Brilliant Disguise

Chapter Four

Sophie had no idea what possessed her to try and flirt with the king, and she inwardly cringed every time the scene in the courtyard flashed through her mind. His dancing eyes. His slow smile. The low pull of his deep voice as he almost purred, "Sophie."

What had she been thinking?

By Friday afternoon, she was exhausted. After that first day with Bifur, it went steadily downhill as his frustration mounted. He grew angry and sullen when stumbling over what he felt should be utterly simple words and time and again, he tried her patience as well.

"Please, try again. You're very close."

He shook his head, growling, "I will never get this," in khuzdul as he stared down at the cards lying face up on the table. Each had a picture of an item, the khuzdul word for it on the face up side. The opposite side bore the Westron word for it. She'd separated them into two piles—the words he could recall and the ones he couldn't. The couldn't pile was twice the size as the other.

"You will."

"No!" In a fit of temper, he swept his arm across the table to send the cards scattering in all directions, then he leaped from his chair and in his tongue, snarled, "I am done! No more!"

"Bifur, wait—"

He slammed his chair in and stalked out of the courtyard as the breeze picked up and blew the cards to all four corners. A heavy sigh rose seemingly from the soles of her feet and tucking a wayward curl back behind one ear, she went about trying to gather the cards before they all blew away.

"He's struggling."

She looked up as Narnerra came over and crouched to gather cards as well. "You heard?"

"Heard and saw." Narnerra plucked two cards from where they rested against the stone wall. "Dwarves are a stubborn, proud lot by nature."

"I am painfully aware of that." Sophie sank to the ground and sat back against the wall. "I've been working with him a week and he's losing ground instead of gaining it. I understand his frustration, but I don't know how to alleviate it."

"I don't know you can. I think he has to work through it himself."

"He grows anger-locked," Sophie told her, taking the cards Narnerra had collected to tuck into the deck. "And when that happens, he goes completely blank and I only seem to make it worse."

She looked over at the healer, whose dark hair was tucked beneath a crisp white cap, and whose beard was neatly braided and adorned with crystal beads that clacked whenever she spoke. Like her son, she had blue eyes that were warm and friendly and instantly put a body at ease. "He's a very gentle soul, actually. And I think he feels he's let you down, and that's partly why he grows so angry."

"But he doesn't. He made such wonderful progress the first two sessions and I just don't understand why he's backsliding so badly."

"I don't know. But, perhaps you need speak with him about it outside of your sessions, where there is less pressure on him." Narnerra held out a hand.

"Perhaps." She took the dwarrowdam's hand and let Narnerra heft her to her feet. Almost a foot shorter than Sophie, she nonetheless had twice her strength and tugged her up seemingly without effort. In the days since she and Heather arrived, the healer had quickly gone from supervisor to friend and for Sophie, who had little time for friendships in Dale, was grateful for that friendship. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been, how starved for companionship that wasn't her daughter, until arriving in Erebor.

"Are you all right?" Narnerra asked as they made their way back toward the fortress. "You look troubled."

"I'm exhausted, is what I am. Thank the maker for Miss Oakmane. Sometimes, in Dale, I couldn't always find someone to mind Heather. It's tough to work with patients when she's underfoot."