Chapter Two

Nÿr the healer lass, betrothed of Prince Kili, found her new patient weeping in his daybed, despite the sunny corner of the great room and the comfortable pillows.

Old Dwalin had harassed both Kili and his brother the night before, querulous and demanding, insisting that a certain wooden box be brought from his old quarters. She had banished Fili, seeing his expression turning into what she secretly called "Fili the Stubborn" mode. Kili, somewhat taken aback by all the fussing, had jumped to comply with his old teacher's wishes, looking more like one of the King's pages who'd just been reprimanded than a fully grown royal prince with years of command experience.

Nÿr still didn't know whether it had been cute or outrageous.

What she did know is that Dwalin had spent all morning and most of the afternoon going through the contents of the box: letters. Lots of old letters.

Now she decided that he'd spent enough time letting himself be so upset.

She brought him calming tea and set it on the side table. While the emotions were unusual for Dwalin, they were not so unusual for someone as sick as he was. Lucky for her, he was not the first old warrior she had helped through what the healers called the last stage of life. She reached for his hand and gently squeezed, then massaged his palm with her thumb.

"Ah, lassie," he said, his voice tight. "I shouldn't be doing this." He looked at her, unabashed at his tears. "But I have to." He squeezed her hand back.

Nÿr didn't speak. She used a damp cloth to wipe his forehead, then the stream of tears on his face. It did nothing, medically speaking. It was purely for comfort; an excuse for the consolation of touch.

"I have a confession," he stated. "And I need to tell you because I think you're the only one who can tell me how to fix it."

Nÿr sat in the chair beside the day bed. This, too, was not so unusual for someone facing their last weeks. The need to make amends. She met his eyes and smiled a little, hoping to calm him. "I'm here," she said softly. "I'm listening."

This prompted more tears and his angry gesture to dash them away. She put the damp cloth in his hand and he used it, snorting at himself.

She let be and waited while he gathered himself. Finally, he picked up the letter he'd been reading and handed it to her.

She accepted it. "You want me to read it?"

He nodded.

She read it in silence.

To Dwalin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Erebor

Durin's Day, 2980

Honored Sir:

With regret I write to you to inform you of the passing of Hazar, Captain of the Hill Guard, 2ndBattalion, at her specific request. She passed as the result of complications following childbirth, on 21st November, here in the Iron Hills. Her bairn, a lass, is healthy. In keeping with our laws, the orphan will be fostered to a lady of good character and provided for through a royal stipend.

Our deepest sympathies,

Hlió, Master Physician, Iron Hills.

Nÿr stared.

Oh, my. There's only one reason a Master Physician would send this kind of letter, she blinked. It was the kind of letter sent to kin...or a baby's father. He has a daughter, she realized. And he's never told anyone.

Did the King and his brother know this?

Maybe not. If Dwalin had not wed the lass—this Hazar, Captain of the Hill Guard—then the child would not be considered his. She would be counted an orphan child and ward of the Iron Hills.

2980…two years after an orc incursion from the south. The Iron Hills had sent reinforcements to Erebor, and this Hazar must have been with them.

Not unreasonable to think that a pair of warriors would find solace in each other's arms.

"I tried to tell myself the bairn was better off with her mother's people," Dwalin murmured. "I have no rights, I know, since we'd not wed."

Nÿr saw the regret in the old warrior's sad eyes.

"And then I met you," he looked at her fondly. "Daughter of Durin, raised by a foster mother." He let out a quick laugh. "And found myself wishing you were her." He smiled at her, his tears in earnest now, and she rose to embrace him.

"Oh, Dwalin. I'm too old to be her. She's got to be closer to Fjalar's age—just ready to apprentice in a craft." She held him, feeling the pent up tension in his shoulders. "I'm sure her foster mother loves her dearly."

"There's another letter," he managed to say. "I haven't found it yet. About twenty years later. The physician writes to tell me her foster mother died of an infection."

Nÿr's chest suddenly felt hollow. Oh, no.

"That was my chance to step up," he admitted. "But things were so busy. Erebor was not safe. The dark forces were at our door." He looked up at the ceiling, as if remembering the strain of those lean years. "I told myself the lass was safer staying hidden away." He shook his head.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and Nÿr saw him gathering himself and calming a bit.

"Now things are better. But I know she's left with no one. And I don't know how to fix this. Tell me what to do." he said, his eyes imploring. "If you were her age, would you have wanted a dying old warrior to come find you after all these years? Is she better off never knowing me?" he whispered.

Nÿr couldn't stop her own tears now. She laughed. "Look at this. You've got me going, too." She borrowed the damp cloth and used it.

Mahal.

"Ruby spoiled me," she told him. "All the ladies at her place did. But I can tell you—if I had a chance to see my father when I was the age she is now—It would have meant everything." She bit her lip.

Dwalin's hand came up to cup her face and she leaned forward until they touched foreheads.

"Can you help me find her?" he whispered. "Is there even time?"

She gripped his hand, and he squeezed tight.

"I will help you try," she whispered back. "I promise."


Kili, son of Durin, Prince of Erebor, came home to find his intended holding another dwarf in her arms.

It was his old teacher Dwalin, and the ill, aging dwarf was sobbing.

When Nÿr looked up and met his eyes, Kili saw her tears as well.

He wanted nothing more than go to her and comfort her—but she made a motion with her hand to shoo him off.

Certainly he didn't understand the complexities of healer duties. He made an are you really all right?face, saw her nod once, and then he held up a hand in acquiescence. He pointed to the rooms on his brother's side of the family complex and fled.

Fili stood in the middle of his family, the two younger lads swirling about him in a mock battle, his youngest lass, Iri, in his arms. Fjalar was disagreeing with his mother about something that Fili was obviously trying to mitigate.

His brother spared him a glance, then looked back at his oldest son and Lady wife.

Then looked back at Kili.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, holding up a hand to his oldest son.

Lady An grabbed the younger lads and pointed them to the playroom. They vanished in a game of chase.

Kili just hooked a thumb back toward the great room, not sure how to describe what he'd seen.

"Dwalin? Is he badgering you again?"

"No…" Kili still couldn't quite explain it with the kids in the room. He held up an open hand and shrugged.

Lady An put Iri in her brother's arms. "Take her back to Nanna, please, Fjalar?"

Fjalar looked exasperated but didn't object. With an obedient nod, he took his little sister and followed his brothers.

Kili felt Nÿr come up behind him then, her hand on his back. He pulled her into a hug.

"What was that about?" he asked. She was obviously sniffing and upset.

She held the letter out to Fili. Lady An stood beside her husband to read along, then one hand quickly covered her mouth. She looked up to stare at Nÿr.

Fili looked stricken and handed the letter to his brother.

Kili read.

"He has a daughter?" His eyebrows were up.

"Does he think it's true?" Lady An said in a hushed voice.

"He does," Nÿr confirmed. "He says there's a second letter he hasn't found yet. He's still going through that box. It was about twenty years ago, telling him the lassie's foster mother was dead. He didn't answer it because things were so dire here."

"He was protecting her," An murmured.

"Is there even time to do anything about this?" Fili asked.

Kili saw Nÿr shrug. "He's got at least a month, I think. And I'm not really sure how long it takes to travel to the Iron Hills and back," she said.

"Five days, each way," An said. She was from the Iron Hills, after all. Her parents still lived there. "But the bigger question is whether we could even find the child," she looked at Fili. "There are seven settlements in the Hills. She could be living in any one of them."

"The letter doesn't even give her name," Fili pointed out.

"But whoever she is," Kili looked at his intended with a deeper understanding of the issue. "She's a daughter of Durin."

An frowned. "Meaning...?"

"She's got to be the only person anywhere in the Hills who can talk to a raven," Kili said. "That makes her our business."

Kili looked at his brother, who looked skeptical.

"Dain's son is not likely to see it that way," Fili said slowly. "If Dwalin never married her mother, he has no rights to the child."

"Beka," Nÿr said to them.

Kili looked at her.

"He told me her name is Beka."

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