Of course, I can't leave out our other lovebirds, and who knows who else might fall in love? Thoughts? Thanks for your lovely reviews and gentle consideration of my poetry skills. That could be a fun story for someone to take on: "The Sonnets of Thorin Oakenshield." Meanwhile, back at the infirmary ...

Chapter 36

Bemma bustled in with linens and towels to clean up after Relianna left, but she nearly dropped the load when she caught sight of Frain. The difference between his magnificent appearance several hours ago and present state left her open-mouthed.

"What in Arda!"

Clutching the edges of his tunic together with one hand, Frain brushed flecks of dried salve off with the other while she plopped her bundle on Relianna's bed and stepped back to take it all in. His blankets were soiled and askew, the bucket next to the bed was recently cleaned, and his bottle of mouth rinse was nearly empty. From too much experience, she knew what that meant.

"Do I look that scary?" he asked, half in jest. He licked his dry lips at her horrified appraisal and waited with an uneasy grimace. This was not the impression he was hoping to make.

"What happened to your tunic?" she asked with a finger wagging up and down along the cut edges. He pulled them tighter around his middle.

"Ah, well, I could say that Thorin attacked me with a pair a scissors," he said, "but, as it happens, it's the result of a rather … heated confrontation with Lord Dain." He finished with wince.

"Frain!" she said with her hands on her hips. "What were you thinking?" Before he could answer, she marched to his side, took his pulse, and slapped her hand against his forehead. Smelling the menthol compress that he used for pain, she folded her arms across her chest. "You overdid again, didn't you? At this rate, you'll never get out of here." Clucking her tongue, she moved to remake Relianna's bed when Nella came through the door.

"There you are, Bemma," she said. "I can take it from here." She gave the tiny maid a fond wink. "You must have other duties to attend to, and we've kept you here long enough, but I thank you for everything you've done." Instinctively, Bemma twisted to look at Frain behind her, then both looked at Nella with identical expressions of dismay.

"She's leaving?"

"I'm leaving?"

Puzzled by their surprising reaction, Nella stared from one to another until her eyes crinkled in a knowing smile. "But since you're in the middle of something, why don't you finish up and then you can go." Both beamed at her, but neither could see the other's face. She turned to leave and bumped into Clea at the door.

"There you are!" the maid said to Bemma after a quick curtsy to Frain. "I've been looking for you all over. You made quite the impression." She pulled a folded note out of her pocket and waved it between her thumb and forefinger. "Berlig wants you to sit beside him at the servant's feast tonight."

"Berlig?"

"Who's Berlig?" Frain asked, his voice darker and more suspicious.

"You know," Clea said to Bemma with a wag of her slim brows, "the dark and handsome one you made eyes at? The one with the big muscles? He went looking for you when he got off duty. Went looking for you. He came across me instead and asked me to deliver this note." She bumped Bemma with her elbow. "Lucky you."

Opening the folded paper with shaky hands, Bemma did indeed see bold, masculine handwriting with a request for her company. She didn't know what to say. "Is he waiting for an answer?"

"Of course, silly, so are you going to wear your blue gown? It'd go so well with his livery. That is," and she squeaked out a giggle, "that, is unless he's wearing a simple tunic and breeches. I bet we'd see more muscles then, hey?" Bemma dropped her head, blushed furiously, and wished with all her might to drop into the floor.

"Clea," she said. "I think you're getting a head of yourself, I …"

"Feel free to go, my lady," she heard Frain say behind her back, his voice harsh and cold. "Don't be concerned on my account. Nella will take care of what needs doing, so go on. I thank you for your loyal service, but you're no longer under any obligation to me."

Bemma crushed the note in her hand and glanced toward her friend who took one step back. Looking around for something to occupy his hands, Frain grabbed a jug of water and tipped it up, guzzling it down. Rivulets of water ran down his beard with every noisy gulp. Shaking the jug for the last few drops, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slammed the bottle on the night stand.

"I'll wait outside for your answer," Clea said as Bemma backed her out the door, "but take your time." With round eyes, she cast a last glance into the room. "No hurry," she said as the door shut in her face. Bemma turned back to Frain, smoothed her skirts, and grabbed a set of sheets.

"Here," she said with a blank face, "those need changing." Without a word, she yanked the covers off of him, balled them up, and threw them into the corner, missing the basket. He felt unclothed at the loss of his covers and protested when she picked up the edges of the bottom sheet and jerked, flipping him to one side. That sheet landed next to its kin in a messy pile by the door. Flinging up a fresh sheet in the air with a crack, she laid it over him, covering his face. He batted it away with louder complaints, but she paid no mind. Instead, she pushed the bed back with her knee, and it hit the wall with a bang. Next, she yanked the pillows from behind him, and he fell back on the cot.

"Ow!"

She ignored his response and grabbed a fresh pillow. He cringed while she plumped it with vigorous slaps. With the pillow under her arm, she went to grab him by the collar of his tunic, but he shrugged away, so she stuffed it behind him with punching jabs. It stuck out at an awkward angle.

"You should eat before I go. Are you hungry?" she asked in an exaggerated, motherly tone that irked him to no end. Leaning over, she picked up his tray. "Soup? No? Clear broth then?"

"Don't treat me like a child!" he said with a snarl. She slapped the tray down with a clatter. "Then don't treat me like a servant!"

"Go on," Frain said with a flip of his hand toward the door. He wouldn't meet her eyes and instead looked down at his chest and sulked. "You have a handsome, chest-popping dwarf waiting for you. Those must have been some eyes you made to hustle him down here so fast."

She hissed through her teeth, put her hands on two more pillows, and flung them with all her might. Her aim was true, and they smacked him square in the face and chest. Heaving them off, he knocked over everything on his stand.

"What was that for?" he asked in a fit of pique. "You …," but she cut him off with a finger in his face.

"You ass!" she said, her eyes blazing. "I did that to get Reli past him. I never knew his name, I don't remember what he looks like, and I'm certainly not going to sit next to him at the feast, you idiot!"

He froze with his eyebrows high up on his forehead and his mouth open. Hot blood surged through his cheeks, turning him the same shade of crimson she was just minutes before.

"I see you're getting color back in your face," she said with a satisfied smirk. He looked up with shame at his behavior. "That's not funny."

The two stared at each other until Bemma brushed off her skirts and pulled down her sleeves. "I had better go."

"Where?"

"First to get you something to eat. Then I'll say my goodbyes."

He looked up under his lashes. "So you're going to the feast?"

She dithered, not sure of her answer. "It seems to be my only choice at the moment." With a sigh, she knelt to clean up their mess. While her back was turned, he arranged his tunic to make it more presentable and finger combed his messy waves with rapid strokes. He looked down at himself, weak and thin, and his shoulders sagged.

I have nothing, and she has a handsome, healthy dwarf after her, among others, no doubt.

He ran his hands over his face, feeling defeated before he even began. Tell her, his sister had said. Gathering his courage, he took a deep breath.

I won't say I didn't try.

She replaced the fallen items and turned to leave, but he caught her hand and pulled her toward him.

"What if you were offered another choice?" He laced his fingers through hers.

"What other choice?" she asked, staring down at their joined hands.

"You could stay here and eat with me."

"Why?"

"What if I said because I don't want you sitting next to anyone else but me?"

She goggled at him, for a moment not understanding what he was saying. Did he say what she thought he did? Did he mean …? Was he asking …? Was he really? She sneaked a look down herself and doubted. Not only was he a prince, in fact, and the pinnacle of male beauty, to her mind, but he was also the only dwarf ever to challenge Zozer, and he did it unarmed. His remaining hidden only increased his mystery to those not in the know, and she was sure that when he recovered women of all ages and ranks would flock to him. What was she in comparison? Other than a cheerful smile and stout heart, she had little to recommend her. Still, he was holding her hand.

"As what? As a servant?" she asked, looking him full in the face. He shook his head. "Not as a servant. Curse my foolish words." His playful tone coaxed a small smile to her lips. "As a healer?" "Not at all, my lady." He waited while she considered his invitation.

"In that case, I'd be delighted to eat with you."

"With an ass?" She laughed at his cheek. "No." He grinned and made eyes at her. She giggled and felt a sweet weakness at his obvious flirtation. I guess I can't blame my friends for fainting. Goodness!

"With a lord?" Her smile faded, and she shook her head. "I'd not put that on you, Frain, not even in jest. Not when I know how painful it is for you."

His heart warmed at her thoughtfulness, and he patted a spot on his bed. "I'm taking a leap here, and I hope I land on solid ground." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. She gasped at the heat of his mouth and the warm sweep of his thumb across her palm and the inside of her wrist. Waves of tingles spread down her arm, and she shivered when he kissed her pulse. His mood changed from tender to solemn, but he smiled at her squeeze of his hand, and drawing strength from her bright eyes, he leaped, not knowing how or where he would land.

"I have nothing to offer anyone."

"A little from you is more than a kingdom from others."

"I may not choose to be prince."

"Healer is title enough."

"I'll always be a bleeder."

"That's why you ought not be alone."

"I may die before you."

"Then we shouldn't waste any more time."

"Bemma," he breathed, and he took her face in his hands. "Could you love a hopeless dwarf who's hopelessly in love with you?"

Joy shone on her face, but uncertainty extinguished it before it took hold.

"You can have anyone, Frain," she said. Smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle in his sheets, she looked down and away when he tried to take her chin. "Once you walk out that door, the whole world will be open to you. What if all you feel is gratitude? Your life has been in this little room, and maybe in this little room I'm enough, but when you walk out that door, I won't be anymore."

Chancing a look at him, she frowned at his merry smile. "I'm serious!"

This time he wouldn't let her look away. "You speak as though I've lived my entire life in this room! Bemma, I've traveled the world and seen more than most. I've seen enough to know what I want, and I want you. So I ask again: could you love a hopeless dwarf who's hopelessly in love with you?"

She paused for only a moment. "I should hope so."

He laughed, and she laughed with him. He caressed her face with the tips of his fingers, and she felt herself unable to stand. Good thing I'm already sitting. His lips brushed against hers.

"Tell your friend she can go."

Late that night, after a tasteless feast and the meaningless drivel of conversation that rang in his ears like cymbals, Thorin retired to his room and threw off his boots and tunic. A bottle of his favorite red wine waited on a table with a small plate of seed cakes, a solace from those who knew him well, no doubt.

And mother's book.

Running his fingers along the cover, he hesitated and lifted the lid before pushing it away. I don't want to prolong this time with consolation. I want it to end. With a decisive nod, he went to his bed and threw back the heavy fur covers. If he slept, if he could sleep, he'd be that many hours closer to seeing Relianna again. Perhaps he could sleep for several days and speed time.

Or perhaps I won't sleep at all, and time will slow and I will grow so old that she won't recognize me.

He closed his eyes anyway, not expecting help from any quarter, but after a few minutes of kicking his covers and thrashing in his bed, he drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the day. In his dreams, he sat by a rock-lined pond under large maple trees whose leaves cast rippling patterns on the water. Nearby, wild hedges of honeysuckle shook in the breeze and sent plumes of fragrant sweetness to tickle his nose. Leaning back, he listened to a lovely, lyrical melody played on pipes. It drifted through the air in loving whispers that smoothed the crease between his brows and the tension in his body. The gentle rise and fall of pure notes pressed soft kisses on his cheeks and lips, and he fell into a deep sleep beside the pond with a tiny smile on his face.

A hand pressed on his door.

"Thorin."

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