The Ties That Bind

Chapter Thirty-One

"How does she fare?"

Thorin looked up from his uneaten breakfast to find Thranduíl, coffee mug in one hand, tugging out the chair across from his with his free hand. "She says she is fine."

The chair creaked as Thranduíl sank into it. "Has Óin been to see her?"

He shook his head. "No. She has refused to see anyone."

"You might have to override her on this, Thorin."

He met Thranduíl's blue eyes. "I will not betray her. She's had enough of that to last a lifetime."

"Eirlys was not the only one fooled. That—woman—slept beneath my roof. I trusted her with my dearest of treasures—my children."

"Eirlys saw her as far more than a servant."

"I know. That is why I sent Madris along with her. And if I could, I'd raise her from the dead to kill her again myself."

Thorin sighed. Three days had passed since the battle at Ravenhill. Three days and Eirlys refused to leave the apartments, refused to eat much, spent most of her time just sitting on the sofa, wrapped in her quilt, watching the fire burn.

"As would I," he finally said, tracing the rim of his coffee mug with one finger. "Thranduíl, I'm worried for her. She barely eats, barely sleeps, she says she's cold no matter how close to the fire she sits."

"Has she said what happened in that tower?"

Thorin shook his head. "Every time I ask, she says she has no desire to dwell on the past. All she will say is that filth never touched her."

Thranduíl visibly stiffened. "Do you think she is lying about that?"

A heavy sigh rose to Thorin's lips. "I wish I could say no, but—"

"You feel she might be."

He slowly nodded. "I do, yes."

Thranduíl's expression grew far more serious. "Does she have reason to fear you if the creature did touch her?"

"Fear me? No," Thorin shook his head, "absolutely not. I would want to kill him and the maid again, but I would not fault her."

A hint of relief crossed Thranduíl's face. "Good." He tapped his forefinger against the table. "Speak to Óin if it will put your mind at ease, but I think Eirlys only needs time."

"I know. I simply do not know how much time and I do not wish to press her, to make her think about things best forgotten. I know all too well what happens if one dwells in that past."

"Thorin, she needs move forward. That is the only way to put it behind her."

Thorin rose from his chair. "I will deal with this in the way I feel is best."

"She is my daughter—"

"And she is my wife, and I think I know her well enough to make the decision how to broach it."

Thranduíl's lips disappeared into a thin, white line as he pressed them together. Still, he said nothing, but gave a slight bob of his head and turned back to his coffee.

Thorin took his leave then, making his way down the shadowy corridor to his apartment, where he paused outside the door. He truly was at a loss as to what to do, despite what he'd told Thranduíl. He certainly didn't wish to press her, to make her relive anything she did not wish to face just yet, but at the same time, perhaps Thranduíl was right and that was how he helped her move forward, helped her heal from Madris' betrayal.

At least, he hoped so.

The door swung open with only the softest of creaks. "Eirlys?" he called as he crossed the threshold and didn't see her on the sofa in the sitting room. Only the blanket she'd been wrapped in lay neatly folded on the cushion as a sign she'd even been in the room.