Iron and Oak

Chapter Five

Thorin stood at the window, staring out at the darkness of the lake. His sleep had been mercifully deep and undisturbed since arriving at Lake Town. So why tonight did he find himself unwilling to seek it? His stomach was full; he was warm and dry; his company, well cared for and healing. He turned from the window and settled himself in one of the deep chairs by the crackling fire. He propped his boots on a sturdy stool and listened to the muted sounds of his youngest dwarves at play in the pub below.  

"Their energy and enthusiasm make me feel older than I should," Balin said as he stepped from the shadows.  

Thorin smiled and gestured Balin to the other chair, "Dwalin will keep them out of too much trouble." 

"And who, pray tell, will keep Dwalin out of trouble?" 

"If Dwalin is unable to take care of himself, we are all in trouble." 

Balin and Thorin laughed together.  

"All this rich food has made me sleep like a babe in me mother's arms," Balin complained good-naturedly. 

Thorin nodded his agreement. 

"The supplies are nearly gathered, and we should be able to leave the next day or so," Balin noted.  

"That is good news. This fall is wasting rapidly to winter." 

"Yes, we need to move on and quickly." Balin agreed.  

As the comfortable silence stretched between them, Thorin allowed his mind to wander back to the market this afternoon. He had been looking over supplies with Balin and, noting a certain lack of attention, turned his gaze to see what had caught Balin's eye. He glimpsed a silver cloak disappearing into the crowd and a flash of burnished gold hair. He stood stock-still for a moment, heart stopped. 

"Did you see her, too?" Balin whispered. 

Thorin turned his shocked gaze to Balin, then quickly recovered himself. "See who?" he asked. 

Balin turned away at his tone, and they resumed their work. 

Now, in the deep of night, Thorin wished to ask Balin to explain himself but was afraid of the answer. Afraid that weeks filled with her company in his dreams had made him irrational, perhaps even delusional, and so he kept his silence. The fire cackled merrily at his cowardice. He toed off his boots and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. After a pause, he picked up his pipe and filled it with Old Toby, tamping it gently with the end of his key. His key was the perfect tamping tool he had discovered in a moment of laziness. Leaning toward the fire, he grasped a burning stick and carefully lit his pipe, breathing the soothing blend.  

"The last I heard, she was at Dain's court," Balin said.  After a short pause, "Of course, that was long ago."

Thorin stared into the flames, and except for the tightening of his fingers on his pipe, Balin would have thought himself unheard. Balin forged ahead. "There was a woman today in the market. A Western woman, by her look, a very short one, I suppose, by Western standards, that stopped me cold," he said. "I wouldn't have noticed, but someone jostled around her, and her hood fell and her hair..." he trailed off. "Her hair was that rich copper-gold and braided in a coronet atop her head, Thorin, do you remember..." 

"Balin, please!" Thorin groaned, getting up and pacing to the window. In a quieter tone, "Of course, I remember." 

"I'm sorry, lad!" Balin said, dropping his chin to his chest. After a long silence,  "In my defense, it would be just like her to well.." he thought better and didn't finish his sentence. 

A smile ghosted across Thorin's face. "What? It would be just like her to saddle her pony, tear across the plains and skulk the byways of Lake Town to see if the rumors are really true? Hmm, I believe that impulsive girl, long gone by now."