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Chapter 8
- Mîm -
Mîm didn't fall asleep that afternoon, her excitement at meeting new people and seeing new landscapes preventing her from dosing off. She ticked off the names in her head: Dwalin, with the bald head, Bofur with the hat. The red-headed Prîm and Nori the wild-haired hunter. And Fíli, of course, who was much more approachable than his title led to believe.
That evening, they set up camp in a deep valley, away from the wind that brought in scents of pine and rain. It was Bofur's turn to gather wood for the fire, and Mîm watched him tramp off into the woods nearby, singing under his breath.
Their dinner was to be an exact reflection of their lunch; charred meat on a piece of bread, with only some ale from a cask transported at the back of the carriage to celebrate the passing of another day. Once again, she was idle, the men around her doing all the work as if she were made of sugar. Not that she'd be of much use for skinning the deer Nori had killed, since the sound alone of skin torn from the flesh was enough to make her queasy. Dwalin was much better suited for the task, his muscular arms peeling the whole thing off like a coverlet from a bed.
Fíli noticed her twiddling her thumbs and approached. "Come," he said, "You can give us a hand." He hesitated slightly before adding: "If you want."
Mîm swallowed, fearing the kind of task he'd ask of her, and he smiled at her worry. "You can help Nori prepare the skewers" He raised an eyebrow. "You're not afraid of blood, are you?"
"I-I don't know."
Stuttering was an unladylike thing to do, but Mîm couldn't help it, imagining the carnage that lay beyond the bushes, where Nori's star-shaped hair bobbed as he worked. Yet, adventuring couldn't only be clean and pleasant, could it? Fráin must've done his share of hunting and skinning as well, during his many travels, so why shouldn't she?
Mîm braced herself for the gore. "I'll do it," she nodded, following Fíli towards the group.
So it came to be that she found herself sitting cross-legged by the fire that Bofur started, her eyes watering as the dank logs gave off a think, acrid smoke. The volutes rose towards a clear, starry sky, diluting in the darkness above. Nori dragged the skin towards her, full of already cut-out pieces that she only needed to spear onto the wooden rods that Fíli provided. They worked side by side, he sharpening the pieces with one of his knives, she pushing them onto the skewers until there were five chunks sitting side by side. The meat was tender and warm under her fingers, like small pink cushions.
"Leave more space at the extremities," Nori advised as he glanced towards the results, which lay upon the deerskin. He didn't bother with titles, Mîm noted, both slightly offended and glad that he'd accepted her as an equal.
Fíli moved to wipe his knife on the skin. The blade was asymmetrical; longer on the blunt edge, widening away from the handle, and lined with gold. Mîm had seen its twin in his right vambrace, and two more attached to his boots.
"How many knives do you have?" she wondered aloud, gasping slightly when she realized she'd spoken her thoughts.
Fíli smirked. "More than four, that's all I can tell you."
"But…" Mîm ran her eyes up and down his figure. His coat was open, but no other hilts were visible under the fur and the leather. Beneath his coat, he wore a blue tunic too thin to disguise a scabbard. "Where do you keep them?"
He was laughing now. "In secret places," he quipped, "Where my enemies cannot find them. The only way to know is to search me."
Her face grew hot with embarrassment. "Isn't laying a hand on royalty considered a crime?" she retorted cheekily.
"Depends on who's doing the touching," Fíli winked, "I won't tell on you, I promise."
Whether it was the warmth of the fire that heated her skin, or the blush that flowered upon her cheeks, Mîm couldn't tell. But she felt comfortable, despite the blood that stained her fingers and the cold ground that poked its stones and twigs into her backside. Fíli's presence wasn't as foreign as before, his easy smile and friendly eyes a relief for her homesick heart.
Even the meal tasted better that evening, perhaps since she'd had a hand in preparing it.
When the food was eaten and the ale almost gone, the only sound that remained was the whistling of the wind, high above, and the crackling of the smoldering logs. Fíli and Bofur pulled out their pipes, the smoke mingling with the tiny sparks that drifted from the fire. Dwalin pulled out his sword and started to oil it in slow, repetitive gestures.
Come by the hills to the land where the fancy is free,
And stand where the peaks meet the sky and the rocks reach the sea,
Where the rivers run clear and the bracken is gold in the sun,
And cares of tomorrow must wait till the day is done.
Bofur's voice rose in song, deep and vibrant. He leaned towards the fire, his eyes fixed upon the flames, his pipe dying in his hand. Mîm listened raptly as images of rolling waves filling her head. She could almost feel the cold spray on her skin and hear the whisper of water on the pebbles.
Come by the hills to the land where life is a song,
And sing while the birds fill the air with their joy all day long,
Where the trees sway in time, and even the wind sings in tune,
And cares of tomorrow must wait till this day is done.
Dwalin's rumbling voice joined him, and then Nori's and Prîm's. Fíli was the last to raise his voice in song, and the harmony was complete. The ballad vibrated through her body, pulling at something inside her chest. Mîm had never felt more alive, or more a part of this world.
Come by the hills to the land where legend remains,
Where stories of old stir the heart and may yet come again,
Where the past has been lost and the future is still to be won,
And cares of tomorrow must wait till the day is done.
The song spoke of legends and adventure, the very life she'd been dreaming of. And when she thought she'd lost it forever, it found her in the middle of nowhere, sitting by flickering fire, wrapped in furs and shivering with excitement.
Mîm glanced over at her husband. The flames danced in his eyes, bright orange in the blue depths that once again reminded her of a sea she'd never seen. Perhaps he would be willing to take her there, to show her the world, before their duties claimed them both.
Fíli never took his gaze off the fire, but his hand found hers beneath the furs and squeezed gently, as if he'd read her mind. This time, Mîm welcomed his touch, wrapping her fingers around his and sealing their unspoken promise.
oOoOoOo
Midnight found Mîm wide awake, eyes prickly with missing sleep, her hips stiff and aching. Despite the pile of furs she'd wrapped herself in to both ward off the chill and cushion her body against the hard ground, she was barely getting any rest.
Bofur's song had acted like a lullaby, soothing her mind and calming her senses, but as soon as all the others went to sleep – save for Nori, who had the first watch – her ears started to pick up sounds she'd not distinguished before. Things that scratched, whined, moaned and crept through the darkness seemed to surround her from all sides, sometimes so close that Mîm opened her eyes, expecting to see something staring back at her.
Beside her, Fíli was dreaming, stretched out on his back, with his head propped against a rolled-up cloak and his arms crossed upon his chest. His mouth was slightly open, a soft snore rising from his throat. The flames reflected in the beads that decorated his beard, his blond hair shining like spun gold.
Dwalin had opted for the same position, while Bofur slept curled up in a ball, never parting from his hat, an arm under his cheek for a pillow. Prîm was clutching his hammer in his sleep, holding it close like a beloved, whining faintly as his eyelids twitched in dream.
Mîm had been spoiled by a life of soft mattresses and lush blankets, and silent nights under vaults of stone. She tossed and turned, sighing, increasingly aware of the uneven ground beneath her, of the unfortunate position of a small rock under her ribs, and the tickle of the grass on her neck. Nori's mocking gaze shamed her into silence, but still the sleep wouldn't come.
Her senses were overloaded with information, and she soon gave up, guessing instead what kind of beasts could produce the noises she was hearing. Nothing too dangerous, most probably, or the others wouldn't have fallen asleep so easily. Or so Mîm hoped.
When the time came for Nori to wake Fíli for the second watch, she was counting the stars, trying to remember the constellations she'd read about in her books.
"Can't sleep?" Fíli mumbled, rubbing his eyes and yawning as Nori went to lie down beneath his cloak.
Mîm shook her head. "There are too many noises," she muttered, gesturing towards the surrounding darkness. "I think I'm not used to them yet."
Her words made him smile. "The first time I left the Blue Mountains with my brother, I couldn't sleep outside either. It gets easier, though, but the first nights will be long and hard."
"But you got used to it?" she asked, propping herself on one elbow as he sat cross-legged beside her, facing the fire.
"I did." He smiled again, and reached for a log to add into the flames. "Now I can barely sleep if there's a roof above my head. I miss the wind, and the rustling of the leaves."
"A dwarf who can't sleep inside a mountain. Your uncle must be awfully ashamed." She'd meant it as a teasing, but regretted her quip as his face grew serious.
"My uncle barely sleeps as well, nowadays," he mumbled, "Though not because of the silence."
Mîm bit her lip. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to offend." She lay down again, her hands crossed on her chest, certain that he wouldn't want to speak to her again.
The sky was pitch black, without a single cloud to hide the stars from view, and she marveled at the sight of such immensity. There, up north – or was it east? - was the constellation of the Dragon, its winds outstretched in flight. Mîm searched for its sister, the Serpent, and found it twinkling a few stars below.
"My uncle, Thorin…" Fíli's low voice drifted to her ears, "He led us back to Erebor, to reclaim the kingdom after Smaug chased our people away, almost two hundred years ago."
He stirred the embers with the tip of a stick.
"He was – is – like a father to me, only he's not been the same since he'd set foot back into the mountain. The gold, it breeds a sickness that runs in his veins. The dragon sickness, we call it." Fíli cast a wary glance towards his sleeping comrades, checking that none of them could overhear him. "He's been ailing for two years now. The fear for his treasure keeps him awake, and gnaws at his sanity." He poked at the smoldering wood. "He won't sleep, he barely eats. And he sits there, amongst his treasure, shying away from those who would help him."
Pushing herself up, Mîm wrapped the furs around her shoulders and sat. Her bleary eyes watered if she stared at the flames for too long, so she chose to focus on Fíli instead. "I'm sorry," she said again, for lack of better words of comfort.
Her husband looked sad and lost, and she wanted to hold him, if only to show him that even if she couldn't help, she still cared; and that had to matter, didn't it? She reached out for his hand, but he was sitting too far away. Mîm touched his shoulder instead, the fur of his coat soft and warm under her fingers.
Fíli turned towards her. "I don't want to be king," he murmured. "The same sickness runs in my veins, I know it."
Mîm understood what such a confession must've cost him, and to see Fíli so open and vulnerable made her heart ache. "Maybe if you loved something more than gold, perhaps that could help you fight it?" she offered quietly, watching as he pondered over her words.
"Maybe." He tossed the stick into the flames and tilted his head back to look at the sky. "Only love doesn't really come into it when you're a prince, or so I've heard."
He was waiting for her answer, Mîm knew, and the next words she'd say could either bring him comfort, or pain. She wondered if he had any idea about her own lack of freedom regarding their marriage. He certainly didn't know about Fráin, and their plans to run away together, to fulfill a childhood promise; a promise now meaningless, as she'd sworn her life to Fíli, on her own honor and the honor of her family.
"Who knows?" she shrugged, choosing her wording with caution. "Maybe you'll be lucky enough to have both. After all, you did survive a war against an army of orcs, and what were the odds?"
Fíli scoffed, his shoulders relaxed, the tension and worry leaving his body. "Maybe," he said again, but this time his voice was filled with hope.