Dwalin and the Pearl

Chapter 11

I didn't know what to say to Thorin at that point, so we sat down and started drinking. He was full of plans and schemes and at that point the dwarves I'd brought up with me from the South were eager to go anywhere and do anything Thorin asked them to. They were his liege men, now, and as rabid as any dwarven converts to a cause could be-which is to say, completely and utterly devoted. He had that effect on people.

The whole quest thing reminded me that I had to make a decision about where my loyalties lay. Was I still Thorin's loyal liege man, or did I belong to Var now? It seemed pretty clear that, ceremony or no ceremony, she and I were now united. What did I owe to her? I didn't want to think about it, so I kept ordering more pints.

It worked. After a while, I wasn't thinking hardly at all.

Several hours later, I staggered up from the table. I wasn't worried and conflicted anymore. I knew everything would look clearer in the morning-or at least it would all stop spinning around. Getting drunk is sometimes useful, because it helps you realize that things like talking, walking, or even just standing up, are so much easier when you're sober.

But the drunken brain is also capable of throwing up strange and unexpected ideas. This time, my brain decided that it would be good to take a look at the wooden cart that held Aunt Nott's gold. A sentimental journey, in a way-I'd be visiting the object that marked the starting point of all my confusion.

So I went out to the stable where the cart was stored in an inconspicuous corner. Dark night had covered the land, but there was still plenty of light from moon and stars. Dwarves are used to the lightless depths of mines and caves, so night time above ground is comfortable to our eyes.

The dwarf assigned to guard the gold lay motionless on a pile of hay. It was Zigur, and he was unconscious. Alerted to danger, I crouched down and listened. A quiet rustle and clinking sounds followed. I moved cautiously around to the door of the cart, to see who it was.

The clinking stopped. A snap told me that the lid of the iron chest had closed. The creak that followed was the wooden cart door being shut. I saw a cloaked and hooded figure, oddly misshapen, turn in my direction.

The person only had time for a gasp before I attacked. We went down together. I was on top. I yanked back the concealing hood.

It was Var.

The alcohol I'd consumed had dampened my wits, I'm afraid. For a long, confused moment I sat on top of her, staring at her in astonishment. Slowly, more details seeped through: She was dressed for travel with a pack strapped to her back. That explained the odd outline of her shape.

She was robbing Aunt Nott's gold and making a getaway.

"Var?" I asked. Of course I knew it was her. But the ale was still working on my brain. Although I could think clearly enough, my power of speech wasn't working properly.

"Shhhh! Let me up!"

"No. Not gonna let you do this." In my mind, I reviewed our possible options. I had her, so Var hadn't gotten away with the robbery. If I pleaded with Aunt Nott, maybe she'd forgive Var and forget about the matter. Right. And maybe Mahal the Divine Smith, our creator, would flutter down on gossamer wings and sprinkle us all with gold and jewels. "Put it back and it will be our secret."

She stopped squirming and stared up at me. Her eyes were wide and dark, her expression bleak. "How do you know?"

"I heard you. I know you opened the iron chest. Put the gold back! No one has to know. We'll think of something. Please."

She seemed to relax. Her face softened, and she looked so sad. For a moment, I thought she was going to agree. Then her arm jerked, and something hard hit me on the head.