The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of eggs and ham, Wren changed his bandages and went outside. She'd only chopped one log when the back door opened with a creak, and he showed up on the threshold.
"Allow me to do it," he said and took a step forward stretching his hand to her ax.
"Not on your life!" Wren exclaimed and moved the ax behind her back. "You'll open up your wounds."
"I was the one who burnt your wood," he insisted, and another step followed.
"You're my patient! And I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself!" Wren gave him a glare. "I'm not weak!"
He tilted his head in the gesture that she'd learnt to recognise as him being amused with her.
"I do not doubt your vigour, honourable healer," he said. "I simply feel I could do more as your tenant."
"In a day or two perhaps," Wren conceded. "For now, you should keep your weight off your leg."
"I can chop standing on one leg," he murmured, moving even closer.
He almost snaked one of his long arms around her in pursuit of the ax, and Wren pressed her left hand into his shoulder.
"No! Do you know what 'no' means, Master Dwarf?" she jibed.
"I can't say it's a word I'm familiar with," he quipped, and his scorching hand closed around her right wrist.
"Well, you aren't royalty here," she said and twisted out of his - loose and utterly facetious - grip. "You will do as I say and go back to your bed."
His lips curled up lopsidedly, and he lunged ahead. Somehow the ax was now in his hand, and Wren oophed.
"Go back to bed!" she ordered and jumped at him, trying to snatch the tool, but mindful of his injuries. "I can't have you hop around my yard on one foot! Like a mushroom!"
He promptly passed the ax in his left hand, and she was as much as pressed into him, her hands flailing behind him, searching for the ax - and suddenly his right arm wrapped around her waist, halting her. Wren gasped.
"Mushrooms don't hop, honourable healer," he purred.
Wren stilled in his embrace. She could feel the heat of his body through their clothes - and she suddenly remembered she possessed one as well. It had been eight years since she'd touched a man for any reason other than to provide a medical service.
"What are you two doing?" Mira asked from the door, and Wren winced away from him.
"I'm chopping wood, and Master Dwarf was going inside," she said and gave him an intense glare. "It's too chilly for his weakened body out here."
"Then perhaps he can help me with my books," Mira said unconcerned. "Will you, please? I'm struggling with my Sindarin."
"I'm hardly conversant with the tongues of Elves," he said but turned towards the house nonetheless. "Here, honourable healer, I surrender my weapon to you."
Wren picked up the tool out of his hand, reminding herself to ignore the brush of his fingers at hers - and failing miserably. The door closed behind the two scholars, and Wren exhaled loudly. Despite how cold and damp the morning was, her palms were sweaty. She wiped them on her skirt and started on the wood. Soon, it began to rain, and Wren cursed her slender constitution: the wind mixed with the nasty drizzle was jerking at her dress, and slashing across her ankles. She felt her fingers ache and jokingly considered telling the Dwarf she'd changed her mind.
When she returned, she found the two of them bent over Mira's books and parchments on the kitchen table. While she warmed up their midday meal, she listened to their discussions. It seemed the Dwarf hadn't lied about his lacking language skill, but he'd obviously travelled and knew a lot about maps, while Mira had inherited the interest from her father. To Wren's surprise, they both seemed impatient to return to their conversation and ate hurriedly.
"My lord, if you don't mind, perhaps you could join Mira in her studies in the bedroom?" Wren said, while they were drinking tea. "I have a few patients from the town coming in the afternoon. And, Mira? Do not exhaust our guest. He'll need rest and peace."
Wren saw the two other people at the table exchange secretive looks, and she sighed. As much as she enjoyed her daughter's independent and persistent character, it was all good and easy when she had to deal with it on her own. Now that the girl had acquired a conspirator, there would be no reining Mira's curiosity and stubbornness.
The first knock came right after Wren finished washing their dishes. It was one of the town's women who needed her usual herbs. She paid quickly, hardly looking at Wren, grabbed the envelopes with her prophylactics, and left. Wren put away the silver, and sat down with her knitting. For a while it was quiet in the house, but soon the voices coming from the bedchamber grew louder and louder, and more and more laughter could be heard.
"Shouldn't one of you be resting?" Wren shouted towards the door, and the room behind it grew silent.
Wren shook her head. She wasn't at all surprised that the Dwarf had taken to Mira. As biased as a mother could be, Wren always knew the girl was a marvel. It was Mira's uncharacteristic trust and warmth towards the man that surprised Wren - and it worried her. He would be gone in a few days.
Two more patients stopped by, one had a quick complaint of a stomach illness, the second one needed herbs for her babe. By the time the pale Spring sun set, Wren knew they would have to leave Bree sooner than she expected: in the last fortnight she'd received only a half of the silver she normally earned per week. Clearly, her archfoe had succeeded in undermining Wren's business. The coins she'd gotten from the Dwarf would help significantly. She assumed he'd also pay for the board in the days he was staying with them, and Wren had been frugal in the past few months, so they would have enough to venture into a journey. Wren still wasn't sure which way they were heading, but she was rather confident her services would be in demand anywhere they went.
Wren was rather surprised no one popped out of the bedroom by the time their dinner of roasted mutton with roots and potatoes was ready. The aroma was mouth-watering. Having put the pan in the centre of the table, surrounded by bowls of pickled vegetables, Wren hesitated for a moment but then pulled out a small jug of ale from the cellar. One pint wouldn't harm the Dwarf, he was recovering well. To think of it, his wounds would take less to heal than she'd anticipated. Perhaps, his kind were stronger and more resilient than Men. Wren took off her apron, washed her hands, and walked to the bedroom.
The Dwarf and the girl were asleep on the bed, facing each other; books, parchments, and quills piled between them. The Dwarf was once again on his back, his right hand on his chest, his left arm relaxed along his body. He looked younger in his slumber, his features softened by his dreams. Mira slept with her left fist tucked under her cheek, her braids scattered on the pillow. The girl's right hand was outstretched, lying on an open book, just a few inches away from the Dwarf's shoulder. Wren could see a scrap of paper they'd been writing on: the letters of the Dwarven language were scattered on it.
Wren took a quiet step back, deciding to leave them both to it, when Mira's eyes opened. She then turned her head, looked at the man, and smiled affectionately. Wren's heart clenched, and, perhaps for the first time since the day she'd realised there was another heart beating under hers, Wren felt a pang of sadness for Mira's fatherlessness.
The girl gazed at the Dwarf for a few seconds, and then carefully climbed off the bed. They walked into the kitchen, and Wren closed the door behind them.
"Oh, he'll be sad he's missing this feast," Mira said and went to the basin to wash her hands. "Should we wake Thorin up? He needs to eat."
"He needs rest more," Wren said and frowned. "I don't think you should call him by name, my sweet." Wren turned to the stove at the pretence of moving the logs in the burner. "We aren't his equal."
"He thinks we are," Mira said.
Wren sat down at the table, but she suddenly felt no hunger. Just a few minutes ago she felt quite proud of her cooking - and it was time to admit she was looking forward to sharing her meal with him. How else would one explain all the effort she'd put into arranging it on the table? More so, she'd even considered changing into her better dress, the only other one she had in her possession. Her mood suddenly sour, Wren started cutting a slice of mutton for Mira.
"He's just being polite with you, Mira," Wren said, immediately aware of how unpleasant her voice sounded. "You haven't learnt it yet, but those of noble blood simply have such manners: they express themselves with consideration, but you cannot know what their true feelings are."
She looked and saw Mira move a piece of parsnip on her plate with a fork. Her face was mournful.
"Are you meaning to say he's not my friend?" the girl asked in a small voice, her eyes lowered.
Wren swallowed a knot in her throat. Everything inside her screamed that it was a good moment to teach the girl the importance of self-reliance, to explain to her how cruel the world was, and how dangerous it was to trust one's heart - and then she leaned to Mira and kissed the top of her head.
"I think he actually might be," she said and pressed her cheek to Mira's soft curls, hiding her face from the girl. "Who wouldn't want to be your friend?" Wren whispered to hide the tremble in her voice. "I'm sure he's enjoying the time he spends with you."
"Maybe he'll stay for longer then," Mira whispered back.
Wren squeezed her eyes. "He's looking for his father, my heart. When he's better, you'll have to let him go. And besides, his people are waiting for him. He might have children or a–" The word 'wife' stuck in Wren's throat, and she straightened up and ruffled Mira's hair. "Eat your dinner before it–"
Wren didn't finish because the door to the bedroom opened, and the Dwarf stepped out, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his right palm. He looked grumpy and dishevelled, and Wren could only hope her own face didn't express the same infatuation as the one clearly written on Mira's.