In Time

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The only sounds were that of the wind's mournful whistle, Bofur's occasion refrain, Dwalin's snores, the gentle bump of ice on wood, and the soft creak of timbers as the barge glided across the seemingly endless expanse of the Long Lake. Thorin leaned back against the barge's side, careful not to jostle Amara too badly as she slept curled against him, her head in his lap, his cloak drawn over her like a blanket. The snow finally stopped, and the last of the frost melted from her hair, which was still damp beneath his fingers as he gently stroked it.

Bard was the only other soul awake. He smothered a yawn as he steered them around the bigger chunks of ice. Nodding to Amara, he said, "She was your healer in Rivendell?"

Thorin nodded, tracing the delicate arch of her right ear with the tip of his forefinger. "She was, yes. Gandalf thought she was best suited to care for us."

"Not one of Lothlórien's healers? I should think they would have been even more well-suited."

"Ordinarily, yes, Lothlórien would have been the better choice, but, according to Gandalf, they had their hands full with the Lady Galadriel and Rivendell was the next logical choice." He gazed down at her and smiled. "And the best one, as well."

Bard leaned carefully against the rudder. "It appears so. I only hope this weather is not too harsh for her."

Thorin worried the same thing, but all he said was, "She is far stronger than she looks. Trust me."

"Most elves are."

Silence fell, only to be broken moments later when Bofur broke into the next verse to shatter it. Thorin turned back to the bowman. "I owe you an apology. More than one, possibly, but at least that. I should have honored the promise I made, regardless of the circumstances under which I'd made it. I—I wasn't myself."

"Dragon sickness," Bard said with a nod. "It was bound to happen. That dragon laid claim to your mountain over sixty years ago. That is a long time for it to build."

"That was part of the Defiler's plan," Thorin replied, his fingers moving along Amara's hair once more. He couldn't help it. If she was near, he had touch her. Call it second nature or instinct or something similar, but he couldn't be near her and not touch her. "He knew I'd not be in my right mind. He just did not think I would snap out of it, which, thankfully, I did."

"And you survived being run through by him, that is nothing short of a miracle."

"Elf magic." Thorin smiled down at Amara. "Two Wood Elves were there, at the tower and one had enough kingsfoil to keep us alive long enough to reach Rivendell and Amara is gifted and stubborn." He glanced back up. "And she would say the same about me, without the gifted part, of course."

Bard shrugged. "She sees something."

"I don't know exactly what that something is, though."

"I used to wonder the same thing about my wife. In the end, it doesn't matter. What matters is that she sees it, even if you don't. Don't argue it. Just accept it."

Thorin chuckled, which seemed to surprise the bowman, but he ignored Bard's rather shocked look. "That advice can be applied in so many situations."

"We should reach the dock by dawn," Bard said. "You should try to sleep, if you can. No offense, but you look as if you could use it."

"I'm fine." Thorin turned to stare out across the water. He wouldn't have been able to tell water from horizon, were it not for the chunks of ice drifting across the surface. They helped dissolve the illusion of the world having no end, and their pattern kept changing, which did much to keep him occupied and awake, for sleeping was the last thing he wished to do.