Over Hill and Under Tree (Shiva x Traveler)

[Traveler]

As they strolled, for now it could be reasonably be called an easy stroll and not the frenzied walk of those wishing not to be arrested, Maerwyn finally decided to answer his question. Her reasons made sense; everyone needed to eat and having a place to stay and a way to pay for expenses were understandable goals. Even he wanted to eat and buy things when they were needed, but he also enjoyed the rhythm of the mountain and seeing people he knew every day. Being constantly surrounded by strangers was bound to be lonely.

One thing that stuck out for him in her answer was that she recognized the risk in living the life of a thief and seemed inclined towards honest work whenever possible. That was a good thing; he did not know if he could travel very long with someone whose ethics were too far removed from his, no matter how good a guide they were. Torwald, for instance, would have not been a good traveling companion. He smirked at Maerwyn’s assumption about the sky and the rivers and the roads but did not comment. Her description of the world and her love for them was something that he understood well. Only…not about the world, but about a certain person in the world. He had often been reprimanded by his father for having an unhealthy lack of care for gold and gems, but then again, he had been on that side of his father for a long time. Since before Dia, honestly.

He pondered his complicated family as they walked, and occasionally gazed up at the lines of water pouring down at them, intrigued at how the water seeped from the darkened sky like water through the sandstone; pure, cool, and mysterious. There were many reaches in the caverns where one could barely see the ceiling, or not at all, because of the great depths of the tunnels and natural caves. The dwarves had built an impressive city; great columns of stone hewn in place to support the expanded voids were one of the things that had impressed him as a child. He could not imagine the ingenuity that their engineers had to create such wondrous structures. Of course, masonry was not his gift. It was Dis’s.

"Why Dís?" she asked suddenly.

It was as if she was in his mind. He looked at her curiously, intrigued at the perfect timing of her question.

"I mean, if there are four other women in your Kingdom, why choose her, and not one of the others? Was it her looks alone? Or does she have a dowry that you just couldn't resist?"

Orin shut his surprised mouth and looked back at the trail they were following. Why had he chosen Dis? It was not a question he had ever asked. He just…had. How much could he share with this person about the secretive life of his people under the mountain? Their women were almost as well hidden and cherished as their gold; rarer even then the Arcenstone, in his opinion.

“Uhhh…” where could he start?

"What does your family think of the match?"

Orin’s feet stumbled over a high root and he caught himself quickly, glaring back at the offending plant as he continued walking as if it had been a personal affront. He twisted up his jaw as he continued to consider how to answer her. For if anything, honesty to a fault was one of the many things he had been accused of being.

“Well, uhm,” he shifted his bag on his back and repositioned his hands on the straps. “They think nothing of it, actually.” Which was true. They thought it would come to nothing despite her special treatment of him and the hours they shared daily. “But,” he said, shifting the conversation to the more pleasant question, “as for why I chose Dis, well…because she’s perfect. How could I not?”

He smiled then, thinking again of the columns and the first time he realized she was a girl in their presence, for Dwarven children are more alike then even Dwarven adults. “You know, we don’t have many women. Our Mountains are vast, as is our numbers, and out of a thousand births only one might be a girl. So they’re rare.” His voice softened. “The most precious thing in the world is a Dwarven lass.”

His eyes flickered to Maerwyn. “Of the four women in our mountain, one is my sister, the other has been engaged for fifty years to someone I could never compete with,” he shook his head as if to fortify his words. “The other one I’ve only heard rumors of, but she’s said to not fancy marriage and is well into her second century. And then there’s Dis.” He smiled then. “And I know that she fancies me differently than the others who have pursued her.”

“Oh yes,” he continued, raising a finger as if Maerwyn might have disagreed with him silently. “It’s true. I’m the only one she feels comfortable enough with to use pet names,” he explained, thinking of the names she used. ‘Dolt, idiot, and Rocks-for-Brains; were among her favorites. Orin resumed discussing Dis. “And she accepts gifts from others, then sets them aside and doesn’t touch them again. But she has never accepted a gift from me, which tells me that they’re special to her. She’s never going to put my gifts on the shelves with all the others she receives. I’m the only one she does this for. Unique. And we all know that the more distinctively someone acts towards another, the stronger their feelings.”

He walked for a while, thinking of all the special treatment he received from Dis. The elaborate pet names, the occasional excuse of a slap which was her way to actually touch his face without making the others jealous, and tone she carried in her voice with only him when they talked. “That ring I paid the collateral with; that was the first gift I made her that she rejected. There’s been so many…but when I return, she’ll accept my gifts. She said so. And then we can be engaged.” He sighed. “But you’ll understand when we return, and you meet her. You’ll understand why it’s impossible not to love her.”

They had been walking and sometimes talking for many hours, and Orin’s stomach began to protest. He pulled out a slim stick of meat and tore a piece off as they walked, not wanting to waste time to rest while there were still so many miles to cross. As he munched on his moving dinner, he considered their plans for the night. He’d slept outside at the beginning of his journey, but it had been dry. If they couldn’t find some kind of cave in the hills or thick strand of trees, they would be chilled by the time morning came around. He would leave those details for Maerwyn to figure out, though. She was, after all, his guide, and trained in such matters. He would trust that she knew what they were doing for the night.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Perfect?"

The word made Maerwyn stop dead in her tracks, and the incredulity in her voice was almost palpable. "You know four women--no, you know of four women, one of whom is your sister, so you really only know of three--and that's how you determine this one is perfect?" It might have been rude, but the woman couldn't stop a chuckle from tumbling over her lips and shaking her head. "I'll admit I know very little when it comes to matters of the heart, Master Dwarf, but I do know a thing or two about numbers and values." She paused a moment, trying to think how best to illustrated her point, when a rather large smooth stone on the nearby beach caught her eye.

"Here," she said, scooping up the stone and holding it up for him to see. "Let's say I've never seen a diamond." Which was true, she hadn't ever seen a diamond, at least not a real one. "But someone tells me this stone in my hand is, indeed, a diamond. As you know, I'm a very economical person, so I come to you with an offer to sell. In my mind, this is a perfect diamond, practically priceless, because I've never seen one. But you, Master Orin, I assume have seen many diamonds and other precious stones in your life, and therefore you know this is not a perfect diamond. You may even know it's not a diamond at all. Either way, you would think me a fool for claiming it was perfect when I never had anything to compare it against."

Satisfied she had made her point, Maerwyn looked back to the lakeside. Turning slightly, she shifted the stone in her hand, then with a flick of her wrist sent it skipping across the surface of the water. "Of course, I don't doubt your Dís is a female at all. I imagine that even if women are rare among your kind, you must know what they look like. But you must excuse me if I'm a little doubtful of her perfection." The woman shrugged, then continued on along the shore. "I suppose it is possible, just as it's possible I may someday stumble upon a perfect diamond laying upon the ground completely undisturbed. But if you will allow a bit of advice from a woman directly--human that I am--I would discourage you from thinking anything in this world is perfect, women least of all."

She wasn't quite sure she meant to do so, but as she spoke the mercenary found her hand fumbling with the chain around her neck, pulling it out to examine Orin's ring again in the sun. It really was lovely, and she was astounded to learn the dwarf had crafted it himself. "You have a talent for jewels," Maerwyn murmured, holding it up to the dreary gray light of the afternoon. Even in the dimness she could see a good amount of fire in the diamonds, and the garnets (or were they rubies?) had a rich, deep color that appealed to her own tastes. Dís must have been the recipient of quite a few handsome gifts in order to scorn this one.

It seemed cruel to speak the thoughts aloud, but the more Orin spoke of his love and the way she treated him, the more Maerwyn doubted that his affections were returned. True she knew little of dwarvish customs, however the idea of returning a gift as a sign of affection seemed absurd. She'd never in her life seen a dwarf give back anything even among kin, or even when they owed a certain mercenary a fee. "If adventuring suits you," she continued, deciding it best to change the subject. "Why not try to see a bride in some of your people's other countries, like the Blue Mountains or Iron Hills? They must have women as well. Perhaps one of them will surprise you and actually show appreciation for a beautiful gift?" As if by some magic the ring could have shrunk the past few days, the mercenary tried sliding it over her finger again but alas, it was still too large. Sighing, she tucked it back into her collar, feeling it warm against her skin.

The senseation only fanned the smile that crossed her face at the idea of accompanying the dwarf all the way back to the Lonely Mountain whenever his quest, whatever it was, had been completed. "So you don't intend to send me off when we reach the Gladden after all, hm?" she teased, looking over her shoulder at him. "A wise decision on your part. You may wish to share your ultimate destination with me, however. If we're headed all the way to the Ered Luin and back, I expect to collect quite the tidy sum when this is all over. Though you could make me a few more pretty rings as payment, if Dís wants this one back."

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully, and in the early afternoon the clouds finally began to dissipate, making way for a watery yellow sun that did little to warm the air or dry the puddles on the ground. A few hours later, Maerwyn halted their progress and ventured closer to the lakeside, which had become muddy and boggy, and after settling in on a fallen log near the water's edge she pulled a small length of line and a metal hook from one of her cloak pockets. Fastening it to a long stick and baiting the hook with a fat grub, it took less than an hour to catch four fat brown fish which would serve as their supper once they settled in for the night.

Their campsite was only a few miles farther down the shore, and by the time they reached it a vibrant red sunset was spreading across the forest to the west. Beautiful as the sight was though, it gave an eerie air to their shelter for the night; a half-burned farmhouse that was falling in on itself. "We should be cautious as we approach," Maerwyn whispered to the dwarf as she led him in a wide circle around the building. "Travelers often use this place for shelter, and not all are willing to share, even if there's room for a dozen inside." After a few minutes though, she was convinced the place was empty, and when the pair entered through a gaping hole in the western wall her guess was proven correct.

Half of the building's roof was missing, and while there had once been an upstairs that might have provided a good vantage point to the surrounding country, the stairs had long ago rotted away. Rubble and refuse had been cleared near a sheltered area, and a blackened circle of stones that marked out a fire ring sat cold in the middle of the floor. "One of us will need to go gather firewood," Maerwyn commented as she set her bag down near the wall, then carefully laid the string of fish across to top of it. "Do you want to stay here and keep an eye on things, or do you want to go? You'll want to look closer to the forest than the lake in order to get something dry. It should be safe enough if you don't go into the forest itself, but be mindful all the same."

Some time later, after wood had successfully been obtained and the fish had been cleaned and were now roasting deliciously over a crackling red flame, Maerwyn tilted her head back and looked up at the sky through the missing roof. Stars were beginning to blossom in the dark overhead, and for the first time in days she began to feel as though she were home. Not safe of course, but at least back into dangers she knew and understood. "I think the weather will be warmer tomorrow," she remarked, looking back at the fire and turning the fish on their sticks. "We should have no trouble reaching the river before the afternoon. Then perhaps we might find another boat to carry us farther down to the trees?"

She couldn't hide the playful grin on her face as she handed a pair of roasted fish towards the dwarf, and helped herself to her own share of the meal.

 

[Traveler]

Merwyn’s words echoed his father’s. At the time, Orin had thought it was just the lingering bitterness that Thimli, son of Thraem who slayed an Olog-Hai when he was only seventy, son of Morlig, of the House of Durin, had felt over his wife, Havus’s abandonment of their family soon after Orin’s weaning, but when he heard the mercenary reiterate nearly word-for-word the response that Thimli had given him, it gave the youngish dwarf pause.

Was it possible that Dis was not perfect? Did he simply love her because she was the only one for him, literally being the only option in the mountain?

Nah! It couldn’t be! He tromped on beside the mercenary, throwing those disturbing thoughts into the deep recesses of his subconscious where they would not reemerge for a long time. Forever, possibly. Hopefully. He picked up a tiny pebble and worried it with his thumb, then eventually stuck it in his pocket as the terrain increased in difficulty and he had to keep both hands free in case another root decided to trip him up. Maerwyn’s observations about perfection made him pause. He nodded, but said nothing to her, and kept trudging at her side

"You have a talent for jewels," Maerwyn murmured, holding it up to the dreary gray light of the afternoon. Orin glanced over and saw that she was inspecting the ring.

“Thank you. It’s my gift, I suppose. We all have them.” He walked a few more steps before continuing. “Those are diamond chips off the Star of Elendil, by the way, and the rubies took me eight years to match the hue.” He sighed, thinking again of Maerwyn’s words and shoving the insecurities down again, like a man trying to drown a cat. “It was worth it.”

A little later Maerwyn asked him about finding a bride from another country, and he shook his head. “It would not be right to look for another when I’ve promised myself to Dis,” he reasoned. “That would be unfaithful.” He thought again of his mother, and her leaving.

He was not going to do what she had done. One infidelity in the family was enough to last a thousand years. But he smiled at the thought of the mercenary agreeing to go along with him on his travels. And when she said that he should share his ultimate destination with her he just smiled mysteriously. “In time,” he promised, then looked at the ground as he marched. In time. And maybe he’d make her a ring for every finger, if he was successful. Every finger and toe, and her ears, too, if she wanted.

Orin took the wood-gathering duty and brought several armfuls back. Enough for their use, and to leave a little for the next traveler. He was busy stacking the wood when she began to talk about boats again, causing him to frown and nearly glare at her.

Another Boat?

“A boat? Again?” He swallowed and turned away, thinking of the last ride they had taken. The only one for him…and the way it had swayed on the water as they skittered down the river. “If we’re going to be taking a lot of boat rides,” he said, nearly growling, “you’re going to have to teach me to swim.”

He hated the helpless feeling he had the last time. The thought of falling though the water, unable to get to the surface, and trying in vain to walk the water’s floor to climb up the edge. As she handed him the fish, he looked at the silvered creature with its diminutive fins. It didn’t even have feet. If it could do it, he could do it.

After all, a dwarf learning to swim was about as likely as a dwarven woman abandoning her family to be with an elf. Nothing was impossible.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

The mercenary couldn't help but burst out laughing at the bear-like reaction Orin had at the idea of boat. Resting one hand on his shoulder, she gave him a reassuring little shake. "I was joking, Master Dwarf. Who would take the likes of us aboard anyway, when you're making a face like that?" Her fingers squeezed him gently for a moment, then reached for the knife in her pocket to cut off a small chuck of her fish. "I promise you, no more boats unless it's absolutely necessary. And if you should fall overboard and begin to drown, I promise I will do all I can to save you." Though as she glanced sideways at him, taking in his compact, dense form, she wondered if even she would be able to support his body.

"As for swimming lessons, I'll teach you whenever you like. I'm perfectly happy to extend our time together, so long as I receive my payment at the end," she added, popping a bit of the light, delicate fish between her lips. The rest of the meal was conducted primarily in silence, but when nothing was left on the blackened stones but the small bones of the fish, Maerwyn couldn't help but pull out Orin's ring again, curious how it would look in the firelight. He'd said something curious on the road earlier; something about the Star of Elendil. The name brought back memories of nights like this when she would sit by her parents' hearth, listening to stories of kings of old.

Dís truly must have been a fool, or else more spoiled than the worst of princesses. Shaking her head slowly, Maerwyn tucked away the the ring, then moved slightly until her back was resting against the dusty stone wall. "We should keep a watch tonight," Maerwyn remarked, taking out her small bit of wood again. "There are sometimes raiders in these lands; descendants of the Balchoth of old. That's why this place is here in the first place." A sad cast fell over her eyes as she glanced towards the ruined upper story of the house. "There was a family that lived here a few years back. The people in Esgaroth think it may have been a robbery, since the man of the house was said to be wealthy. Some boatmen on the lake saw it burning one night, and heard the savage cries of the southern bandits as they circled the house, but by the time anyone was brave enough to venture ashore, all they found were five burned bodies, without a copper between them."

The knife flicked softly against the wood in her hand, sending the little shavings into the fire. "Many people still won't come near this place," the woman continued, her voice growing slightly softer. "They say the dead linger here, ready to take revenge on their murderers. I myself have seen strange things out of the corner of my eye on certain moonless nights. Dark shapes, like smoke drifting between the shadows. And I have heard screams when I have been utterly alone. At first it frightened even me." Was that the fire glinting in Maerwyn's brown eyes, or some other curious spark? "But if there are shades with us now, I pity them more than anything else."

Her fingers ran over the lump of wood in her hand, which now revealed itself to be the squat shape of a bear. "Of course, I'm not telling you this to frighten you," she remarked, her voice returning to its normal volume. "Only to warn you that, if you see anything unusual tonight, it is only sad memories, nothing more. Shall I take first watch then?" Maerwyn asked almost cheerfully, resuming her carving with a focus on detailing the bear's nose just perfectly.

 

[Traveler]

She touched him. Dis had never touched him, not purposely. Maerwyn's hand on his shoulder was unnaturally warm, or so it felt to him, as she gave him a little shake and laughed, her eyes kind and sharing in the humor of her joke. He was not completely sure that she was joking, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt and nodded, relieved but also glad to hear that she would try to save him if he did fall over. Because, you see, he knew there was not an ‘if’ regarding a boat. It was a ‘when’. Eventually they would teeter onto those unstable execution devices again and he would be faced with drowning as a trade-off for how swiftly boats traveled across the miles.

How many days had it been since they had started their travels? He went over them quietly; the first day, the day on the boat, today…three gold pieces. He would have to keep track. As she mentioned the need for watch he nodded at first, not really listening as he dug through his pack for his journal and stick. It had been a while since he’d made a note in in and he wanted to keep his stories straight for when he returned.

Orin glanced at her at the mention of raids, and then began to write again, but at her mention of the slaughter in the home they were using his hand stilled. He began to listen to her recount of the events, taking in every warning and mention of the dead lingering with a quiet focus…the dead linger here…ready to take revenge…seen strange things…dark shapes…screams when I have been alone…his throat grew dry.

And though she dismissed the tales of shades and vengeful spirits, he did not. His eyes flickered around the room, wondering where the family had died, and how. Were their last moments panicked fear, or surprised and sudden? Did they wail in despair as they saw their loved ones cut down? He slowly closed his book and slid the stick in its binding, looking at his mercenary guide with the same kind of subdued panic someone might have if they were thrown into a pit of vipers and they realized that a sudden movement might spell doom. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders, eyes still watchful of the shadows.

When he could find moisture for his lips he drew in a shuddering breath and spoke. “Oh…sleep first? Sure,” he replied, “I’ll take second watch, then.” Another glance around. He did not want to sleep where they had died, but there was no telling where that was. Every corner was dark, and the flickering campfire light made the shadows dance and sway, enhancing the spooky setting in a way that made him most uncomfortable. “Maybe I’ll just sleep here, by the fire.” He wondered how she could be so calm, working on that little piece of wood in her hand, as if there were no mourning souls lurking about.

With the sound of her whittling, and the crackling of the fire to soothe him, Orin laid down. He watched Maerwyn across the flames working on her carving, and then soon his eyes closed and he was fast asleep.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Good night then, Master Dwarf," Maerwyn replied pleasantly, nodding her head towards him and pretending not to notice the disconcerted look in his eyes. How curious that someone who could face down dragons (or so she'd heard in the old stories about dwarves) could be so fearful of a family of shades. "Try not to fret in the meantime. You did hire me to protect you, after all." She couldn't keep the teasing smile off of her face as she spoke, but there was nothing malicious in it. Indeed, she even patted at her sword hilt in a matter that she hoped would put him at ease, though as she remembered the fight of the morning she couldn't help but think with some irony that he might be better suited to protect her than the other way around. Still, there had been no words of raids around the marketplace that morning, so the mercenary felt confident they wouldn't be troubled by anything living that night, and it was always the living that worried her more than the dead.

She didn't speak to him again, but did allow herself to hum a little under her breath as she put the finishing touches on the bear. The firelight was beginning to die out and it didn't seem prudent to keep it lit, just in case there were curious eyes in the neighborhood. But the only other sounds beyond the walls of the ruin was the gentle lapping of waves on the nearby lakeshore, and the occasional call of a night bird. When it was too dark to continue carving, Maerwyn passed the time by observing the stars overhead, picking out the constellations she'd learned in her youth and trying to recall the stories that went along with them. After she ran out of those, she tried mentally drawing new ones overhead and making up new tales to match. Here was a bear and his two princesses, there the hunter and his apprentice. And after letting her gaze linger on Orin's peaceful face for a while, she even saw a fearless dwarf overhead, turning his back on a long river behind him.

After the fire had died out entirely though, something else caught her eye. Near a black hole of a window in the south wall, Maerwyn could see shapes materializing. One was tall and had a feminine form, while there was one slightly shorter beside her, and three very small ones at her feet. No...not again...the mercenary thought, wishing to shut her eyes against the scene but finding herself utterly frozen. She was beginning to hear voices now, though they sounded hollow and far away.

"Hamar! Take the little ones and run for the woods. Quickly now!" a woman seemed to shriek.

"But mother!"

A child began to sob. "Daddy says we mustn't go in the woods! There are wicked things there that will eat us!"

"Don't argue! Run! RUN!"

The shapes began to move across the floor, but a ghostly arrow flew through the window, burying itself in the heart of the taller male figure. The woman's shriek grew into a wail, and the sobbing grew louder. A strange green fire seemed to sprout over the walls, licking at a transparent ceiling that had appeared overhead. More arrows began to fly, taking down the little shapes one by one, until the last one fell forward into the grass beyond the gap in the wall. Finally something else moved behind the tallest figure, and the woman's sobs cut off in a gurgle as it crumpled to the ground, and laughter seemed to erupt all around the house like thunder.

The scene only lasted a few minutes, but to Maerwyn it seemed to go on endlessly. She didn't realized until she looked over towards Orin to see if he was still sleeping that tears were pouring down her face. It was just like that time she thought, allowing herself to indulge in a single choked sob before praying the dwarf wouldn't wake. Her hands rubbed fiercely at her eyes, and when that failed to dry the tears the woman pressed her face into the edge of her cloak. It was only after the house was silent again and her face was finally dry that she dared to shake her client awake, praying he couldn't see her swollen eyes or tearstreaked cheeks in the darkness.

"Orin," she whispered, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Wake up...I need a few hours' rest." Just to be safe Maerwyn raised her hood so that it covered the top of her face, leaving only her mouth and chin visible to him in the hope he wouldn't notice her heightened state of emotion.

 

[Traveler]

Young Orin sat on the floor, arranging small blocks of stone and wood into interesting structures, stacking them higher and higher until they looked like little towers and citadels. Then he scooted back on his chubby legs and picked up the stuffed dragon his mother had brought him on her return, grinning wickedly at the newly constructed challenge, then back at the toy. Making a roaring sound and rushing forward, the mighty dragon attacked!

Blocks flew and tumbled to the ground. He imagined the archers on the battlements shooting in vain at the mighty beast, their arrows falling impotently to the ground as a blast of fire rushed from its mouth; a small sturdy fist was the fire – it struck the side of the citadel with a crash, and the young dwarf imitated the humans ‘no, no, it’s too strong!’ sound, then ‘whoosh!’ed the dragon to strike the remaining tower with its mighty feet and broke another of the fortifications to smithereens. ‘Run! RUN!’

Angry voices sounded in the next room. Mother and father…curious, the dragon was set on the remaining blocks and the dwarfling moved closer to the door, his ears trained on the rise and fall of the words. None of it made sense, but what did move him was the sound of crying. No one cried, not unless someone had died. And hadn’t Mother just returned from another journey? Shouldn’t there be laughter and feasting as she shared another story of her adventures? So why was she crying?

The door jerked open and there she was, standing above him. So lovely; she was always so lovely. The glistening garnets woven into her soft beard, the intricately braided hair piled upon her head like a crown. She wore the same traveling clothing she had come home in; hardened leather in exquisitely tooled patterns and dyed a deep green, covered in chain and plate of the finest designs, all under a cloak of azure darkness that was edged in an intricate silver vines. Her heavy boots paused in front of her youngest child, then he was swept up on her powerful arms, hugged so hard that he could not breathe. Orin wrapped his short arms around her head and felt her breath against his ear as he contemplated the tears that had streaked her cheeks.

“I’ll always love you,” she had said, squeezing him tighter. She let out a single choked sob, her voice thick with emotion. “Always, Orin. Don’t forget.” She had set him down and walked stiffly away, one hand brushing at her face. She did not look back or pause when he called out to her.

A heavy hand fell upon his shoulder and he turned to look up at his father, whose face was angry, but not wet like hers. He scowled at the retreating back of his wife, then turned and went back to his anvil. The steady sound of Thimli’s hammer soon followed.

“Orin,” the dwarf blinked. He could still hear his mother’s soft weeping.

"Wake up...I need a few hours' rest."

He drew in a breath and felt he cold in his limbs. A glance upwards as Maerwyn’s raised her hood, blocking out the little moonlight that washed through the burned ceiling. But dwarves, born and bred in dark caves, can pick out details that others miss in the dark, and when he looked at his guide he saw he same sadness in her eyes; the puffiness of lips and lids that came with sorrow. “Maerwyn?” He sat up and rubbed at his face, bringing the blood back to skin long chilled. “What’s wrong?” and then another thought, because he had only known a few women in his life and assumed they were all the same in certain ways, ‘Are you leaving too?’ But this thought was left unspoken lest he speak it into being.

He studied her under her hood, noted the glowing embers that most likely would be only smoldering coals by the morning. Then, accepting the mercenary’s answer, if it could be called one, he went outside to check the perimeter and finish out the morning’s watch.

Blissfully, his watch passed without any signs of spirits or haunting, though a lone wolf trotted past and watched him, and he saw rabbits emerging from their burrows to search for shoots that might have emerged in the night. The next morning was a quiet one; old bread and cheese broke their fast, and they walked mostly in silence, enjoying the quiet companionship as they put miles behind them. Every time they did speak it gave the sheltered dwarf another perspective to consider. His eyes were slowly opened to the vastness of not just the world, but the people in it.

What was the value of a diamond, anyway? Was it simply that people had agreed that it was valuable, or did it hold its own intrinsic value that existed no matter what the popular opinions were? He often slid his hand in his pocket and worried the tiny pebble in it, contemplating this and so much more, and when Maerwyn would take out the ring and look at it in the light it made him wonder about a dwarven maiden who didn’t accept his gifts.

They followed the river for most of the day. When a boat would pass them, clipping along at a trotting speed, he glared in its direction and then looked longingly at its back as it moved away. They needed a boat that traveled on land, but Maerwyn had said that ponies would have too much difficulty in their chosen path, and he trusted her. It was strange to have so much trust towards a thief and a person who had traveled with brigands, but so far she hadn’t done anything unfair towards the dwarf. He liked to make up his own mind about people. Soon they were at a tree line, and it was a good time to rest in the shade and have a bite. He would have paid a handsome coin for a pint of ale or three, and hoped that soon there would be a tavern where they could eat food cooked that same day and quench their road thirst with something other than water.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Nothing. It's all quiet outside," Maerwyn said quickly, laying down in the spot he had previously occupied. She could still feel a little of his warmth in the soft earth, and there was something comforting about the sensation. It was enough to help her force a smile at least, though she kept the hood pulled low all the same. "I just need to shut my eyes for a while, otherwise I'm likely to march you right into the river, Master Dwarf. You will forgive me for being but a mortal woman, otherwise I'd be happy to stay awake for your all hours of the day and night if needed." There was no keeping the edge out of her voice, but she hoped he would attribute it to exhaustion rather than grief.

In either case, her rest was blissfully deep, if short. She awoke at dawn feeling much better, and once they were ready to continue on she felt the fresh energy of the road flowing into her. The rain had finally stopped, and the next few days were pleasantly warm and sunny as they followed the river southward. The country on this side of the banks was green and rolling, and here and there was the occasional farmstead, thankfully un-burnt this time. Sadly there were no inns to be found, but here and there they could refresh their rations at a house in exchange for coin, or in a few cases Maerwyn only needed to smile and offer a few pleasant words to get another small wheel of cheese or portion of dried meat.

"I'm not sure why," she commented at one point as they walked on after one particularly productive visit. "But the people who make their living like this, away from the cities and towns, always seem so much kinder." The mercenary wondered if Orin's people were like that too, but it didn't seem polite to ask. Besides, she'd never heard of dwarves living that way. It seemed their kind were city-dwellers all, even if those cities were underground. Still, it was an amusing thought, trying to imagine Orin as a farmer or herder, tending to his beasts and crops instead of gold and gems. And his fair wife, what would she make of such a life?

All in all her spirits were quite lifted all the way to the edge of the woods, but although they reached it in the afternoon Maerwyn insisted they wait until the following morning to venture beyond the eaves. "It's a dangerous place at night," the woman explained to the dwarf as they made a makeshift camp along the riverbank. "We'll make better time pushing hard during daylight hours tomorrow than trying to stumble around in the dark tonight. We'll have a good supper and turn in early, and we can set out at dawn." That gave her plenty of time to catch all the fish they could eat, along with gathering some herbs and wild tubers to go with them. Although she usually took first watch, Maerwyn insisted on sleeping first tonight, not wanting to delay their start in the morning.

In truth though, when she awoke in the middle of the night to relieve Orin of his watch, she wanted one last chance at a bath before they would reach the Anduin on the far side of the forest. Maerwyn waited until she was sure Orin was deep asleep, then crept to the water's edge and began to strip out of her clothing and armor. It was a cool night, but not uncomfortably so, and it was refreshing to slide naked into the brisk river. She had no soap of course, but she could still rub the dust and dirt of the road from her skin, and when she swam a little way up the river (taking care to keep the fire from their camp in view) she even found some soapwort growing along the banks. Unbinding her hair, she gave that a good scrubbing with the herbs as well.

She was still floating lazily as the first rays of light began to creep over the plains on the eastern bank, and that was when she first noticed the figure in black. It was a man, average in height, with dark hair and clothing that cast an unsettling silhouette. This was no farmer or boatman, or even a wandering shepherd that had gotten separated from his flock. No, she could tell by the curve of the bow on his back what he was.

Cursing softly under her breath, Maerwyn swam as quickly as she could towards the camp, praying the scout hadn't seen her in the gloom. She gathered her clothes but didn't put them on just yet, instead creeping back towards the fireside. "Orin, get up, now!" she hissed, nudging his side with her foot before beginning to dress. In light of the situation she had no trouble letting the dwarf see her naked, but she had no interest in letting the scout get an easy target for his arrows. Pulling on first her clothes then her armor, she quickly extinguished the fire and nocked an arrow to her bow.

"Easterlings on the far bank," Maerwyn explained, taking the man in her sight. "I don't know if they've seen us, but we need to get beyond the trees, now." It was an unpleasant thought, but there was no getting around it. She would have preferred to wait for more light to set out, knowing the road would be tricky to find in the soggy marshlands in this part of the forest. They could always find the road later though, if they could escape the barbarians. It seemed unlikely the Easterlings would have come this far without bringing boats with them to cross the river, and she doubted they would content themselves with the desolate east bank, when there would be plenty of farms and boats to rob along the western shore.

The poor farmers she thought pityingly, and perhaps that was why she ultimately loosed the arrow, sending it straight into the scout's chest. But by then it was too late, there were more figures standing against the red dawn now. "Orin, we need to go!" Maerwyn yelled, snatching up her pack from the ground and heading deeper into the woods. Perhaps if they could draw the invaders after them, the Easterlings would leave the upper banks alone. And if they were drawn deeply enough into the forest, well, there was more than enough there to take care of them.

 

[Traveler]

If anything could be said about Orin’s guide, it was that Maerwyn had a way with people. As they traveled and she provided them with food, she supplemented what she caught with things that she traded for with the small farms and houses they passed. Sometimes the families simply gave her their extras, which had surprised the dwarf immensely. He’d never known people to give things away with nothing in return, and though he didn’t voice it, perhaps they were simply grateful that she wanted only a morsel to help her on her way, rather than burning their farms down like the raiders had done to that ill-fated family with the ghosts.

"I'm not sure why," Maerwyn commented at one point as they walked on after one particularly productive visit. "But the people who make their living like this, away from the cities and towns, always seem so much kinder."

Orin smiled at her sentiment. As they walked, he considered it, and then about a mile later he answered. “Maybe it’s not that the people are kinder, but you are.” He shrugged. “People reflect what they see, and when you go up to the farms you are always sweet and gentle, asking, rather than demanding.” He thought of those he knew who always seemed to be on people’s good side. They were cheerful dwarves, always smiling and being polite. Others, like his father, had a perpetual scowl on their faces. As a matter of fact, the only times he had seen Thimli smile since his wife left had been when he laughed at his youngest son. At, not with.

It was a sobering thought.

He had grown used to their routine when they camped. Maerwyn, clever girl that she was, would find them something fresh to eat. During his travels with her he had developed an appreciation for fish that he never thought he would have. While she found their dinner, he set up the camp; clearing a place for a fire and gathering wood to warm them. In many ways it was opposite what most people might do. They would expect the man to hunt for food and the women to set up their temporary home, but the dwarven community had so few women that the men fulfilled any needed role with nary a complaint. Besides, Orin knew nothing about catching fish or what plants were safe to eat.

And they would settle into their evening conversation. He would ask a little about how people lived outside the mountain, and she would ask a little about what it was like to live in it. It was a fair exchange of information and he always found himself wondering why his people did things like they did, when it was so different from the others. For instance, metal armor. Most of his people wore it, even in their every day activities. He never found it comfortable, and even now wore only a hardened leather vest over a tunic for protection. He also came from a people who loved their drink, oftentimes imbibing to the point of passing out. Though Orin enjoyed a good beer or three, he had never been drunk. He had never seen the appeal, or perhaps he had never had the friends who did.

Then there was the matter of friends. Although the dwarves knew each other and wouldn’t hesitate to pull another out of a sinkhole, Orin had never sat and talked with another dwarf the way he was talking to the human woman. He had shared thoughts with her that he had never shared with another. Not even his family. Was it simply easier with her, because he believed that their time together would one day end, or was it just easier because Maerwyn was Maerwyn, and she had been honest and open with him from the moment they had signed on to travel together?

That night he took the first watch, and for part of the night he looked up at the stars and tried to remember the constellations she had taught him. His favorite was the dwarven warrior she had pointed out one night. He wasn’t sure if her grin was from his lack of knowledge or simply because she enjoyed sharing what she knew. It had taken a long time before he could look up into their celestial ceiling and not feel like he would be drawn up into it, and now that he was able to, he enjoyed the sight.

When the moon reached its appropriate place in the sky, he had woken her for her watch. As usual, she seemed to wake with ease, a talent he did not always have. And as he settled in for a nice long sleep, he mused that it was nice to have someone to guide him on his trip. Had he been alone he might have gotten lost long ago.

Almost immediately, it seemed, a hard foot nudged his ribs. "Orin, get up, now!" she hissed.

He rolled over in time to see her shirt fall over the curve of her breasts and cover her waist. As she shimmied into her trousers, he felt his face heat. Had she woken him so he could watch her dress? His eyes betrayed him, though; he had never seen a woman so uncovered, and the freshness of her pinkened skin intrigued him. As did her curves, and the mysterious patch of hair that—

"Easterlings on the far bank," Maerwyn explained, taking the man in her sight. "I don't know if they've seen us, but we need to get beyond the trees, now."

‘Fuck.’ He scrambled to his feet and gathered his things, seeing now what had put her in a panic. As he hefted his pack onto his back he heard the soft release of her bow and the accompanying surprised cry from the scout. Others were with him, and now they knew that the two were there.

“They’ve seen us now,” he observed as he took off after her. The forest was thick, and they were running through uncharted areas where no deer path eased their way. “How many total?” he asked, catching up to her quick steps. What he lacked in stride he made up for in endurance and desperation.

What he was really asking was if she thought they could take them on. He, too, remembered the story of the family whose house was burned, and his mind turned towards the other families on the bank, many of whom had shown the traveling pair a great deal of generosity. Hell, someone could spend a lifetime patrolling the river banks alone to protect them, and never run out of Easterlings to encounter.

An arrow whizzed past their heads, burying itself in a nearby tree. “Fuck! There,” he pointed to a stand of denser trees, "turn there and keep running!”

Beneath their feet delicate mosses and ferns were being trampled. Entire mini ecosystems destroyed in their wake. He had no time to consider their losses, though, if he wanted Maerwyn and himself to survive. As soon as they rounded the bend he dropped his pack next to some bushes and stood with his back to the tree, hiding his presence from the approaching Easterlings. His hands gripped the heavy war axe he carried, and he turned his head and listened for the sound of their pounding feet to arrive. He would let the first one pass, then take out the second. And hopefully Maerwyn could get to safety.

They were coming; he counted feet – perhaps five? Maybe more? The first one charged past, his hand gripping a bow and the other a short, wicked looking sword. The second began to pass, and as he did, Orin stepped out and used the man’s momentum and the element of surprise to strike him across his belly, flaying the man’s body open in a warm, fetid pouring out of his entrails.

As Orin stepped he got a clear view of their pursuers. Four. There were four in total, and one was down. ‘Not too bad,’ he thought, ‘but still not quite a fair fight for a dwarf.’ Although it didn’t escape his notice that Maerwyn had drawn first blood. What if the men had simply been out for a bit of sight-seeing? Were all Northerlings evil?

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Well, they've only seen my arrow, and that dead fellow over there," Maerwyn corrected as she began to backpedal towards the treeline. "Unless you believe the old wives' tale that they can see in the dark, there's a possibility that they haven't--"

A return arrow fired back towards them, the feathers brushing lightly against the side of the woman's head before the projectile buried itself in the trunk of the nearest tree. "All right, they might have seen us," she conceded, turning her back and beginning to dart jaggedly from side to side. "As for how many, I'd be shocked if there were more than a dozen. They aren't exactly sociable folk, as I'm sure you can gather--" Another arrow whizzed past, and behind them she could hear the sound of splashing as boats were launched from the far bank. Pausing, she dared for one moment to look back over her shoulder, and could see a small raft skimming with alarming speed towards them.

Well, those things can't hold more than a few people she calculated, then resumed her flight. "Four at most, it looks like. Be ready, Master Dwarf. The bastards aren't above poisoning their blades and arrows if they can get their hands on the proper materials. I'll try to lead them deeper into the woods. Mind your footing now!" Maerwyn herself was careful to only step on the roots of trees and dry hillocks before her, picking out what she prayed was a safe path between the channels of sucking muck that would no doubt be the death of her if she got stuck in one.

The Easterlings were not so careful, at least not all of them. The first one had easily breezed past the waiting Orin without noticing the dwarf, but only ten or so yards away one of his heavy feet plunged deep into a mud hole, sending his scimitar flying as he landed face first in the ooze. By the time he got free and recovered his weapon, he'd turned back at the sound of an ominous thump: the sound of his compatriot being bisected by the dwarf's heavy axe. The Easterling let out a roar of rage and might have gone back to avenge his comrade, if one of Maerwyn's red-fletched arrows hadn't pierce the back of his neck, the point emerging out of this throat in a spray of blood.

The other two, realizing now there was another presence in the woods, exchanged a silent look and split their path, the one armed with a bow turning his focus on Orin, while a tall spearman gave chase to Maerwyn farther on. Trusting the dwarf would be able to handle himself (after all, he'd managed splendidly so far), the woman continued her zigzag path deeper into the forest, intentionally holding back her speed so as not to lose her pursuer. The patches of safe ground were growing fewer and farther between, and she had to make several great leaps to maintain her path, until finally she found the particular tree she had been looking for. It was a crabby-looking old oak with boughs that dragged the ground, and she had no trouble scaling the limbs into the higher reaches of the tree.

Not long after, the Easterling appeared beneath her, confused at the sudden loss of his quarry. Maerwyn wasn't quite finished with him however, and once she'd secured her footing on a thick branch, she aimed and fired another arrow towards him. But with plenty of leafy limbs in the way, her aim was severely disadvantage, and the arrow bumped and knocked its way downward clumsily until dropped in front of the man's feet. Realizing his enemy's location with a snarl, he jammed his spear into the ground, pulled a knife from his boot, then jammed it between his teeth as he began to climb up after the woman.

It was exactly as she planned. With her small stature and light build, Maerwyn had no trouble navigating the higher, more delicate limbs, and even managed to leap across to the neighboring tree with all the grace of a squirrel. Unfortunately her new sanctuary wasn't quite as tough as the old oak, and she could feel the tree swaying heavily as her eyes scanned for any sign of a stronger perch. She managed to climb onto another branch just as the old one snapped, giving away her location yet again. The Easterling took his knife in one hand, roared something at her in his heathen tongue, then took a flying leap after her. Unfortunately, the new tree didn't have a single limb that would have supported the man's bulk, and even though he did find purchase on the nearest branch, it quickly gave way beneath him. As did three more branches he crashed into on his way downward, each one snapping sickeningly as he fell.

The very last crunch, however, was muffled as the Easterling landed back first in the mud. Maerwyn couldn't quite see him through the leaves, and needed to half shimmy, half crawl her way down in order to find him again. When she did, the woman could see his back bent awkwardly upward, no doubt snapped by a large rock, while his limbs were already being sucked into watery earth around him. She was about to nock an arrow to her bow, ready to finish him off just in case life yet lingered in his broken body, but after a minute or so she could see there was no life left in his glassy black eyes.

"Poor devil," she murmured, yanking his spear out of the ground and searching for his knife, but giving up after only a little while. No one else had chased after her, so it was unlikely they'd be able to turn the dead man's weapons against her, but she still hurled the spear into the middle of the enormous mudhole just to be safe. Then she turned and began to run lightly back in the direction she'd come, praying Orin hadn't encountered any trouble with his particular foe.

 

[Traveler]

Boulders! That woman had been nimble. Even in the middle of the fight with the Easterlings he remembered the way she had hopped from rock to rock, root to root, like a little squirrel in the forest. He had set his feet firmly to drive the blow across the first man’s chest. That had been the dwarf’s first mistake. The second had been not realizing he was stuck.

He thought he could easily turn and deflect the bow that was swinging at him, the attacker using whatever he had on hand in the simplest way possible. But instead of stepping forward and swing the axe far, Orin’s stuck boots welded him in place and he felt the sharp sting as the flexible weapon smacked him across the face. Stars swam in his eyes and his head spun from the force. For a moment he felt his ears ringing from the blow.

‘Damn, stupid, overconfident fool!’ he scolded himself. He nearly fell over, but the same force holding him in place was also holding him up. He gritted his teeth and spent a precious moment unsticking himself from the muckity muck, then had to fight on the fly as the bowman pulled out a curved blade and advanced, the bow used to fend off the dwarf’s reach, and the sword coming in close and low to try to land a blow.

A swift overhead strike from the Easterling’s sword was barely blocked by the axe handle, and as Orin twisted the shaft to turn the point, the blade scrapped across his forearm. He quickly followed through with a jab with the handle on the taller man’s nose, knocking him back a few feet and giving the dwarf a chance to recover.

As quickly as he could, Orin rushed up to the man. He ducked low and swung, connecting with the man’s legs, and sending him to the ground. The river warrior was a fighter, though, and swung his scimitar backhanded to try to hit his opponent. It was only luck and the odd angle that saved Orin from a deadly blow. A moment later and the Easterling laid dead on the ground, and Orin leaned on his axe to catch his breath and wonder where Maerwyn had gone. ‘Okay, maybe not as easy as I thought,’ he considered, humbled by how his overconfidence had nearly cost him his life. Thankfully it was over. They had been taken by surprise, and there was no more threat—.

And that was when Orin made his third mistake. A sharp pain in his side shocked him back to his senses. The arrow poking out of his waist sealed it.

He turned in time to see the last one, the one he had missed counting during the focused tunnel vision of the battle rushing up to him. His vision swam. As Orin tried to bring his axe to bear to block the oncoming sword swing, he felt the numbness in his fingers, for though dwarves are resistant to poisons they are not immune, and the poison on the bowman’s blade had been meant to kill.

‘Maybe they are all evil,’ he thought, feeling the shock as his axe blocked the blow. He was weaker than he should have been. Much weaker. And as he fended off the attacker as best as he could, his mind swirled around the thought that he would not be returning to Dis with the dagger, not anytime soon. Possibly never.

And somehow, he was okay with that as long as Maerwyn made it out alive.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn would not have been surprised to find a pile of bodies at the dwarf's feet when she returned to his side. Between the way he'd handled himself in Esgaroth and the ease with which he had dispatched the first Easterling, he'd grown to something of a mighty warrior in her mind. Of course she'd never say that to him aloud, the last thing she wanted to was to spend three more weeks with a dwarf whose ego was larger than he was. But when she found Orin at the forest's edge, her jaw dropped in shock as she saw the wound on his arm and the arrow in his side. There was another dead man at his feet, which was reassuring, but a new figure was creeping into the forest, a bow slung across his back and a wicked-looking blade that probably could have taken the dwarf's head clean off if it ever had a chance to swing.

Luckily, the woman still had her own bow at the ready, and with her target's gaze focused on the wounded dwarf, she had no trouble burying not one, but three separate arrows in his body before he knew what happened. She hopped as lightly and gracefully as she could over to the last Easterling, and perhaps out of vengeance more than precaution she wasted no time drawing one of her swords and plunging it deep in his heart, not withdrawing it until she saw the blood bubbling over his lips. Although her first instinct was immediately to attend to Orin, Maerwyn only gave him a quick glance before she sprinted off to the treeline again. If there were any others they'd failed to account for, they needed to be removed quickly.

But no other boats were in sight, and the raft the raiders had used to cross the river had floated helplessly into the middle of the water and was already drifting off downstream. Good riddance Maerwyn spat on the ground, then turned back to woods and hurried to rejoin her client.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing that passed her lips as she came to his side. Pushing aside her weapons, she put one arm gingerly around his shoulder and led him to the base of another large oak, encouraging him to sit on one of the roots with his back against the rough bark of the trunk. Maerwyn winced at the wound on his forearm as she did so, not having noticed it at first. Already the edges were beginning to darken and swell, a sure sign of poison. "Do you have bandages?" she asked, reaching for her waterskin. Uncorking the vessel with her teeth, she began to liberally pour the chill contents over the injury. It would have been better to get him to the riverside and wash out the wound there, of course, but the mercenary didn't quite trust the open banks just yet. She could always refill the skins before they left if necessary.

Once she was satisfied that the injury was as clean as she could get it (which wasn't nearly clean enough for her tastes, but what could she do?), Maerwyn turned her attention to the arrow. This was going to be worse. "It needs to come out," she said quickly, her brown eyes locking with the dwarf's in sympathy. "If it's poisoned, leaving it inside could kill you. Do you want something to bite? Or grab?" She could only offer him one of her scabbards, or perhaps the end of a belt to take the shock of his pain. She would have held his hand herself if it would have helped, but the woman was going to need both of hers in order to draw out the arrow.

"On the count of three, all right?" she asked once he was ready. "One...TWO!" Rather than waiting for the third count, she yanked the arrow out sharply, shredding flesh and the fabric of his shirt as she did so. Still, Maerwyn let out a sigh of relief as she examined the tip. It was sharp certainly, but small and conical instead of barbed. "It's a hunting arrow," she gasped, tossing it aside. "They use it to kill deer. It's not poisoned, unless Easterling appetites have severely changed. How does it feel? Can you take your shirt off, or shall I help you?"

In the meantime, she began to scan the base of the tree for any sign of moss that could be used to patch the arrow hole. He'd still need a bandage of course, and Maerwyn had a sick feeling she knew what would have to serve for that if he didn't have his own, but oh well. She could always buy another night shift, she supposed. It wasn't like she ever wore hers outside of inns anyways. After she'd gathered a small handful of soft green lichens, she returned to the dwarf's side ready to offer what scanty medicine she could.

"It must have been a lean spring on the other side of the river," the woman commented, taking off her pack and making ready to slash up her thin white night dress. "My guess is they were probably having trouble finding game on that side, and decided to come over here to try their luck at the farms. They like pig and sheep as much as the next person, only they aren't very fond of paying for it." Of course it was possible the Easterlings merely meant to hunt game in the woods itself, which was no crime even if it was dangerous. But Maerwyn found it hard to believe the men would have risked their lives in an honorable hunt when dishonorable thievery would be so much easier.

With all of the party dead though, it was unlikely she would ever know for sure that their intentions were, and with Orin wounded as he was, she decided it was best not to linger on such thoughts, at least not for the moment.

 

[Traveler]

It seemed hopeless. All was lost, and Orin felt the energy drain from his resolve. Besides…what if she had been right? What if Dis’s refusal to accept his gifts not been because he was special to her, but because she really didn’t want his attentions? Maerwyn had not come to that conclusion for him, but the dwarf had begun to piece it together through their conversations. People who liked each other didn’t do that, and somehow he had allowed himself to believe that they did.

For a human, that mercenary had a lot of wisdom to her.

He locked eyes with his attacker, deciding to look death in the eye, when three red-fletched arrows suddenly appeared in the Easterling’s body. Then Maerwyn was there to ensure that the man was dead. His eyes watched her walk away and did not blame her. He might walk away from himself too. He had been stupid. He had been arrogant. And had she not come along he could be dead.

He owed her.

When she returned, he whispered “I’m sorry,” his words overlapping hers almost comically. He let her help him, leaning heavily on her as they moved to the base of the oak. “I have bandages, shirts you can use, in the pack. Just…there,” he gestured towards the main opening. “Somewhere.” He leaned his head back, breathing through the pain as his right hand pressed his side. It stung worse than any hornet or viper; like burning fire in his gut.

Then when she said that the arrow needed to come out, he grunted and shook his head at her mention of something to bite on. And then she had to go and mention poison. That was right…she had said they might use poison, but he had always scoffed at the idea. Dwarves were hardy people, able to withstand two or three times as much as others. When you felt invincible you did foolish things, as he had done. He had anticipated that his opponent was going to go for the killing blow and had left himself vulnerable to the opening on his arm. Now he was paying the price.

"On the count of three, all right?" she asked once he was ready. Orin nodded, thinking ‘Just do it already!’

"One...TWO!" she said, then she yanked it out with a hard, firm pull, drawing a gasp and cry of surprise from his lips. Orin panted at the pain, expecting to see his entrails coming out his back. Mercifully, there was no major leakage of what should have been inside getting to the outside.

“That,” he gasped at her, “was the first time you lied to me. But…I forgive you.” He smiled weakly and chuckled, but it hurt enough he had to stop. He pushed himself back onto his feet and slipped his cloak off, then began to undo his vest and remove it as well. Despite the pain he felt better; perhaps it was because he had already gotten past the sight of his own blood (thank you, older brother for that) and was used to pressing on. Maerwyn was very chatty; more so than usual.

Orin just ‘Hmm’d and grunted in answer to her comments, acknowledging it but having little to add. He was embarrassed, frankly, for how much his stupidity had cost them. Finally he could stand it no longer, and as she began to rummage through her bag for a bandage reminded her of his own. “In my pack, Maerwyn. I have shirts you can use; it’s not right for you to be using your own.” From the little pack she carried it was evident that she had little material possessions in the world, and as they traveled he found that he only used about a quarter of what was in his.

He pulled off his tunic and dropped it to the ground, leaving him shirtless so she could patch his wounds. Then he walked over carefully to where she was working with their bags. “Let me help,” he offered, pulling the large bag upon its end. As he did so the muscles in his torso flexed, and he let out a soft groan. Then he rummaged around in the bag and pulled out a shirt that had remained folded since the day he had left home. He needed to lighten his load.

“Will this work?” he asked her as he passed it back to her. His body was a little like a bear’s. An extremely strong, lean bear made more so from the week or two of walking he had done with her, and their sporadic eating habits. If nothing else, adventuring made people healthier.

If you did not count the injuries.

He decided that he was going to leave at least half of his things behind. He had no need for it; most had been packed for ‘what if’ moments that never happened, and he only wore about three of his shirts, rotating them as they were washed in the river as they traveled.

“I was stupid,” he admitted grudgingly as he turned to allow her to work on him. “Over-confident. I didn’t notice the last man until he was upon me.” His eyes roamed over her. “But you are unhurt?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"I'm not cutting up your shirts," Maerwyn scoffed as her knife tore through the thin fabric of her nightgown. "You pay me to protect you, and in this case I have failed. I sincerely apologize, and I intend to discount you my day's wages as compensation. Besides, you'll want every layer you can get once you're in the mountains. Or the next time someone sticks you with a blade." She hoped the slight humor in her voice would reassure him, and that he wouldn't notice the concern in her eyes as she set aside his shirt. Despite the obvious pain he was in, he still had no trouble walking or even attempting to unpack his bag, which gave the woman a bit more hope. Still, it wasn't wise for him to push things so quickly, dwarven hardiness or not.

"It's stupid of you to worry about your belongings while your arm is still bleeding," she remarked, putting her hands on his shoulders and gently forcing him to sit back down. "Don't feel bad about missing one or two of those nasty little buggers. They're stealthier than they look." Folding a large piece of her nightgown, she began to mop up the blood beginning to pool around his arm, then gave the wound another rinse of water before she began to wind it tightly. "My mother told me a story about them once," Maerwyn continued, hoping to distract from his pain with her voice. "When her great-grandfather was a very small boy, Easterlings crossed all the way through the woods to attack the settlements on the other side. It was a terrible battle, and if the great eagles and the beasts of the forest hadn't turned on the invaders they probably would have slaughtered all of my ancestors. Then you really would be in trouble now, wouldn't you?"

Satisfied that she had sufficiently bound the wound on his arm, Maerwyn turned her attention to the one on his side. It was smaller, but deeper, and still bleeding heavily. She shuddered a little and silently offered a small prayer of thanks that the arrow really hadn't been poisoned. His arm would be sore for several days, possibly even for weeks, and he would need to exercise it regularly to keep it from going stiff. But it seemed as though the blade that had bit him hadn't been freshly poisoned, and had probably lost its potency since the last application. Orin wasn't going to die, at least not of these wounds. But the idea of getting through the woods in a week or less seemed laughable now.

It didn't seem prudent to mention that at the moment though, so instead she focused on packing the wound in his side with moss. "After we're finished here, you should rest a while. I'll refill our waterskins and see if theirs are worth salvaging." The woman inclined her head towards the nearest dead Easterling. "When you're ready, I think we'll bear northward. If they were something more than a hunting party, I'll feel better with the Emyn Duir between us and the road." Of course, that would put them squarely in Thranduil's territory, but his people hardly ever crossed south of the Forest River anymore. As long as she and Orin kept close to the foothills of the low, tree-covered mountains they'd probably be fine. And even if they weren't, at the moment she would rather deal with elves than servants of Dol Goldur.

As her hands ran down his side to tend the wound, it occurred to the woman that beneath the beard and coarse hair, he had a powerfully built torso that many women would have gladly rested their heads upon. For Maerwyn, ever since she had first laid eyes on Orin back in the tavern she had only seen a dwarf. A more handsome than usual dwarf, but still a dwarf none the less. Being this close to him though, touching him in ways she had only ever touched the males of her own species, he seemed much more like a man to her now. Of course, there had been that novel curiosity back in Esgaroth about what it might be like to lay with someone like him, but the woman hadn't really been serious about it. Now though, as her hands wound the bandages over his hard stomach and chiseled sides, the idea teemed to be growing some real merit in her mind.

And it wasn't just a physical attraction either. She was genuinely touched when he asked about her own condition, and she only needed to show him the laughably minute splinters she'd picked up in her hands as her only wounds. But how long had it been since anyone, man or woman, looked upon her with such concern for her well being? "I'm much better off than you, Master Dwarf," Maerwyn smiled as she finished bandaging his chest. "So please don't think of settling our affairs just yet. You may keep today's gold coin, but I fully intend to collect on the rest when we do part ways." Satisfied with her work, the woman moved to his side and leaned back heavily against the tree, then began to pick the little bits of wood out of her palms. "In the meantime, I see I shall have to keep a closer eye on you. I have no doubt there are worse things ahead of us than Easterlings. Especially if you're headed to Moria."

It was a cheap trick. Exhausted and hurt as he probably was, Maerwyn fully expected Orin to slip in his words and admit to his final destination. But as dishonorable as it might have been, the words came from a place of concern. After all, if the dwarf couldn't even fight off a small party of starving men, how in the world would he be able to manage a pit full of orcs? She'd grown too fond of him over the past week to let him walk into the darkness blind.

Once she'd picked out all the splinters, the woman took a small drink from the flask of liquor at her hip, then passed it to her companion in offering. "Of course...if you wish to return to Erebor, I would understand," the mercenary said slowly. "Your Dís would surely be saddened if you were to meet your end far away from her side, with only a silly, stupid old maid of a mercenary to mourn you. I'll gladly escort you to Esgaroth free of charge, if that's your wish. You'd at least find a real healer there, instead of just country medicine." Oh but wouldn't her mother be insulted to hear her calling the ancient ways such a denigrated term, but Maerwyn never had been very confident in those particular skills. It was why she avoided getting injured in the first place.

Sighing a little, she rose to her feet and began to gather first their waterskins, then those of the nearest dead men. "I'll go fill these," she said. "Water can be hard to find in the forest, and much of it isn't safe to drink. We need to make whatever we bring with us last until we reach the other side. Will you be all right here on your own?"

 

[Traveler]

She was an odd one, refusing to accept his shirts and cutting her own clothing, refunding him the cost of the day’s wages, and generally going on about it as if she had personally summoned the Easterlings. Her suggestion struck him as wrong; she wasn’t to blame for what had happened.

“Yes,” he agreed, “if I hadn’t met you, I would be in trouble.” He smiled through a another wince as her bindings tightened around his arm.

When Maerwyn began to wrap his arm he watched her; the steady hand, the concern in her eyes, and the way she spoke of her mother and ancestors. His eyes widened slightly at the mention of he eagles and beasts of the forest coming to help her village defend against the invaders. “So…why did the eagles and beasts help your people?” His watched her intently, then let out a little grunt as the final knot was tied. Maerwyn certainly wanted to make sure that his wound would not come undone.

He leaned slightly to the side to allow her to check the arrow wound. Again, he felt like he had been a fool. Had he worn metal armor no doubt it would have deflected the tip, but he had worn leather. The arrow punched right through it, as effective as if he had been wearing nothing at all. As she talked, almost more to herself than to him, he fumed at his decision-making skills. Or lack thereof. He was going too fast. Rushing, when he should know better than anyone that good things took time, and to be patient and let the events work themselves out more, rather than trying to push them.

“The Emyn Duir?” he repeated. “We’re going near there?” He steadied himself as he felt her strong hands running along his side. It was odd to have her tending him; he’d only been patched together by rough dwarven priests who had basically handed him a salve, told him to keep the wounds clean, and then stitched him up when he needed it and told him to drink more if it still hurt. Maerwyn was being careful with him, and her touch felt more healing than any he had ever known. He tried to breath more steadily as she wrapped him around his waist. He held his arms out of her way and smirked when she said she was better off than he was, then once again tried to reduce her pay.

“You are getting paid fully,” he argued. “I won’t deduct your pay simply because something happened. Besides, we are both responsible for keeping each other safe,” he watched her move to the tree and lean back. She started to pull splinters out of her hand. He reached over to take her hand to look at the extent she had been pricked. His thumb smoothed over a part of her palm that had been abraded, but had no splinters in it. She had climbed a tree; he recognized the erratic scrapes that came from sliding on rough bark.

"In the meantime, I see I shall have to keep a closer eye on you. I have no doubt there are worse things ahead of us than Easterlings. Especially if you're headed to Moria."

Orin’s eyes met hers. ‘How did she know?’ After a long pause he spoke. “Eventually. Not anytime soon,” he promised. “When I’m ready, and only then.” He gave her back her hand, satisfied that the minute care she was giving it was sufficient, and knowing that his thick fingers could not do as fine a job at her slim ones at her task. He leaned back as well and shut his eyes, resting for a moment with Maerwyn at his side.

“Of course...if you wish to return to Erebor, I would understand," the mercenary said slowly.

“No,” Orin answered softly.

"Your Dís would surely be saddened if you were to meet your end far away from her side, with only a silly, stupid old maid of a mercenary to mourn you.”

“No. You’re not a silly, stupid old maid of a mercenary,” he remained leaning with is back to the tree, content to breath and feel the extend of his injuries. ‘And no, I don’t think Dis would be that sad.’

“I'll gladly escort you to Esgaroth free of charge, if that's your wish. You'd at least find a real healer there, instead of just country medicine."

“I won’t need another healer,” he sighed. “And besides, I cannot return to the mountain without completing my task. I swore an oath.” He turned his head towards Maerwyn and opened his eyes to look at her. He knew people near the Emyn Duir. Actually, he knew two, though he had seen them last nearly forty years ago. Perhaps they would give them shelter for a few days.

Maerwyn was moving again, as if she could not sit still for a minute before ants began to nibble on her skin. As she gathered their water skins he realized how much he relied on her. It wasn’t just the guidance on where to go and where to avoid, but on things that he had never talked to anyone before about. She helped him to figure out how he felt, and didn’t feel, and whether or not his beliefs were based on facts or just habit.

“Will you be all right here on your own?"

Orin glanced up at her and smiled. “I’m not alone, Maerwyn. I’m with you.” He pulled his axe closer to his side. “You be careful by the river, promise? Just think of all the trouble I’d get into if I had to continue alone.”

The going was slow when they finally began to travel, and though Maerwyn helped as much as she could, there were many times when Orin regretting packing so much in his bag and then keeping it. But she had said that he would need it in the mountains, and she had not been wrong yet. Not about their path, at least. She had been wrong to be a thief, and to travel with such unscrupulous fellows, but perhaps that was simply the error of youth. Though, as he looked at her, he thought that she was not really that young for a human. Plus, she had a lot of experience dealing with people. In many ways she had matured farther than he had, and he was beginning to see that.

“There’s no rush,” Orin shared with his guide during one of their frequent stops. “Really. I took three years to match the rubies on the ring you’re carrying. I can take as much time for this venture, if necessary.” He mentally kicked himself once again for being so concerned about time that he would risk everything. What was he thinking? Riding boats and taking short cuts, when all the time they saved was now made meaningless by his stupid, idiotic, self?

 

[Shiva the Cat]

As soon as Orin assured her he would be all right while he waited for her, Maerwyn all but turned on her heels and bolted away from him. And with good reason too. The dwarf had managed to do what no man had in years: he was making her blush.

You're acting like a foolish child the woman chided herself as she slipped beyond the treeline, taking care to scan the horizon for any sign of more attackers. Far upriver she could see a punt lazily floating downstream, probably headed for Dorwinion to refill a load of empty wine barrels. By the stars she could use a drink. In her heart, Maerwyn knew that the dwarf was only speaking to her out of gratitude. So why had her heart fluttered like a startled bird when he'd said "We are both responsible for keeping each other safe"?

Maybe it was because no one had cared about keeping her safe in years. Granted, part of that was her own fault. Even now it was laughable to expect Orin to act as any kind of protector for her, although she could understand his interest in keeping her alive, especially the deeper they crossed into the woods. Still, he had seemed more concerned with her hand that Maerwyn herself had been, and the way his eyes had followed her as she crept back to the riverside...

Bah. What was the point in thinking about any of it? He had his sweetheart after all, and he really must have loved her if he was willing to go all the way to the Black Pit for her sake. Maerwyn could only hope Dís was worthy of such devotion, but when she thought back to some of the things Orin had said about the way he treated her, and the way she had rejected his gifts, fanned a little spark of indignant rage in the woman's chest. Sure, he might have been a bit impulsive and unworldly at times, but even someone who had only known him a week could see how brave and loyal he was, and the mercenary had even been a little proud at how quickly he'd rejected the idea of turning back. How could any woman, dwarf or otherwise, fail to see or appreciate those qualities?

It's not your business Maerwyn reminded herself as she knelt by the water's edge and began to fill the waterbags. She'd managed to salvage four from the Easterlings, along with a few strange-looking metal coins and a few unused arrows, in addition to recovering her own. All in all it was a tidy little trove, but she couldn't have cared less while her thoughts were fully occupied with her companion. Don't get involved she was trying to press into her mind. What makes you think he would want you any more than Thilion did? Have you not suffered enough for that mistake? She shut her eyes a moment, then took a long drink of icy water from one of the skins to try to drive the ethereally beautiful face of the golden-haired elf from her memory.

Was he still in the woods? She hadn't seen him the last time she'd been locked in Thranduil's cells, but she'd been able to pick his name out of the high elvish whispered by the guards. Maerwyn couldn't imagine anyone else interceding with the Woodland King on her behalf, and she'd always suspected it had been through Thilion's influence that she'd always managed to get her freedom back after her many, many captures. Perhaps she would have been more grateful to him if she weren't so bitter and scornful of his pity, but she was certain that she would never, ever seek out his company again.

Still...it would be amusing to see the look on his face if he saw her with Orin. What in the world would the elf's pretty face make of that, she wondered. It almost made her smile.

Of course, she would have to keep Orin alive first. Once all the skins were filled, she hurried back to the dwarf's side and began to repack her own small bag, saving the rest of her nightgown for additional bandage material and slinging two more waterskins off the sides. "That should hold us for a week, if we're careful. Though we might get lucky and be able to collect some rainwater along the way if we need it," she remarked, replacing the arrows in her quiver and helping the dwarf to his feet once he was ready. "We should be a bit more cautious as we move, and I'll admit the northern paths aren't as easy to manage as the Old Road, but we're less likely to run into trouble going this way. There used to be a small pass through the mountains too where we might cut south in three or four days. We shall see what it looks like once we get a bit closer."

They didn't make much progress that day. Concerned for Orin's wounds, Maerwyn limited their pace to a cautious walk, but the further they got from the river the steadier the ground grew beneath their feet. It was cooler beneath the shade of the trees than it had been under the open sky along the lake, but the air still felt humid and heavy around them. By evening, the landscape was beginning to slope gently upward and southward as they reached the easternmost foothills of the Emyn Duil. After catching a pair of very large, very black rabbits for supper, the mercenary led her charge to a small clearing where they could more clearly see the emerald green slopes ahead of them.

"Those are the Emyn Duir, the Mountains of Mirkwood," Maerwyn explained as she set aside her pack and began to gather wood for a fire. "The Old Forest Road is on the other side of them. The elves used to claim all territory from the northern border down to the road itself, but ever since the Wicked Lord took over the old fortress on the south end of the forest, they almost never go that way anymore. To be honest, I feel a bit better about having some mountains between us and him, even if they are only little ones like that."

It took a long while to find wood that would be dry enough to burn, and even then it took all the woman's cursing and grumbling to get a fire going. Once she did, she set about skinning and cleaning the rabbits, which would surely provide more than enough meat for the both of them. "Have you ever seen the Misty Mountains?" Maerwyn continued, spitting the carcasses and setting them to roast over the fire. "Those must be three or four times higher than those hills over yon." She waved one hand southward towards the Mountains of Mirkwood.

"They're beautiful though." Her voice was beginning to take on a dreamy quality as she stared off into the distance. "When I was a little girl, I used to sit along the riverbanks every night in summer and watch the sun go down behind them, and I always wondered what was on the other side. I thought it was the magical land of the elves at first, and then when I was a little older I thought for sure it must be the sea, and the mountains were the only thing holding it back, like some great dam. I was always so terrified that someday a giant would tear down the mountain right across the valley from our house, and all the oceans of the world would burst forth and drown us, and the forests, and everything except the fishes in the Great River. I suppose that was rather morbid of me, wasn't it?"

Maerwyn let out a little laugh. "Anyway, it wasn't until I was a woman grown that I saw what was on the other side." She paused, then with a little sparkle in her eye she turned her face back towards Orin, trying and failing to stifle a mischievous smile. "Do you know what it is?

 

[Traveler]

And yet poor Orin knew none of this. It would have helped him greatly if he had, but like all characters, he was wrapped up in his own little world, and was just getting a glimpse that there was more beyond the mountain. Much more. It was possible that knowing would not have helped him immediately, so entwined was his in mourning his self-perceived failures and doubts about Dis, that it did not occur to him that the confident, know-it-all and done-all-that Maerwyn might have had some tragedies in her life as well. He’d never experienced a broken heart, and she was still making her decisions based on avoiding the next one.

It was a perfect swirl of imperfection and emotion. A spark that needed careful tending to grow into an ember.

When Maerwyn finally returned from the river she reached down to help him to his feet. He took her hand, thinking that she would be little help, and surprised when she nearly bore his weight on the way up. Brushing off his trousers he looked at her, frowning slightly at the dichotomy of what he saw versus what was real. “You’re a lot stronger than you look,” he commented. Strength, like bravery, was an alluring quality in a woman. A dwarven woman who could not stand shoulder to shoulder with her man (or so he had been raised to believe) was not worth the pursuit. His guide gave him a description of the path she was considering, but he honestly could not piece together a mental map of what she meant. He considered taking out the map he had and asking her to show him, but the time they had lost (due to someone’s stupidity) was already costing them in daylight.

And though she took it slow for his sake, he felt like they had made great progress that day. Of course, he did not know they area like she did. But the terrain changed, and even the weather, and as he surveyed the foothills from their sheltered campsite he thought that it looked grander than the biggest cave he’d ever visited; perhaps even grander than the Glittering Caves of Helm’s Deep, though he had never been to those. ‘So this is where she went,’ he thought, peering across rolling hills and valleys beyond.

“Oh…The Mountains of Mirkwood,” he pictured his map and the stories he heard, piecing is imagination with the reality. “So instead of going along the Forest Road, we’ll be traveling along that ridge?” he asked, looking over at her. “Are the elves that much more dangerous than anything we’d meet in the forests?”

He settled down on a soft mound of grass and pulled his journal out as she spoke. She had a dreamy look in her eyes, and as she shared her story of being a little girl on the riverbanks, he thought he could see her there, gazing across the mountains at the sky beyond. As she shared her memories, he took notes, switching between different drawing sticks as the did. She talked about her daydreams, and the giant that would tear the mountains down, and he thought that she never seemed so alive as she did at that moment.

“It sounds beautiful,” he whispered.

Maerwyn let out a little laugh. "Anyway, it wasn't until I was a woman grown that I saw what was on the other side." She paused, then with a little sparkle in her eye she turned her face back towards Orin, trying and failing to stifle a mischievous smile. "Do you know what it is?

“No,” he answered, “but I want to see it too. What was behind those mountains?” He took out his sharpest paring knife and slit the page out of his book, careful to keep it steady. Once he did so he put away the knife and then looked intently at Maerwyn. "Was it anything like you had imagined?" He put away the little blade and then gingerly removed the page from the book. After glancing at it for a moment he handed it to Maerwyn. "It's somewhat flawed, but I thought you'd like something to remember today with," he said. "You can keep it. Or not." He shrugged. "It's yours either way."

Orin's gift to Maerwyn

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"It was nothing."

Maerwyn chuckled and turned her attention back to the rabbits. "No sea, no magic. Just more mountains, and beyond that? More trees. More rivers. More everything." After rotating the stick again, the woman slid backward a little until her back was resting against the nearest tree trunk. "I think it must be as least as far between the mountains and the sea to the West as it is between here and the sea to the East. Maybe even farther. I never did make it to the sea." A wistful sigh passed her lips for a moment, but then she shook it off with a smile and a shrug. "But when the choice is following a whim or a coin, it's better to follow your stomach than your heart."

Before she could let the regrets creep over her, Orin quickly drew her attention with the rattle of paper. Tilting her head confusedly, she reached for the page, then gasped softly as her eyes fell upon the face she had only seen a handful of times reflected in mirrors and still water. "You...made this?" Maerwyn asked, a finger gently tracing first the line of her jaw, then the delicate, messy strands of hair that even on paper would never be smooth. She'd often seen the dwarf scratching away in his little book, but not exactly being of a literary mind the woman had never thought too much of his strange hobby. Was this what he had been doing the whole time?

"It's lovely," she said finally, reaching for her pack and trying to figure out the safest way to preserve the gift. "But...why did you you make it? Is my face that remarkable?"

There was something playful in her voice, but it felt slightly forced, as if she could cover the color in her cheeks by going on the offense. Inside though, Maerwyn's thoughts were whirling. Did he think she was pretty? Was that why he'd made the drawing? Of course, she wasn't so modest as to pretend she wasn't good-looking for a mortal woman, but Orin was a dwarf. Surely his tastes must have leaned more towards his own kind, especially considering this whole journey of his appeared to be for the sake of one dwarven woman in particular. But why did she care anyway? Orin was her client, nothing more than that. As soon as his goals were accomplished (assuming the mercenary could keep him alive that long) and her payment was received, Maerwyn would probably never see him again.

And somehow, that thought felt like a pain in her heart.

Still, she wasn't about to let him see that. After safely tucking the picture in an inner pocket of her pack, Maerwyn's hand closed around something small inside, and an idea occurred to her. "Here," she remarked, pulling out the object and tossing it towards the dwarf. "Since we're exchanging gifts and all."

It was the small bear carving she'd been whittling ever since they'd set out the previous week. "I don't know what else to do with it besides throw it away," she explained, trying not to watch too closely what he might make of the figurine. "I can't exactly carry a collection of them around with me, so you might as well take it. Besides, bears are good luck. They're the guardians of the Wilderlands, you know." The meat was cooked through by now, so Maerwyn removed the stick from the fire, and after letting it cool for a few minutes, she broke it in half and handed a rabbit on a stick to her companion before cutting off a chunk of her own with her knife.

"Remember how you asked about how the birds and beasts helped when the Balchoth came through the forest?" she continued, taking a bite of the tender meat. "They didn't do it for the men of the river, or even for the elves. They did it all for themselves. All of this--" Maerwyn waved one hand overhead to signify the forest around them. "Really belongs to the animals. The elves will leave it behind someday, and I think the men will too; they're so fond of their cities and towns." She rolled her eyes at the idea. "But the beasts and birds will stay as long as the forest is here. The birds will follow the eagles, and the beasts will follow the bears. All except the wolves, of course. They're the rebels, following shadow instead of light."

As if on cue, the sound of far-off howling seemed to echo on the wind. Maerwyn frowned. "Looks like we were wise to stay north of the mountains," she murmured, taking another bite. At the mention of the Emyn Duir, the woman recalled the strange note that had entered Orin's voice when she pointed them out before. Was it just a dwarven fascination with mountains that seemed to pique his interest, or was it something more? Maerwyn considered asking for a moment, but thought better of it, deciding their time could be used better discussing the real risks of the night. "The elves won't exactly be happy if they find us," the woman continued. "But they don't own the forest. We have every right to be here, as long as we stay south of the Forest River."

She finished off the rest of her dinner in silence, then tossed the roasting stick into the fire. "I don't think the wood elves will care one way or another," she said finally, taking a little sip of water before rising to her feet. She was searching for another branch, one she could use to begin a new carving, and after only a few minutes of looking she finally found a suitable candidate. After breaking it down to a length the size of her palm, Maerwyn pulled out her knife and began to peel away the bark. "It's the high elves you need to watch for. Egotistical snobs, every one of them." The knife blade seemed to bite more viciously into the stick. "I don't know why they stay here. They have their paradise across the sea, they should just leave the rest of the world for those of us who don't have a choice."

There was no mistaking the bitterness in her eyes and voice as she hacked at the branch, but there was something else beneath that. Sadness? Grief? Shame?

"Have you ever had dealings with them?" Maerwyn glanced up at Orin. "The elves, I mean. Of any kind."

 

[Traveler]

Nothing? Orin felt the disappointment in his chest the moment she said the word. But then she described what was there, and it did not sound like nothing to him. More mountains, more rivers, more trees; a whole world to explore! To him it sounded like she had found a treasure chest and did not recognize it for what it was. But at her reactions he thought not to question her, lest he sound pretentious. After all, he had only seen the sections of the world that she had shown him, and what he knew from living underneath the Lonely Mountain his entire fifty years.

“Maybe a coin could be had on a whim,” he replied. “After all, it was a whim that led you to offer your services to me, and who knows? I may decide to see the sea one day. I can’t think of a better guide than you, can you?”

She took the drawing and did not promptly throw it in the fire, something that he expected from past experiences. And as she looked at it, then asked him why he made it, he frowned as if wondering why he had himself. “Well…yes, I made it. Just now while you were describing your life as a child.” He smiled, remembering. “It sounded like you had a wonderful time growing up. It would be nice to see where that was, actually.” He closed his journal and set it on his bag. “And your face, though horribly plain without a beard, is nice. I like looking at it. Except,” he chuckled, “when you’re mad. Then I’m glad that I’m not the unfortunate soul who pissed you off!” And that brought a huge grin to his face. “Besides, the red in that scarf you wear sets your colors off warmly; sometimes it glows against your skin and hair, and it looks like you belong in some fairy tale instead of trudging on a dirt trail with the likes of me.”

"Here," she remarked, pulling out the object and tossing it towards the dwarf. "Since we're exchanging gifts and all."

“Oh!” He reached eagerly for the gift and turned it about his thick fingers, examining the tiny dents where she had put the texture into its fur and face. “It’s…beautiful.” He looked back at her, remembering the times she had taken it out of her bag and whittled on the block of wood until it formed the carving. He remembered the boat ride and the campfires, and the occasional breaks they would take when she would work on the little object. “I did not know that,” he said about them being guardians. “He looks a little sad.” He frowned and looked to her. “Why is your bear sad?” It looked to him like the bear had lost its mother and was now wandering the riverbanks, cold, hungry, and alone. And he felt such a kinship to the wooden creature that his eyes watered and he had to blink the feelings away.

Perhaps it was the camp smoke.

He pressed the sculpture to his nose and inhaled the scent of the wood, closing his eyes and imagining the tree it had come from. Life from death, rebirth from destruction. It was all a connected circle they were living in. Carefully he took a piece of the torn cloth he she had provided for his arm, and taking the small pebble he had collected from the riverbank, he laid the bear and rock beside each other and wrapped them before putting them snugly back in his pocket.

Maerwyn had tended to their meal and as she handed him his portion of their dinner she continued. He drew in a breath and nodded when she asked if he remembered his question. It seemed reasonable that the animals were doing as she had said to preserve their lands, and not to help the people. She seemed to equate their lives above her own; saying that they were the ones who owned the land. Perhaps she was right in the same way that the caverns belonged to the boulders, and the earth to the trees. He took voracious bites of their meal as she talked and slowly began to wonder if the creature he was eating had felt the same way. He regarded it in the firelight for a moment. It had been delicious; she had put something on the flesh that added to its flavor, and her way of slow-roasting it on the spit had ensured that it was completely cooked, yet tender. He almost felt bad for eating it. ‘Sorry, little guy,’ he thought, taking another bite. ‘I need your energy to survive. Thank you for being so delicious. I hope your family doesn’t miss you too much…’

A wolf’s howl echoed in the wind, and he looked over at Maerwyn. She seemed to think the elves were more of a threat than the wolves were, which was both good and bad. Wolves would simply kill them or run them off. Elves, he had heard, could be uniquely creative in finding ways to ensure you and those you told the tale to would never again venture near their lands. But Emyn Duir…he longed to see if she was there, but how could he find one person in a wilderness that vast?

"I don't think the wood elves will care one way or another," she said finally, taking a little sip of water before rising to her feet.

He finished off the meal she had provided, glancing in her direction on occasion to see what she was doing. When it became apparent that she was already onto her next carving he smiled to himself, happy to see that her craft was not a passing fancy, but a part of her. It was another trait the dwarves admired; craftsmanship. Like Dis, she created figures. The only difference was that Dis sold her work, and Maerwyn gifted hers.

Then she began to speak of high elves and it was obvious how much disdain she had for them. Even her movements became harder, as if she could snap their spines as easily as she snapped the branches. He was glad that he was not on that side of her either; Maerwyn could be fierce when she was mad. He wondered what they had done to her to warrant such bitterness from the dark haired guide.

"Have you ever had dealings with them?" Maerwyn glanced up at Orin. "The elves, I mean. Of any kind."

He drew in a sharp breath. Was he in trouble if he did? Would she abhor him as well? But he could not lie to her, could he? “Oh!…Uhm…” he fidgeted with the carcass in his hands, then tossed it into the fire. “I…yes. Yes, I have.” He felt guilty without any fault. “My mother traveled with one.”

The shame, the guilt, the somewhat blame he felt was all imagined after growing up under that cloud. “After she left, she returned when I was…maybe sixteen? Seventeen? Just a child still. She’d been gone since I was a dwarfling. I never thought I’d see her, actually, but…” his eyes flickered to Maerwyn’s face. “My family doesn’t know she came to see me, so please—when you meet them it would be best not to mention it.” He asked her to keep his secret. Something that not even Dis knew.

“Mother was an adventurer. She traveled the world, like you do.” He smiled sadly, thinking of all the times he wanted to ask her something as he grew, and she was never there. “But anyway,” he continued, “the elf. I’ve met one, and he seemed nice enough. Quiet, though. Very quiet.” He looked up and pointed towards the Emyn Duir foothills with a stick he had been fiddling with. “They live out there. Somewhere.” His eyes lingered on the waning light beyond. The moon was beginning to rise, casting its eerie glow upon their campsite. The wolves howled out again, and his thoughts were interrupted. “Should I take first watch?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

Maerwyn smiled at the mention of the sea, but her eyes grew a little darker as she looked back at the fire. "You know my rates, and I'll take you wherever you wish to go if you have the coin to carry us. But I'll not lie to you, Master Dwarf. I never have seen the sea myself, though once or twice when I've been in the Blue Mountains I thought I've caught the scent. If you trust my nose to lead you to your final destination, then I will do all I can to take you there." It was strange though; she knew the elves had a fascination with the rolling blue waters that surrounded the world, but what interest could a dwarf have in such matters? The woman supposed it had more to do with Orin himself, and that insatiable curiosity of his. She had to admit the wandering spirit in him was admirable, although if he wasn't careful to rein it in it was very likely he would never return to his mountain or his beloved again.

Which wouldn't be so bad, really, though Maerwyn didn't dare to speak that aloud.

Instead she ignored his comment about her homeland, and instead allowed herself to beam a little at the regard he seemed to hold for her physical appearance. As she threw another log on the fire and reveled in its warmth, it occurred to her that Orin had that very morning probably seen her in all her naked glory, and that only made her smile more. Was it her face that had fascinated him after all, or something else? Silhouetted against the dawn as she had been, the dwarf could probably only see the distinct curves of her small round breasts and toned rump, which had certainly caught the eyes of other men before Orin had seen them. It was only when those others really looked closely at the woman's body and noticed the several dark scars that crossed her back and belly, and the short, particularly deep one on her inner thigh that they ended to rethink their advances.

If it weren't for those scars Maerwyn might have moved closer to the dwarf's side. She might have allowed herself to lean slightly against him, and after taking his hand in hers she might have surreptitiously guided it to her leg in silent invitation to let him explore more. After all, hands that could so firmly grip an axe, shape a ring, or scratch out an image on a page had to have some instinctive knowledge of a woman's body.

But the woman remembered how he had eyed the scars on her hand back in the tavern, and there certainly hadn't been anything tender in his gaze then. It would be a gamble to attempt to seduce him only for Orin to be disgusted at her scars, if not the body that must have seemed oddly stretched and elongated compared to women of his own kind. And to be so rejected like that (again a cruel voice inside reminded her) with the entire forest ahead might be too much humiliation to bear.

So Maerwyn didn't move to his side. She merely continued to peel the bark from the piece of wood in her hand, only pausing to giggle in absurdity that the bear figurine she'd given him was sad. "I don't think bears get sad," the woman remarked, shrugging slightly. "I know they get hungry. Perhaps someone forgot to leave out an offering of honey for him, and now he needs to contend with some angry bees to fill his belly. Even bears can suffer a stung nose here and there, and I imagine that might lower their spirits somewhat. It would certainly put a damper on mine."

Not as much as all this talk of elves though. Perhaps it was being in Mirkwood again, on the wrong side of the mountains, but Thilion seemed so close to her tonight. Every now and then her brown eyes stared into the shadows beyond the firelight, watching for any sign of a tall, thin shape clad in green, staring at her with pity on his flawless face. As far as she could tell though, the woman and dwarf were utterly alone, save for the occasional hoot of an owl overhead and the rustling of the evening breeze in the leaves. It wasn't until Orin mentioned his mother that Maerwyn's attention came crashing back down to the campsite, and she nearly dropped her carving in surprise as she stared at him.

"Your mother traveled?" she repeated dumbly. "With an elf? But I thought dwarves and elves hated one another. At least, all the dwarves I've known never seemed too fond of them." And the elves she'd known hadn't looked too kindly on the dwarves either. "And I thought your women didn't travel abroad. Not that I don't believe you, but...it seems very strange." Ah, but she was coming off as insulting now, even when Orin seemed so insistent that she would meet his family one day. Maerwyn forced a chuckle, then quickly averted her gaze and turned back to her whittling. "I guess it's clear where your adventurous spirit comes from, at least."

If this revelation weren't enough to make her drop her knife though, the second one did. "Wait, your mother lives in Mirkwood? With an elf?" Maerwyn gasped as she recovered both her carving and her blade from the dirt between her feet. "Do you know where? Did you wish to call on her?" She had never once heard of dwarves living in the woods, though she knew they often used to travel the old road unaccompanied before the fortress was taken over. If they were going to live anywhere in the forest though, the mountains did seem a likely spot. She knew there were caves deep in the gullies and ravines at the feet of the slopes, however the mercenary would have staked a month's wages that at least half of them were filled to the brim with spiders. Orin's mother might have been an adventurer, but did she truly wish to settle down someplace where every day meant fighting for your life just to get a good night's sleep?

Maerwyn could sense though that the dwarf didn't want to talk about the matter further, and when the subject changed to watches she easily followed. "I'm not quite tired yet," the woman replied, looking away from his face. "You can sleep first if you wish. Or if you're not tired, perhaps we can entertain ourselves some other way?" The words were out before she could stop them, and for a moment her face turned an even darker shade of crimson in the firelight. "I...I have heard your people are fond of music," she added quickly, hoping he wasn't reading too much into her question. "Do you sing, Master Dwarf?"

 

[Traveler]

Maerwyn must have thought it a terrible thing too – her shock at learning that Orin’s mother traveled made her stop what she was doing. She even dropped her knife! And he had never seen her fumble with any of her weapons before, so the dwarf knew that it must have been disturbing for her to hear. “Well, they do hate each other normally,” he agreed, “but they had traveled many years with a group of people. All sorts, even humans. So maybe they learned how to work together for a common goal.”

He had picked another stick up and was rubbing the two straight objects together, like hands warming each other. The scrit, scrit, of the sound made him think of his axe, and as Maerwyn asked again about his mother he pulled it out and began to clean it of its grim and grit, meticulously taking care to wipe it free of any blood that had dried upon its surface.

"Wait, your mother lives in Mirkwood? With an elf?" Maerwyn gasped as she recovered both her carving and her blade from the dirt between her feet. "Do you know where? Did you wish to call on her?"

He thought for a few silent moments, his jaw tensing as he considered the possibility. She had only told him that she was going to the Emyn Duir foothills, but even she had not known exactly where. His eyes flickered in the firelight, remembering those words spoken so long ago. Had she truly said them or was his memory only youthful wishful thinking? The pair had come and gone so quickly, even he sometimes wondered if he had dreamed it. But when he saw the name on the map and knew that he could never have invented such a place, he knew that it had not been a dream. And now he had another name; the Mirkwood.

“I don’t know if we could find them…” he glanced towards the hills as he retrieved a whetstone and began to rhythmically sharpen the blade of his axe. After a moment he smiled at her insistence that she wasn’t tired yet, but said nothing, lost in thought that he might meet his mother again. And her companion.

"You can sleep first if you wish. Or if you're not tired, perhaps we can entertain ourselves some other way?"

The sounds of each ~Schwipp, schwipp!~ of his work mingled with the crackling fire creating its own melody. As the frogs in the distance began their chorus, the night began to seem more melodic than the day had been. Orin glanced up abruptly at her question about entertaining themselves some other way. Entertainment was for children and festivities; what was she thinking of? Did she fancy a game of dice or storytelling? But then she asked about music, and that brought a chuckled to his chest. “All dwarves sing, Maerwyn. It’s in our blood.” He continued sharpening in light, careful strokes. “Would you like to hear a dwarven song?”

Seeing the flush of pink across her cheeks he assumed she might have been embarrassed about asking such a thing. “Don’t be embarrassed; we’re as tight-fisted with our music as we are with our gold, or so I’ve been told.” He gazed up at the moon, deciding what to share with her, and then he nodded slightly. “I will sing a song for you that Mother sang,” he decided. “But if I sing for you, I hope you’ll share one with me.” a teasing smile curved his lips. "Unless you’re shy…Then you can gift me with something else." The implications after her mention of entertaining themselves 'some other way' completely lost to him. He began to hum in cadence with the sound of the whetstone, and then began to sing, his voice low and deep in the night, as the chose words for that night under the stars.

As the final strains of the song dissipated into the night, he thought again about the Mirkwood. “If you think we’ve a chance to find them, I would like to see if I can find my family,” he said, looking over to where Maerwyn was resting as he set his sharpened axe aside. “Let’s make time to do that.” Unspoken was his concern that if he did not go now, and his guide’s obvious fear of Moria proved accurate, he would not get the chance to go again. This might be the start of a trip that lasted the rest of his life, however long that was.

 

[Shiva the Cat]

One of Maerwyn's dark brows raised sardonically at her companion. "I cannot imagine, Master Dwarf, that there are many women of your kind living among the elves of Mirkwood. They may have little to do with the world beyond their borders, but I assure you if your mother is here and dwelling with one of the woodland folk, it is not without the knowledge or permission of King Thranduil." And that too was a perplexing thought. The woman could understand how one of the wood-elves might have fallen for a dwarf, especially one that sounded as brave and clever as Orin's mother. But Thranduil was something older and higher than a wood-elf, and he'd shown little kindness to even a mortal woman like Maerwyn. What was this mysterious dwarf woman that she might earn the right to live among the fairest?

Well, the mercenary had no intention of calling on the Woodland King to find out. No, if they were going to find Orin's mother, she would have to insist on searching directly. Then again, the dwarf didn't exactly seem in a hurry to look for her. Maerwyn was surprised at ready offer to sign for her, and had more than a sneaking suspicion he was looking to change the subject. A pity, really. She would have liked to ask him more about the woman who had birthed him. It was so odd that he could talk at length about Dís, who scorned his gifts and send him on fool's errands thousands of miles away, and yet Orin had not yet even spoken his mother's name. Could she blame him though? If Maerwyn were to piece together his words in the right way, it was clear that the dwarf's mother had abandoned him.

No wonder he seems to have such poor taste in women the mercenary thought, shaking her head a little. Perhaps that said something about why he seemed to be growing fonder of Maerwyn herself, but she preferred not to think about that at the moment.

Instead, she decided to focus on the sound of his low, surprisingly sweet voice as he sang. The words seemed to touch something precious deep in her heart, a part of her that she rarely dared to show anyone. They heightened the sense of wilderness that surrounded them, and somehow when the woman turned her face to glimpse the sky through the trees the stars seemed to grow a little brighter in response. But despite the beauty of his song, there was something heartbreakingly sad about it, especially considering how they had just been speaking of Orin's mother. Had this been the way she'd bidden him farewell, with such a wistful and longing song? That seemed almost more horrible than having her disappear all at once.

"It's rather early in your journey to sing about partings, isn't it?" Maerwyn murmured when the song was over, but smiling nonetheless. "You have a lovely voice though, Master Dwarf. If you fail to make your fortunes as an artisan, you might try becoming a wandering minstrel. I have no doubt you could move harder hearts than mine to tears." Indeed, she was quite proud that despite the pricking at her eyes, the woman had managed to keep her cheeks dry. The sense of nostalgic loss was quickly fading though, hurried in particular by Orin's sudden determination to search out his mother after all.

"Of course we can look for them," she replied cheerfully. "After all, it's your gold, is it not? The speed of our journey is in your interest, not mine. I'd gladly take you to the long way around the world to the Gladden River if that were your wish." Her gaze turned serious now as her eyes drifted down the dwarf's body to rest on the wound in his side, hidden beneath his clothes. "We'll still need to be cautious though," Maerwyn continued. "You're still wounded, and the mountains have their own dangers. You ought to get plenty of rest this evening, and we need to make sure to avoid the higher reaches of the slopes. Lightning often strikes the places where the trees don't grow. At least down here we'll be sheltered from any serious weather."

Luckily it looked like clear skies would remain for that night, considering the brightness of the stars and the gently caressing breeze in the treetops. Unfortunately that meant Maerwyn had little excuse to avoid returning the favor of Orin's song. After setting aside her carving, Maerwyn took a long drink from her flask, and tried to think of something she could sing for him. She knew many songs of the woods that her own mother had taught her, but even now the woman couldn't bear to utter them herself. Her own voice could never be as sweet or gentle as Beorwyn's had been, and the dissonance would only make her sad. She might have tried singing one of the silvan verses she knew, but unless Orin knew the language of the wood elves it would probably be nonsense to him (besides, if there were any wood-elves around, the sound of their language would certainly draw them closer).

Finally she recalled a tavern song she'd heard during her last visit to Bree. It was nothing fancy, but it would probably do for the occasion. "So you really want me to sing, hm?" Maerwyn asked, laughing softly as she replaced her flask on her belt. The liquor filled her with new warmth and was quickly burying any anxiety she might have felt. "I ought to remind you that I'm a mercenary, not a minstrel, so if it's not up to your standards you cannot possibly blame me. But I think I might manage something a little more cheery to life our spirits."

The woman's voice was slightly higher and softer when she sang than when she spoke, and she was only a little out of key (probably more due to the liquor than anything else). There was a strange irony in the fact that when Maerwyn had originally heard the song, the singer really had injected more tragedy into the words, lingering on the fact that the fish and the bird would never really find a home together. To the mercenary though, the beauty was in the fact that even if they had no home, at least they might share their days of wandering. If only the scarred, rambling bird could find the right fish to follow her.

"Well, was that as horrible as I thought?" she laughed when the song was over, immediately taking another drink from her flask. "If nothing else, Master Dwarf, you cannot accuse me of being shy any longer. Loud, perhaps, but not shy."

 

[Traveler]

Her compliment made him feel a bit self-conscious, but he smiled and thanked her all the same. Usually the voices of the dwarves were lifted in unison in song; singing alone had been a first for him, and it made him think of what his mother probably felt. For her, home had not been the mountains, despite her children and her husband, but out here. Out in the trees and hillsides, seeking out the next adventure. He supposed she had done well to spend the years she had underground to keep their people strong and well-numbered. And as she had said, she had paid over thrice what she had taken when she left. She had done her duty to her people, and it was time to look for her own kind of treasure.

“Oh,” he replied. “I’m not singing about saying goodbye to you.” He bent forward and picked up the stick again, simply to have something to handle while they talked. When he felt the ache of his side or arm he could focus on the texture of the wood and ignore the pain for a while longer.

"Of course we can look for them," she replied cheerfully. "After all, it's your gold, is it not? The speed of our journey is in your interest, not mine. I'd gladly take you to the long way around the world to the Gladden River if that were your wish."

“Oh, I think I’ve learned the folly of going too fast,” he laughed. “I’m content to take my time and better my chances of success…. I still have plenty of money to pay, and I suppose you’ll get my last copper before we part ways.” He leaned against the rock and let his eyes dance over the canopy of stars above. “Even if I were to return tomorrow, successful, it would be decades before we were really old enough to marry. I might as well spend some time out here and let her miss me a little,” he said, chuckling to himself. He wondered if Dís thought of him since he had been gone. Perhaps she had missed his daily hellos or walk by his work area and see it empty, and then be reminded that he was out here, for her.

He nodded – he did want to hear her sing. Some people never sang in all their life, and it seemed sad whenever that part of them was not expressed. Besides, he was in a mood to learn new things. It took his mind off the pain, and he was interested to know if she sang as well as she carved wooden bears. A few moments into the song he realized that she, too, could have made a fortune as a bard. With her looks and the way she moved, if she danced along to the song it would be…he blushed, and busied himself with adding wood to the fire carefully, lest he conceal the words of her song with his actions.

He realized he had never seen Dís dance. Or sing, for that matter. She did not join in with the men but kept herself apart.

"Well, was that as horrible as I thought?" she laughed when the song was over, immediately taking another drink from her flask. "If nothing else, Master Dwarf, you cannot accuse me of being shy any longer. Loud, perhaps, but not shy."

“No, not shy,” he agreed. “It was horrible, but not because of your singing. I quite like your voice. It was the kind of horrible you feel when you are looking forward to something; something you really, really want, and when you get home to find it…it’s gone. That kind of horrible. It made me feel a little sad for the fish and the swallow, because they can’t stop traveling and live in peace. The bird dies in the fish’s home, and the fish dies in the air. So what can they do?” He shrugged. “I suppose they find a place on the edge of the foothills, halfway between his home and hers, and live in a place where neither are supposed to be.”

He paused, thinking that must have been what had happened. It never occurred to him, but when his mother said she was leaving…he remembered the look on the elf’s face. He thought it was stern; uncaring. Cold. But maybe he had done the same thing? Maybe he was leaving his home as well? Orin frowned into the fire. ‘Good God, Mother was a tramp!’

She had left her children and her home! How could she have been so heartless? He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, wincing through the pain and trying to wrap his mind around the possibility. Had his mother traded in a good, solid dwarf husband for a willowy, egotistical (according to Maerwyn), man from another race? It was a disgrace. Besides, everyone knew that elves were all born eunuchs and they hatched babies out of eggs, like birds. What could have been the appeal?

The wolves howling had ceased, thank goodness, and was occasionally replaced by the sound of coyotes in the distance. “Maerwyn?” He looked up at her. “Did your parents love each other?”

 

[Shiva the Cat]

"Who knows?" Maerwyn shrugged as she thought of the fish and the bird. "Perhaps the fish finds a nice duck to marry instead, and the swallow flies away and gets eaten by a hawk. That does seem to be the way of things in the world, doesn't it?"

It was an example of the mercenary's grim sense of humor, but when she glanced back towards Orin she could see it hadn't done much to heighten his mood. Indeed, for the first time since she had met him, the dwarf actually looked angry. Even more so than when they they had fought either the bandits or the Easterlings. Back then Orin merely looked like he wanted to survive, but there was no actual malice even when he killed his enemies. Now though...well, Maerwyn could only hope he wasn't thinking of her, the way he was glowering.

At least his voice didn't betray any anger when he finally did spoke, though the woman was surprised he would ask about her own family. "Mother and Father?" she repeated, raising both eyebrows. "Yes, I suppose they loved each other. I never saw anything to the contrary. But in our part of the world, you can't exactly be picky when searching for a husband or a wife. The homesteads are very far apart, and the ones nearest you are usually inhabited by cousins and things like that. My parents were lucky in that they were both friends with the old Wizard of the Wood, and he introduced them to one another. Otherwise I doubt they ever would have met."

A small smile passed over her face for a moment. Maerwyn wouldn't have called herself a romantic in the least, but even she still like to remember the story of her parents' courtship, regardless of how things had ended. "My mother's people came from the far south end of the Great River, almost in Rohan. My father's were from the far north. They both had a way with animals though, and they often walked in the woods. One winter they were both caught far from home when a terrible snowstorm came, and they each sought refuge with Old Radagast rather than try to find their own ways home. All three of them were trapped in his house together for nearly a month, and when the storm finally lifted Mother and Father refused to be parted. So they married and built a new house together on the western border of the forest, just north of the Old Road. That's where my brothers and I grew up."

And what a pity they didn't all still live there now. But such happiness never seemed long for the world, and Maerwyn didn't see a need to tell the rest of the story, at least not right now. Instead she only shrugged and laughed a little. "That's part of why I had to become a mercenary and travel the world, you see. The houses closest to my father's are inhabited by two of my three brothers, and until I left home I never met another man who wasn't related to me somehow. If I had stayed there, I would probably still be the unmarried sister I am now, only with fewer scars and a much smaller repertoire of songs."

Hopefully that joke might cheer him a bit more, but it didn't seem likely. Could she blame him though? Regardless of their feelings, at least Maerwyn's parents had remained faithful to one another. As far as she knew, her father had never even looked at another woman, although she knew of one or two widows who might have been glad to live in his fine house regardless of his youngest child's unfortunate reputation. Orin's parents couldn't have had such a clean break though, and the woman supposed if she were in a similar situation, she would have fumed just as hard for at least as many decades.

"You know..." she began slowly, hoping her next words might comfort him. "Elves are faithful until death. If an elf loves your mother, she can at least take comfort in the fact of knowing that love will never fade. He'll probably take it with him across the sea when the time comes, and she'll never be forgotten." Pretty words, but what did that say about Orin's father? Realizing her error, Maerwyn blushed and tried to compensate.

"Oh, but that's not to say that your father wouldn't have been faithful to her. I mean, I don't know anything about dwarven marriage customs. Is it common for a husband and wife to...part ways?" It was the most delicate way she could describe it. "My people do it all the time, of course, but changeability is part of a mortal life, I suppose. And I can't say that if I found myself married to someone I didn't love, or who didn't love me, that I wouldn't search for affection elsewhere. Yet another reason I haven't found a husband," Maerwyn laughed, resuming her whittling.

That was probably enough on the subject. "You ought to get some rest," the woman suggested, noticing the occasional wince of pain on the dwarf's face. Her heart clenched a little in sympathy, wishing she could have done more for him. Perhaps when the sun came up she could see about finding some willow bark to ease his suffering. "You're wounded, after all. Unless you need another lullaby to help soothe you to sleep?" She was still smiling at the offer, but she had absolutely no intention of singing for him again. Not tonight at least.

 

[Traveler]

His eyes widened slightly at the term Wizard of the Wood. He had never met a wizard, and to him it seemed quite fearsome to owe your existence to a wizard who brought your parents together. Maerwyn was a meeting of the North and the South; brought on by a blizzard, and perhaps consummated under the roof of a wizard. To the young dwarf it seemed romantic, like something that came out of an ancient storybook. Perhaps it would be, one day.

"That's part of why I had to become a mercenary and travel the world, you see. The houses closest to my father's are inhabited by two of my three brothers, and until I left home I never met another man who wasn't related to me somehow. If I had stayed there, I would probably still be the unmarried sister I am now, only with fewer scars and a much smaller repertoire of songs."

“So…you started traveling to find a husband?” He supposed that made sense. If he had left his home to win his beloved’s hand, then it would make sense to leave home to find a hand to win. Except, in the mercenary’s case it seemed like she would have a plethora of people to chose from. She had a lot more options in the world than dwarves had. And he had only seen scars on her hands. Where else would she have them? He wanted to ask, then though that she might become offended. Then he wondered if his injuries would give him some nice, handsome scars to show to Dís one day. Those would be something that only her eyes (and Maerwyn) ever saw, making them an intimate and nearly sacred sight.

Had anyone seen Maerwyn’s scars?

"You know..." she began slowly, "Elves are faithful until death. If an elf loves your mother, she can at least take comfort in the fact of knowing that love will never fade. He'll probably take it with him across the sea when the time comes, and she'll never be forgotten."

Orin shot her a startled look. Who said anything about love? His mother had described the man as her ‘friend’. Not her…

"Oh, but that's not to say that your father wouldn't have been faithful to her. I mean, I don't know anything about dwarven marriage customs. Is it common for a husband and wife to...part ways?"

The dwarf was literally drowning now. Maerwyn had moved on, speaking about how her people did it all the time. But he could not understand how someone could love another, and then stop loving them a day later. All this talk about broken marriages, before he had even begun his, was making him dizzy. “I…I don’t know why she left, not exactly,” he tried to explain. It was more to himself than to anyone, as he attempted to unravel what his child mind had heard. He needed answers, he decided. Before he started his life as a fully-grown man of the mountain, he needed to understand what had happened.

And then, move on.

As those words teased his mind he had to wonder who, or what, he was moving on from. Maerwyn offered to sing him to sleep, and he managed to chuckle then, amused at her sensible nature. “No, Maerwyn. I was going to take first watch, remember? You need your sleep as well as I do.” And finally, after she had convinced him that he would take a fair watch after she did, he fell asleep by the fire, thankfully to a dreamless night (as far as he could remember), until she decided it was time for him to wake.