Someone to Watch Over Me

Chapter Thirty-Two

The first few weeks with a newborn left both Seren and Thorin frazzled and spent. She walked the floors of their flat night after night, because as long as she moved, Frerin slept. It seemed the minute she stopped, he awoke and screamed until she moved again. Thorin was busy with Erebor and Esgaroth, as well as with Dale, and she didn't want him also prowling the floors all night with a screaming baby. That left both of them with very little energy to even choose a day, never mind plan their wedding.

As summer gave way to fall, and Seren found herself convinced Frerin would never sleep through the night, Bofur came upon her up on the front rampart, where, not too long ago, Thorin tried to throw Master Baggins to the ground below. She thought about the hobbit from time to time. He'd opted to return to the Shire instead of coming to Erebor, and while she could hardly fault him, she thought his decision hurt Thorin to a certain extent. Still, when they finally did settle on a date, she fully intended to include him on the guest list and she hoped he could find it in himself to come.

"I just saw Narnerra below," he said by way of greeting. "She said she chased you off to take a nap? The baby still isn't sleeping?"

"Not more than fifteen minutes at a clip," she replied, gazing off into the distance, toward Ravenhill. "I've never been so tired. Not even when I was tracking Thorin, sleeping in terrible weather and on the ground, was I this tired."

He came up to stand beside her, leaning his forearms on the stone parapet. "He's only a month old, love. He will sleep in time."

"That's what Thorin says." A heavy gust of wind roared along the rampart, tugging her hair from its simple plait to send streaking across her face. She raked it back, shaking her head. "But then again, that's easy for him to say, as he sleeps at night."

"I promise you, Frerin will as well."

"That's what I'm told. But in all honesty, I think everyone is just trying to make me feel better." Her eyes burned with fatigue, and she was afraid if she moved too close to the edge, she'd fall right out of Erebor. "Bofur, can I ask you something?"

The wind whisked his hat from his head, but he snagged it mid-air and held it in one fist, nodding. "You can ask me anything you like, love. I promise you, if I know the answer, I'll share it, no matter what."

"Does Thorin ever say anything to you about what happened? When he went mad? What happened with Azog? Has he spoken much about it at all to anyone here?"

"No." He shook his head, his dark hair tossing this way and that on the breeze. "He never speaks of any of it, why?"

"He has nightmares," she told him. "He has since Rivendell, actually. He thrashes about, and it sounds like he is pleading with someone, begging them for something, but he speaks in Khuzdal and I've only learned a smattering of it, so I don't understand what he says."

She turned back toward Ravenhill. It rose silently in the distance, a black and gray sentry holding secrets it refused to reveal. The ravens that gave it its name roosted along the top of the tower, and they traveled between there and Erebor and the Iron Hills on a regular basis. The tower gave off a forbidding air, even though orcs had not been seen in the area since the Battle of the Five Armies. The Orcrist would let them know if any orcs drew near, for it glowed blue in their presence, or in the presence of goblins and sine their return, it remained silver. 

Still, whenever her eyes fell on that tower, she relived that day—saw Fili almost lose his life at Bolg's hands. Saw herself telling Legolas to hand her his bow and arrow because she had a clean shot at Azog.

Heard Thorin's roar of pain as Azog's blade pierced him.

She surreptitiously shook her head to clear it of the disturbing sighs and sounds, then rubbed her forehead with a weary hand.