathetic,
"Oh."
"She was a good woman. A fine weaver, like her sister. Bright, vivacious, and always present at court. We were distant kin."
"Mmm..."
"I thought to myself for many years that it was all the better. She would not have the life I would have wanted for her, all the long years we wandered through Arda. I thought it best that I not marry at all."
"Every time I see young Gimli, I cannot help but think of the life I could have had, hard though it would have been," groaned Thorin deeply, "They were poor, like us, but not unhappy. Ghiza has hair life fire, but her sister's was dark, like auburn. You would have had cousins, some with dark hair like mine, some with auburn hair like hers... she was so beautiful."
Fili eye the servant and gave him a covert hand symbol that meant, "No more wine for the king," and "Leave us."
"Now I start to think that I have displeased the creator in some way, shirked my duty. But it was not I who caused her death. And though I could have chosen another there was simply no time, or money. How could I have? And yet the guilt remains, guilt that have turned into dreams that mock and torment me with all the things that have been, all the things I should have done..."
"Thorin," began Fili gently, trying to nudge his uncle back to the present moment, "Please."
"It's enough to drive a sane dwarf mad," Thorin ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, "But a dwarf who is... not entirely whole, such as I. You must see, Fili. You're my only hope. "
"And Kili..."
"Your brother is dead to me! I have arranged for him to marry an elf and leave us forever, and that is the path he insists on taking. And as for you... if you will only do as I ask, my worrying, my nightmares they will cease. Yes, they will go away. And I will sleep. And not dream. Not ONE MORE CURSED DREAM."
The last words came out as a shout, and Fili shrank back.
"But..." Fili stammered, "I cannot..."
"You have to," Thorin pleaded, "Or I will descend into madness and bring our people once again with it. I cannot see that happen again. I won't."
Fili reached out and took Thorin's hand,
"I will do what I can," he signed, deeply troubled, "I will try, I swear it."
