Flawed Gemstone

A Rough Beginning

Late morning sunlight and a severe need to relieve himself woke the Dwarf the next day. He kept his eyes closed, trying to recall every detail of the hazy dream he'd had. It had been nice, being surrounded by his own kind, being cared for and soothed, just like in all the dreams he never spoke of. Bitterness flooded his soul. It had been a nice dream.

Or was it a dream?

The Dwarf became aware of more than his bladder as he woke more fully. His entire body was stiff and he ached. It hurt to breathe, each inhale stretching his sore ribs. And he seemed to be lying on a soft bed, not in a bedroll. As he registered all this, a deep sense of foreboding filled him. It wasn't a dream. He had been wounded and dying and had been rescued by a group of Dwarfs. They had helped him, and panic clawed at his chest. He didn't have any gold to give them. What would they do when they found out? They'd turn on him in an instant.

A creak startled him, and his eyes flew open. He saw the one who had patched him up sitting in a chair reading a book, a yellow hat perched on his head as his fingers absently combed through his beard. The Dwarf sucked in a breath, and those intense brown eyes looked up and met his. It was quite the surprise when Doc sat up and smiled, marking his place with a feather.

"Good morning," he said, his voice warm and welcoming. "How are you feeling?"

The Dwarf didn't answer, unsure of what to say. So he did what he would do in any such situation: he scowled and looked away, not saying anything.

Doc blinked at him, confused by the reaction. He tried again. "A bit sore, I'd guess."

The Dwarf snorted. "Waddaya think?" he demanded gruffly, shifting with a grimace.

Doc was pleased that he was well enough to be snarky. This Dwarf was tough as nails. "I think you're in quite a bit of rain," he said idly.

The Dwarf let out a bark of laughter. "Rain?" he sneered.

Doc's round cheeks turned pink. "Um, I meant pain."

"Yeah. I'm in pain. But I ain't wet." He snickered, and Doc turned even redder.

"Anyways," he said loudly. "Do you need the chamber pot?"

The Dwarf flushed and grumbled, which was answer enough. He was in far too much pain to get there on his own, and he knew it. Doc was kind as he helped him to sit up. His thigh burned and the Dwarf hissed between his teeth.

"Easy there," Doc soothed. "Up we go."

After he was done, the Dwarf fell back on the bed, shivering. Everything hurt. He was weak and naked and in the presence of Dwarfs without any gold or jewels. What was he going to do?

"How about some punch? Uh, lunch."

The Dwarf squinted at the pink-faced Doc, wondering at the second mixup. Did he have a speech impediment? That was certainly interesting.

"No," he answered curtly.

Doc looked surprised. "Why not? Certainly you're hungry!"

"Nope."

A snarling sound made him scowl and look away, this time his cheeks were the ones turning pink. Doc frowned at him.

"Are you sure? Happy's making a feast."

The Dwarf exhaled. He had to tell him. "Ain't got no gold," he said tightly.

A ball of anxiety made his stomach clench. What would the Dwarf do now? What kind of payment would he demand?

Doc was perplexed. "Why do you need gold?"

The Dwarf turned and gave him a sharp look. When he saw the genuine confusion, he frowned.