Chapter 11

I didn't know what to say to Thorin at that point, so we sat down and started drinking. He was full of plans and schemes and at that point the dwarves I'd brought up with me from the South were eager to go anywhere and do anything Thorin asked them to. They were his liege men, now, and as rabid as any dwarven converts to a cause could be—which is to say, completely and utterly devoted. He had that effect on people.

The whole quest thing reminded me that I had to make a decision about where my loyalties lay. Was I still Thorin's loyal liege man, or did I belong to Var now? It seemed pretty clear that, ceremony or no ceremony, she and I were now united. What did I owe to her? I didn't want to think about it, so I kept ordering more pints.

It worked. After a while, I wasn't thinking hardly at all.

Several hours later, I staggered up from the table. I wasn't worried and conflicted anymore. I knew everything would look clearer in the morning—or at least it would all stop spinning around. Getting drunk is sometimes useful, because it helps you realize that things like talking, walking, or even just standing up, are so much easier when you're sober.

But the drunken brain is also capable of throwing up strange and unexpected ideas. This time, my brain decided that it would be good to take a look at the wooden cart that held Aunt Nott's gold. A sentimental journey, in a way—I'd be visiting the object that marked the starting point of all my confusion.

So I went out to the stable where the cart was stored in an inconspicuous corner. Dark night had covered the land, but there was still plenty of light from moon and stars. Dwarves are used to the lightless depths of mines and caves, so night time above ground is comfortable to our eyes.

The dwarf assigned to guard the gold lay motionless on a pile of hay. It was Zigur, and he was unconscious. Alerted to danger, I crouched down and listened. A quiet rustle and clinking sounds followed. I moved cautiously around to the door of the cart, to see who it was.

The clinking stopped. A snap told me that the lid of the iron chest had closed. The creak that followed was the wooden cart door being shut. I saw a cloaked and hooded figure, oddly misshapen, turn in my direction.

The person only had time for a gasp before I attacked. We went down together. I was on top. I yanked back the concealing hood.

It was Var.

The alcohol I'd consumed had dampened my wits, I'm afraid. For a long, confused moment I sat on top of her, staring at her in astonishment. Slowly, more details seeped through: She was dressed for travel with a pack strapped to her back. That explained the odd outline of her shape.

She was robbing Aunt Nott's gold and making a getaway.

"Var?" I asked. Of course I knew it was her. But the ale was still working on my brain. Although I could think clearly enough, my power of speech wasn't working properly.

"Shhhh! Let me up!"

"No. Not gonna let you do this." In my mind, I reviewed our possible options. I had her, so Var hadn't gotten away with the robbery. If I pleaded with Aunt Nott, maybe she'd forgive Var and forget about the matter. Right. And maybe Mahal the Divine Smith, our creator, would flutter down on gossamer wings and sprinkle us all with gold and jewels. "Put it back and it will be our secret."

She stopped squirming and stared up at me. Her eyes were wide and dark, her expression bleak. "How do you know?"

"I heard you. I know you opened the iron chest. Put the gold back! No one has to know. We'll think of something. Please."

She seemed to relax. Her face softened, and she looked so sad. For a moment, I thought she was going to agree. Then her arm jerked, and something hard hit me on the head.

I woke up a while later. It was still dark out, but a pale light in the sky showed that dawn would break shortly. My head throbbed from the after-effects of the ale and from the blow, which had apparently been delivered with a wooden axe-handle that some idiot farmer must have left lying on the stable floor. Just goes to show that neatness counts—if people would only pick up after themselves, other people wouldn't get injured.

"Nine hundred and forty-five, nine hundred and forty six…" Someone was counting. I opened my eyes and saw that it was Nandi, Aunt Nott's majordomo, and he was sitting half-in the wooden cart. The gold pieces clinked as he slipped them through his hands.

Zigur was massaging a lump on his head. He looked at me. "Did you see who it was?"

I squeezed my eyes shut and swallowed the burning lump that rose in my throat. Var. The light of my life; the blade in my heart. Oh, Mahal, what had she done?

"One thousand. Strange. It's all here," Nandi said. "None of the gold is missing."

I frowned, but traitorous hope leapt in my chest. Maybe there would be a way to protect her. Mahal furku, why would I want to protect her? I owed her nothing. She had used me. I shouldn't let her take me for a fool—I should tell Aunt Nott everything. I should tell Nandi right now.

Nandi turned to me. "What happened here?"

I shook my head. "Not sure. My head hurts." My head did hurt. I felt like retching up my own guts. Liar—I was a liar, and the lie burned like acid inside my chest. Staggering to my feet, I headed for my room.

Nandi nodded. "Well, it looks like no harm's been done. Get some rest. We'll talk it over later."

I went upstairs and curled up on my bed. I couldn't sleep, couldn't quiet the thoughts that buzzed and stung like angry bees. She should have killed me—it would have been a kindness.

After a while, the door to my room creaked open, and heavy footsteps sounded on the floorboards. Good, I thought, maybe it's those Dunlending bandits come to finish me off. If they did, I wasn't going to argue with them.

A heavy body landed on the seat of an upholstered chair. Thorin's deep purr sounded. "So, I understand you're to be congratulated."

I snorted. Right. Congratulations to lucky me.

"Something wrong? Already?" He chuckled a little under his breath. I heard a scrape, like boots sliding along the floor, and a creak from the chair as he settled into it. "Mind telling me about it?"

"Yes, I mind. It's complicated." I still didn't turn over, or look at him. I waited.

He sighed. "Anything you tell me, stays between us. You know that. No matter what it is."

I rolled over and looked at him. Sat up. Too fast. The hangover slammed into my head, so I rested my elbows on my knees and pressed both hands against my temples. It seemed better to get it out quickly. "I found Var raiding Aunt Nott's chest of gold. She hit me on the head and escaped."

Thorin raised both eyebrows and turned down the corners of his mouth. "Not good."

He seemed to expect more, so I said, "She was dressed for traveling. I caught her just as she was finishing up, but…I hesitated and she knocked me out."

He looked down at his fingers, which were laced together in front of him, and nodded. "Walk me through everything that happened, step by step."

I did. It was a relief to get it all off my chest. I answered all his questions, even the embarrassing ones about my night with Var. He seemed a little surprised that we hadn't taken off the handcuffs, considering that I did have the key somewhere. I explained that finding the key would have meant going through all my clothing, which was mostly tangled up on the floor, so it had been easier and quicker just to use one hand each.

One of the good things about Thorin is that he knows when not to laugh. It was probably hard for him not to, but he managed. At the end he asked, "So Var had already closed the chest and the door of the cart before you tackled her?"

"Yes. She was turning to leave."

He stared at me hard. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," I repeated. "I didn't know who it was until—" It finally dawned on me that he thought I was lying. That maybe I'd come upon Var a little earlier than I'd said, and convinced her to leave the gold and get away with a whole skin.

He saw my expression change, because he said quickly, "I trust you, Dwalin. But I don't trust Var. I can tell how you feel about her."

I shook my head. "No. You don't. I don't even know what I feel about her, so how could you?"

He nodded and gave me a twisted half-smile. "I see. Well, let's consider what we know. She opened the cart, opened the chest, but didn't take any of the gold. Was there something else of value in there?"

"I didn't see anything but gold, but I didn't look too closely," I confessed. "I only opened the iron chest once, right at the start. Just to make sure we weren't rescuing an empty box."

"So she might have taken something else." Thorin rubbed his chin. "But, now what is she up to?"

I shrugged, completely out of ideas. She was gone. Apparently my brush with love and marriage was over. My head and my heart felt hollow and empty. I looked at Thorin and sighed heavily. "So, what's this about a quest to take back Erebor?"

His eyebrows drew together, and he got to his feet and came to sit beside me on the bed. He flung one arm around me, and with his other hand roughly pulled my head to his shoulder. "You fool, do you think I would let you come with me, knowing how you felt? Go after her. You owe it to yourself to find out what is going on. Hell, you owe it to me—how can I lean on my Dwalin, if his heart and soul are torn apart?"

Okay, maybe I shed a tear or two at that point. It's all Thorin's fault; he gets people all worked up emotionally.

He went on, "I need to return to Ered Luin to raise as many dwarves as I can. I'm hoping for a sizeable army—maybe the clans from the Iron Hills will join us, too. They are frightened by the dragon, to be sure, but there's a wizard on our side, now. A wizard! Surely they'll all see that if one of the Istari back our cause, we will be successful."

I nodded.

Thorin looked at me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "But raising recruits will take me some time—a month, at least. Go after Var, find out the truth. Set your mind at rest concerning her. Then join me at the meeting place that Gandalf has set."

As I prepared to follow Var, my thoughts were full of gratitude and love for my friend and King. Never have I known a wiser, kinder, truer dwarf than Thorin. I owe him more than I can ever repay.