A Willing Heart

Nine

My mother had been deep inside Erebor when Smaug routed the halls, leaving devastation and death in his wake.  What had saved my mother was seeing King Thror and his son, Prince Thrain run past the room where she had been teaching the children, keeping them all together even as she was struggling to breathe, Smaug's sulfuric breath clogging her lungs.  But she kept herself low and taking the children with her, followed them, even as her eyes stung and every breath she took was like inhaling fire.

Father had made it alive, too, she said.  But he succumbed from his injuries two moons later, dying in his sleep, as had all the children who had escaped with her.  Smaug’s breath had burned their lungs.

They could have gone to the Iron Hills like many of the dwarves she knew.   Instead she and father wanted to journey south with the king, not just out of loyalty to him, she said, but for the hope that maybe they would find themselves in the towns where merchants had claimed to have seen a dwarf child named Aleana years earlier.  

By this time, I no longer had any more tears to shed, the coverlet over Lyssan’s frail form soaked from my tears.  I treasured every second her hand touched my face, exploring its contours, her fingers tracing the outline of my nose and my lips, even my eyelashes, and finally my scar.  Nothing in my past with Jerrel and Tadd, no matter how loving they had been towards me, could ever make up for the years I’d missed with my real parents.  

They’d taken that away from me.

I could feel the anger slowly build up inside of me, the thought that my mother was slipping away just as I was reunited with her.  Our time together was much too brief.  The pain was unbearable, as if someone had wrenched my heart from my chest and cut it to pieces.  I could not leave her now, not even when one of the dwarf women came to tell me that Lyssan was weak, that she needed to rest.

And when I shook my head, I heard Thorin’s voice behind me telling her to leave me alone with my mother, that I could spend as long as I wanted next to her.  I wanted to thank him for interceding on my behalf, but when I turned to look towards the door, he had gone along with them.  

“Did they treat you well?” My mother asked.  Her voice was hoarse and already I knew that she had spoken too much since I’d arrived.  The women were right about letting her rest, I thought, as I nodded.

“Good,” she said, turning away from me to look at the forest green walls of her tent.  A breeze blew outside, ruffling the fabric.  “Did the prince tell you that we searched for you for so many years?  We never gave up, lukhudel,” she said.  “Please never forget that.”

“He told me,” I replied. “Hush, mother, and do not speak.  You need to rest.”

“One day a merchant came to the Great Hall and said that he had seen a dwarf child in a  town of men, and that she had a scar on her face,” mother continued.  “We sent so many dwarves to find you, but they never did.  I did not care of all the jewels we paid those who had told us again and again about a dwarf-child named Aleana.  Men from the south.”

As she spoke, I frowned.  Twice, Lialam had sent Jerrel and I away to live with his brother northeast of Greenbanü, where Jerrel found herself inundated by so much work she looked forward to the summons.  I wondered if Lialam himself had collected the reward for the information, as his wealth only continued to grow with each of our visits to his brother.  But then, it didn't matter now.  

“I’m here now, mother,” I said.  “I’m never leaving you.”

Lyssan smiled weakly as I ran my hand along her face, my fingers running through her smooth beard.  It was dark as night, just as mine would have been had I not pulled it from its roots for the last few years and I wondered if my beard would ever grow as lush as hers did.  It grew alongside her jaw, combed neatly by the women who tended to her, who hovered just outside the tent for I could hear their voices still.