Chapter Seventeen

Nÿr watched Kili stare at the little fire in their bedroom. It was well after midnight, and they would have to go soon.

He was avoiding eye contact, and he was doing it because he was upset. She recalled something Fili had said once…he's fine right up until the moment that he isn't fine.

He wasn't fine. She understood that. The whole idea of what they were about to do crossed a line.

He'd objected when Dwalin and Tova had first explained the translated scroll, rolling it out on the big table in the great room.The Ward of Vustîn.The healing room, with its dual rods of mithril and the workings of the mithril spell. It held the ability to heal a specific wound or condition. Bone breaks, sword wounds, dysfunctions of the heart or liver, tumorous obstructions, et cetera.

"Tell me you're not playing with that," he'd said to them in a low voice.

Nÿr had replied as softly as she could. "We have to."

"Am I not enough of an example to both of you?" His words were louder. He was not angry, but Nÿr and Dwalin both recognized that he was unusually upset. "Didn't you understand about Frodo? That's the insidiousness of this magic…that we think it can do good when we try to use it. Even Fili…" he stopped and waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the King's Hall. "Can't really control that truth circle. How many criminals end up a pile of ash because he lets that magic influence his temper?"

"Only the ones who deserve it," Dwalin said.

Kili let out an exasperated breath. Nÿr didn't disagree with him, but then she had never seen Fili use the circle.

Dwalin had regarded him stoically. "If the tables were turned, lad, would you say no? We both know I'm not going to last much longer. I hate this damned condition…I will call this My Choice. My willing heart."

She had watched Kili and Dwalin face each other, two stubborn Sons of Durin.

Dwalin, surprisingly, had spoken softly then. "All those years ago," he said. "I watched you fight off a dozen orcs, climb that barrier, take a poisoned arrow, and still open the watergate. I had never been prouder of you, lad. You freed Thorin from captivity, freed all of us. Look me in the eye now, and tell me you wouldn't do it all over again, morgul wound and all."

Kili had said nothing, but his face was solemn, his arms crossed, his glower intense.

He'd left them to their discussion and she'd found him in their room, sitting on the floor in front of the fire.

She'd knelt beside him, taking his hand. He'd pulled her close, clearly in need of her friendship and comfort. When they made love, it had been passionate…maybe even desperate. Intimate but without words, without playfulness.

"Is this any different than going into battle?" she asked in a quiet voice afterward, holding him close. "Going off to fight goblins and orcs…and who knows what other kind of beastly thing?"

He blinked, his mouth twitched. His voice was hoarse with emotion when he spoke. "Mithril spells are dangerous. They kill, Nÿr. No one really understands them. They're unforgiving and they're deadly."

"And…so are orcs and goblins."

He let out a small, frustrated sigh and turned to touch foreheads with her. One hand came up to stroke her cheek. He looked her in the eye now and she could see his deep, soul-wrenching fear of metal magic. She took hold of his hand and held it tight. She could not change that, no words would allay it. All she could do was kiss him with all the love in her heart.

"Are you saying that we let him die?"

He'd closed his eyes. "No," he'd whispered.

"So we give it a try?"

For a long minute he said nothing. Then, "For Dwalin…"

"Yes, love."

Despite being a somewhat unwilling partner, Kili's help was essential. Nÿr was glad they had his agreement to do it in the dead of night when Erebor was quiet and few would see them. It was not out of the ordinary for an oldtimer to be taken to the infirmary in the wee hours, after all. And the senior physicians, the ones who might stop or question Nÿr, preferred the day shifts.

It did take the combined efforts of Nÿr and Kili to get Dwalin there, however. They used the secret passage from the study to the statue of Jormund the Apothecary, with Kili supporting Dwalin almost completely as they made their way past the Halls of Learning to the infirmary.

Nÿr took them through the main entrance, nodding to the night shift trainees. As she had hoped, there were two other infirm dwarves at the intake desk, so it was an easy task to commandeer a gurney and slip Dwalin through. Kili looked like the typical loved one helping an oldtimer, and the trainees were glad to let Nÿr, a well known member of the staff, handle her own patient.

They rolled Dwalin first toward the main ward, and at a moment when no one would see, parked the gurney and helped Dwalin up. The three of them slipped through a side passage that came out close to the maternity ward, and after she checked the halls and signaled them to come along, they quietly made it to the unused end of the old wing, to a hallway lined with doors.

One of which had a mithril doorknob that would open only at the touch of those with Durin's blood in their veins.

"Would you like to do the honors?" she asked Dwalin.

They looked at each other, and Dwalin reached for the handle, eyebrows shooting up when he felt the unmistakable zing of mithril.

"I'd know that feeling anywhere, Lassie," he said, holding the door for her.

Kili looked miserable, hesitating before following her inside, hands in pockets.

Dwalin walked in on his own power.

The door closed behind them, and the three of them stood inside and stared. Nÿr had been down earlier, sweeping out the dust and installing seven oil lamps in the seven sconces. There was a wooden student's chair for Kili, who pushed it into the corner and sat with both the old scroll and Tova's translated text on the little writing surface. He focused himself on re-reading her notes, rather pointedly ignoring the mithril.

According to the scroll, the patient was allowed no bed or stretcher…but needed to lie flat on the stone, unclothed, with a simple cloth for covering.

She watched Dwalin remove his boots and socks, then walk a circuit of the room barefooted, careful not to step on the mithril pattern. He touched the plain walls, bent to look closely at the pattern, then suddenly stood and looked at them.

"Let's just get on with it, then."

Fili, King of Erebor, was making a circuit of the camp and checking in with the nightwatch not long after midnight.

He was either crazy or brilliant, he wasn't sure. It was laughable, really: one king raiding the neighboring king's stronghold for a gaggle of lassies. He might never live it down.

On the other hand, Erebor had an abundance of unwed lads. How many lasses would be open to making a marriage, there was no predicting. He hoped for a dozen, maybe. From that, Erebor's actual wealth: babies. He smiled.

Thankfully, An's brilliance in the ways of Hill diplomacy was probably saving his sorry backside.

Faced with leading what ended up being a total of seventeen young lassies (Beka's friends had sisters to bring along) and thirty-three former warrior lasses (now unemployed by Stonehelm), An had stepped up and taken control.

She styled it as an official Honor Program. The Queen's Bâhînh, her friend-ladies. She was Hill folk herself, after all, and determined to foster relations between her birth home and her kingdom.

The upper echelon of Iron Hills society had instantly approved, making Erebor's royal couple out to be more cultural exchange philanthropists than kin-stealing pirates.

Stonehelm wasn't fooled. But, Fili reflected, he had his mithril ingot to keep him happy. He realized he might have to send another along once they made it home safely. Just to soothe any hard feelings.

But Lady An, Queen of Erebor, had in the course of one hour, turned the entire mess from bane to boon. She had also made it respectable by clearly stating, "no underage lasses without parental consent," and for the two younger sisters joining the group, obtained all-too-willing written permission. By early afternoon their way was clear, and they'd rolled the wagons for home, making it all the way to a warm-spring lake for the first night's camp.

And evening escapades in the water turned twelve laddie-lasses into twelve young lady dwarves that Fili hardly recognized.

It was their hair color, An said, laughing. "Didn't you notice they had all been using ash to dull the color?"

Fili had just stared.

And the one who'd changed most dramatically was Beka. Without its dull cover, her hair shone a beautiful light sable, and with her face clean, he could see the dusting of freckles across her nose.

"There's our young warrior," he'd smiled at her. She'd still ducked behind Nama, too cautious to actually speak to him, but at least she didn't look hostile. The lassie just needed time, he decided. And she could have it.

Iri, on the other hand, was thrilled to have so many new friends, and she shrieked her delight at him, racing across the campfire clearing to throw herself in his arms. She smelled of spring water and sunshine and it made him happy.

"I love you, Da!" she had declared. He held her tight and kissed her cheek and proudly declared his love in return.

"Nama says we can have arrow lessons tomorrow!"

"Can you?" he'd said. "Good thing you've been practicing, then. Do you know where your bow is?"

She had grinned and pointed to the family travel wagon.

An had winked at him. "Good job, love. You just showed them you're nothing like Stonehelm."

"Because I'm not," he'd said firmly.

"Beka will warm up to you before we get home," she'd predicted. "You watch."

When he finished his circuit of the camp guards, counted 50 sleeping forms around the campfire (the older lasses watching over the younger), he assured himself that all was as well as he could make it.

He took himself back to the family wagon and climbed quietly inside, stripping down to his long johns and checking his lads asleep in the upper bunk—Gunz and Hannar were snuggled against each other like puppies. He tucked the blanket around Hannar's rump, then gently slid Gunz's foot back under the covers. Then he eased into the wide bed next to An and Iri, suddenly feeling his exhaustion.

Four more days, and they'd be home.

And, Mahal willing, Dwalin would be well enough to meet his daughter when they got there.

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- Summer