Something in the Night

Chapter Seventeen

Spring in Erebor was only discernible if one was out in the courtyard just off the infirmary, where wild roses of all shades grew along the walled off courtyard. Thorin smiled down at the pretty dwarf maid on his arm. He'd forgotten just how pretty Elisin was, with her wide dark eyes and lustrous nearly-black hair. Like Dís, she'd woven beads into her equally dark beard, tiger's eye mostly, interspersed with silver runes. No braids adorned her hair, however. That would be left to him, when he proposed to her, which he thought he might do at Midsummer.

He didn't love her, but she would make a fine queen and a good mother and maybe—just maybe—she would help him forget Nina Carren ever existed.

He tried to ignore the thoughts of the red-headed temptress that continually crept into his mind, tried to dredge up that same anger he'd felt upon learning of her betrayal.

He tried.

And failed each blasted time.

Nina haunted him far more than any other ghost could. So perhaps marriage, and its permanence, would put an end to the torture. Perhaps knowing he belonged to another would finally make him forget Nina ever existed.

Or so he hoped.

"You seem far away today," Elisin said, peering up at him, her head pressed now against his arm.

Fortunately, he did not jump despite the jolt from his thoughts. "I am a bit tired. We were up far too late last eve."

She smiled. "A party is always worth being a bit tired the next day."

"This is true, but I'm not so young a dwarf any longer."

"You are young enough, Your Majesty."

He bit back the sigh bubbling to his lips. No matter how many times he told her it was quite all right for her to address him by his given name, Elisin insisted it would not be proper, and so would not do so.

"Thank you for that." He smiled down at her. "So, where would you like to go on this glorious day?"

"What is that up there?"

He turned in the direction she pointed, his stomach knotting as he found himself peering up at the gray and black stone tower of Ravenhill. His mouth went dry, his tongue feeling fused to the roof of his mouth. The sight of the tower unnerved him, although the orcs who had befouled it were long since dead or dispersed.

"Ravenhill," he said.

"Where the last battle of the five armies was fought, wasn't it?" Her dark eyes went wide, sympathy flooding them. "You fought up there, didn't you?"

"Aye. And nearly died there."

"Oh, how awful." She release his arm to move to stand before him, then to his surprise, slid her arms about his waist to embrace him. "I am so sorry you went through that."

"Thank you. I think. I'm afraid I rarely know how to reply to that," he told her, glancing down as her head came to rest against his chest. A hint of lavender rose from her hair to tease his nose.

"You need not reply at all." She lifted her head to gaze up at him. "I only wish I had been here when you were brought in. I would have taken wonderful care of you, you know."

"I know."

"Still..." She turned her head toward Ravenhill once more, "I would be lying if I said I was not curious about seeing it. Would it trouble you to take me up there?"

He hesitated, looking at the gray stone once more that blended so perfectly with the mountains around them. He had not been up there since the day of the battle. The thought had crossed his mind, but he could never quite get his legs to obey his mind's order to bring him there.