Chapter Sixteen
Lady Nÿr, healer trainee and intended of Prince Kili, rushed through Erebor's central hub, heading for the cadet training arena. Someone had a head injury, and it could very well be the young prince Fjalar or Skirfir wouldn't have sent for her specifically.
Or Kili.
But no, she told herself. Kili was out on Ravenhill this morning, sending Erebor's winged friends off to check the roads and trails around the mountain, listening to their reports and deciding what was interesting.
Can't be Kili, she decided, but she still worried about it all the same.
She reached the stairway up to the training center, jogged up, and arrived to find a crowd of lads huddled around someone on the exercise mats.
They made way for her, revealing a chubby young cadet flat out on the floor…and a very guilty looking Fjalar.
Ah. Well, the lad did pack a punch.
Skirfir held an arm out, making room for her to work. "Nÿr. Thank Mahal. This is Mieth…He's out cold." Skirfir looked worried. "We didn't want to move him. Thought you were closer than the lads from the infirmary."
And more discreet? Nÿr nodded at her friend and went to the lad's side, reaching for his wrist and checking his pulse. Not alarming. And the poor lad was breathing evenly.
"How did it happen?" She looked at Skirfir, then Fjalar while she worked to loosen the lad's shirt.
"I missed," Fjalar admitted, his voice quiet. "Went for his shoulder, got him on his ear instead." The lad looked bleak.
"With your hand or with a weapon?" Nÿr pushed the lad's hair back to check his ear but saw nothing unusual. No blood. No bruise.
"My foot," Fjalar made a small side kick motion.
Nÿr nodded in understanding of what must have been a powerful strike.
"Well, I for one appreciate your kicking strength, lad. Made you pretty handy in a goblin fight once, if I recall." She smiled at him, hoping that she'd applied the right cure for mending what she diagnosed as a partially shattered ego. "That and your ability to slice clean through a goblin thigh."
Fjalar made a like I had a choice face, but the lads around him were exchanging impressed glances.
There's that problem solved, she thought, as she went through the usual checks on poor Mieth. She made a careful exam feeling the vertebrae in his neck, and she lifted his eyelids to see his pupils responding to light. Finally, she smiled reassurance at Skirfir.
"Just knocked a good one," she said to the group. "But it's always best to call a healer in for a check. Nothing's broken." She pulled her satchel close and opened it.
"Dwarves are quite sturdy and have particularly strong necks," she told them. "But let me warn you that if this were a wounded Dale man, we would have to be far more careful—their necks are quite fragile and moving a Man with a neck injury can cause great damage: paralyze or even kill him."
She opened a compartment in her bag and found a packet. "The technique I'm about to use on Mieth here works well on dwarves in this situation, but I would not do it for a man in the same spot." She looked at them to be sure they understood. "Since we sometimes fight closely with the Dale men, you need to be aware of this. You can staunch their bleeding, make sure they're breathing, but always best to leave a Man with a neck injury to his own healers."
"But," she smiled at them. "A fine sturdy dwarf lad like Mieth here just needs a bit of help to get back on his feet." She slipped a small, plump plant pod from the packet of paper. She always had a few of these handy.
"Here we go," she said calmly, showing them. Then she held the pod under the poor Mieth's nose, breaking it open with a small crack.
Mieth's eyes popped open like he'd been jolted, and everyone else stepped back at the sudden sharp, bitter odor. The lad struggled to sit up in an automatic reaction to the overwhelming smell. She was glad to see him bat her hand away and make a face.
The lads were all round-eyed in surprise. Even Skirfir looked a bit taken aback, nose wrinkling.
"It's just a Skunk Pod," she told them, trying not to laugh. "I should give you a few," she looked at Skirfir. "If this won't bring lads around, they're truly in a bad way." She grabbed a small glass vial, dropped the broken pod inside, and capped it.
The sharp smell vanished and everyone breathed sighs of relief. Nÿr unrolled a cloth to wipe her hands.
Mieth just sat and blinked, and Fjalar went to his knees, grabbing his friend's hand. "You're all right, Mieth?"
"Mahal," the lad breathed, taking in the sight of everyone crowding around. He looked sheepishly at Fjalar, as if embarrassed by the attention.
"How many fingers?" Nÿr asked, holding up three.
Mieth stared at her, not even looking at her fingers. He was gaping at her.
"Just answer," Fjalar said, sounding exasperated. "She's not gonna bite..."
Nÿr smiled. "It's just counting. No arithmetic involved, I promise." She tried humor to soften the lad's embarrassment.
Mieth swallowed and finally looked at her hand. "Three."
"Very good. Now follow my fingers with your eyes," she moved them left and right, up and down. He passed the test easily.
"No serious damage done," she announced. "On your feet, lad."
Fjalar helped him up.
"But no more battle practice for the rest of the day. I'll come by and check on you later. If you develop a raging headache or start throwing up," she looked at Skirfir. "I expect your mates to get you straight to the infirmary. Otherwise, just take it easy. You'll be back at it tomorrow."
Fjalar was nodding, looking both relieved and determined to enforce the rest order.
Nÿr looked down to close her satchel, suppressing a grin and was honored when she saw Skirfir making a formal offer of his hand to help her stand.
She didn't really need help up, but she understood the gesture demonstrated to the lads how to show respect to a lady…their Commander's intended, in fact. Lady An had cautioned her to expect these kinds of gestures and to always honor them with kind grace.
She took his hand and stood. "My thanks, Lieutenant," she inclined her head politely.
Fjalar and one of the other lads braced Mieth and headed for the benches. Mieth looked a little bit proud to have the status of wounded in battle.
"Walk out with me?" she asked Skirf.
He checked the lads and nodded.
"I think it's just a hard knock on the head," she said, as they walked. But she briefly described a set of dangerous symptoms to watch for. "It can happen that they look fine, then just collapse. So keep an eye."
Skirfir nodded. "Lad doesn't know his own strength," Skirfir said, meaning Fjalar. "He's got a kick like a warhammer. Maybe I need to round up some tough old warriors for him to spar against."
Nÿr laughed. "You've definitely got a legend in the making there," she said.
Skirfir winked and bowed to her at the door.
"We have a problem." Nama, former Iron Hills bodyguard, looked worried when she arrived at the guest quarters.
Fili raised his eyebrows. "Of course we do. It's turning out to be that kind of day."
"It's Hjarni, Beka's foster brother. He's on his way."
"Here?"
"He's caught wind that you're looking for the lass." Nama's expression showed her frustration. "I thought we were being discreet in our inquiries…but obviously someone's said too much and someone else has passed it on." She looked apologetic now. "I'm afraid he's bent on making trouble. He's got a real mean streak, especially when he drinks."
Fili smiled. "Trouble." He snorted. "Makes life interesting."
But Nama still looked alarmed. "What if he already has her? What if he sneaks her away?"
"I agree, that would be inconvenient," Fili said. "But I think we're a step ahead of him."
Nama gasped. "You found her?"
Fili nodded. "But we need a plan." He told her what he knew.
"Best news I've heard all year, that's a fact," she said. " And I can offer a bit of luck-I've been friends with the trainee master for years. I think we can start with him."
With that, Fili motioned for her to lead on. Nama started to object, then seemed to realize there were no longer any personal things in the guest quarters.
"An and the children...they've left already?"
Fili grinned. "No, but we've packed the wagons. An's got the kids with her parents for now. I expect to head out quickly as soon as we have our lass, however."
Nama's expression was wistful. "I hope I can say goodbye properly to your Lady..."
"I was thinking you might not need to," Fili said opening the door and heading out. She followed.
Fili explained the trade he'd made with his cousin, Stonehelm. One ingot of mithril in exchange for his promise not to interfere. And then the joke about fifty lasses instead of just the one. "I'm taking him at his word," Fili said. "Fifty. I've got lasses to train if you want to come back to Erebor with us. One in particular might need your help, I'm guessing."
Nama stopped in her tracks. "Leave the Hills?" she whispered.
Fili stopped, nodding. He faced her. "Only if you want. I realize you might have fam…" But he didn't get a chance to finish. The hardy old lass had grabbed his hand and pressed her forehead to it.
"Mahal's blessing, lad," she whispered.
Fili blinked, then realized how unhappy the veteran warrior must be, having devoted her life to her King, only to have his misguided whelp strip her of her duty and station.
It was poorly done, in Fili's opinion. He hoped Stonehelm would learn from it.
And because it was his nature, Fili pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her, warrior to warrior. "I take it you're accepting my offer?"
He felt her nod and realized she was teary.
"Ah, dry your eyes, lass," he smiled and let her go, giving her a light smack on the bicep. "The rest of the day should be pretty fun, especially if you're helping me out."
Nama's old friend Jallgrím the Trainee Master looked at them with such an expression of relief when he heard their proposal that Fili raised his eyebrows.
"There's three lassies in this class," he told them in a quiet voice. "Gets harder to keep them hidden every day. Be the best favor for me if you'd up and take all three with you. They'd be safer and I'd keep my job longer."
Fili was slightly surprised to learn this. He would have expected Stonehelm's captains to be following his orders a bit more explicitly.
That they were not was a telling bit of news. He had no doubt that Stonehelm would soon hit a brick wall with his policies and a change of direction might be in his future.
But a ruckus out on the training ground had them all running for the source of the noise before he could say it aloud.
"Hjarni," Nama muttered.
Sure enough, a small crowd had accompanied Hjarni into the training arena, and Fili identified him as the sloppy, dun haired miner who had Beka by the collar, trying to drag her away from her fellow trainees.
"This one's a lassie!" He shouted back at them. "Pulling a fast one on all of you!"
The trainees looked confused, but the rabble of a crowd was eating it up. Before any of them could react, Nama darted forward, intervening before the half-drunk slob could strip the girl's shirt off. She broke his grip and pulled the lass away, putting ten measures of space between them.
Fili got himself in front of her, facing Hjarni with his best Fili-the-Stubborn glower.
"What's she to you?" Fili asked. "You're not even blood kin…she was your mother's foster-daughter."
"She's my property!" Hjarni objected looking from Nama to Fili. "Bound for a marriage contract. So all this nonsense comes to halt now."
He tried to reach for her, but Fili didn't move, blocking the other dwarf's way. Hjarni's grab fell short.
And that's when Hjarni thought his long knife would help him out. He pointed it at Erebor's King to audible gasps.
Fili didn't even blink. He didn't even draw any of his own hidden blades in defense.
He didn't need to.
Fili calmly executed two hand motions and Hjarni's blade was smacked away, leaving him shaking his hand and scowling in disbelief.
"My baby daughter holds a blade with a better grip," Fili chided, amused disgust on his face.
"I'll bet she does, at that," said a new voice. Thorin Stonehelm, King of the Iron Hills strode forward, scooping up the long knife and eyeing the drunken miner. Hjarni the miner had the good sense to back up and say nothing.
"This your lass, cousin?" Stonehelm nodded toward Beka as he tossed the heavy knife to one of his guard for safekeeping. "Or lad?" He looked confused but his tone was amiable.
An ingot's worth of mithril amiable, Fili noted. "Aye. Lass," he affirmed calmly as if this were a casual matter of little import. "She is at that."
"Just the one?"
Fili smiled but his eyes were steely. "Nah. Wouldn't take one over fifty though, no worries."
Stonehelm eyed the little crowd of Iron Hills folk, then shrugged. "On with you," he said, shooing them off, Hjarni included. One of his guard pushed the miner along.
Things became much quieter.
"Let me go!" came a lassie's voice.
Fili turned to see Nama trying to keep a protective arm around Dwalin's daughter.
"Lass, the King here knows your own true father," Nama was trying to calm her. "You are his own kin. He can take you from all this. He can take all of us."
Beka froze, as if unable to understand. Nama made soothing sushes.
"Whose daughter?" Stonehelm asked Fili, his voice not quite a challenge.
Fili faced him, his smile gone, his expression stone. He stood a good two inches taller than his ruddier cousin.
"Dwalin's."
Stonehelm said nothing at first. He knew Dwalin. Respected him greatly. Then Fili saw his cousin's slow brain making the real connection. "A Daughter of Durin…born to the Iron Hills."
Fili nodded. "To a Lord of Erebor. And your Royal Promise to leave be."
"No wonder you brought me mithril, cousin," he said quietly. "Had I known, I would not have let her go."
Fili waited, noting that Stonehelm wasn't proposing a re-negotiation or a return of the ingot, either.
They regarded each other.
"Fifty," Stonehelm said. "Not one more."
Fili inclined his head, hand on heart.
After a moment, Stonehelm did the same. Then he turned on his heel and led his guards away.
Behind him, he heard Nama trying to calm the frightened lass.
"He came all this way just for you, child. To take you to your own father. And they train lassies in Erebor. Right out in the open..."
Fili turned to them, staying a few feet back and speaking quietly. He tried to make eye contact, but the lass shied away. "We're quite proud of our warrior lasses," he added. "We would welcome you for yourself, but also as your father's daughter and in honor of your warrior mother, Hazar."
There, a peek of blue eyes. Dwalin's daughter. She wasn't so much shy as simply untrusting.
"His name is Dwalin. I've known him all my life. He's an honorable dwarf, Beka. Erebor's best, and he wants to meet you very much. "
She stood now, half behind Nama, assessing him.
"You want to train for battle," Fili shrugged. "He'll be your biggest champion." He smiled. "As your cousin, I offer you this Choice." He inclined his head. "Lady Beka, we would be honored if you would like to train in Erebor with us and serve in our Guard with a willing heart, if that is your wish."
Beka looked disbelieving, then shook her head. "Not without my friends." She looked over her shoulder at the other trainees.
Fili raised an eyebrow. "Not a problem."
Beka shrugged Nama off then and half-stumbled to several of the others. The lads in the group backed away as if stung.
Leaving eleven trainees huddled with Beka.
"Twelve lasses?" Nama asked, her arms out to them as if trying to scoop them all up.
Poor Jallgrím paled visibly.
Fili himself was a bit surprised. Twelve was considerably more lasses-pretending-to-be-lads than anyone would have thought.
"Get them ready to ride," he warned Nama. "Before anyone here decides to change Stonehelm's mind."
.
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*Let me know what you think! (Apparently Fili is a gambler at heart!). Huge thanks as always...mahal's blessings to all of you. Drop me a note if you like! Appreciate your support!*