"Are ye certain ye dinna want to discuss it?"
Thorin rolled his eyes as they boarded the barge that would sail them past the skeletal frames of Esgaroth to the city of Dale on the opposite side of the Long Lake. "How many times must I say it? No. I dinna want to discuss it."
"All right the. Have it your way, then. There's no need to get pissy."
He glared at Dwalin, who leaned against the side of the barge, arms folded, heavy iron-gray brows pulled low. "I'm not pissy, thank you very much. I am angry and there is a difference."
"Are ye still thinking about her? Even after what happened with her? That's madness, Thorin. She deserves not a single moment of thought and yer wasting yer time broodin' over her."
The bargeman barely bit back a smile as he guided them along the lake's calm waters. Somewhere in the depths, lay what remained of Smaug the Terrible, and Thorin tried not to think about that as Esgaroth loomed before them. The last time they'd seen the city on the lake, it had been mostly engulfed in orange flames that seemed to reach the midnight black winter sky.
Now, the charred remains had been torn down and fresh wood frameworks had been erected on the floating walkways that connected the city and formed what would be canals once construction was complete.
When they had set out for Rivendell, the first buildings had just been framed out. Now, they were just about finished with the majority of them. Little by little, the town was being reborn and as they glided past it, Thorin tried to shove down the regret surging forward at the memory of the last time he'd passed through. Driven by the need to reach the Lonely Mountain before the last light of Durin's Day, Thorin had let his desire to reclaim the treasure, the Arkenstone, and his throne blind him to everything else around him. The need to possess that treasure grew stronger until he could no longer ignore it. Dragon sickness would follow, and that was what led him to look the other way while Smaug incinerated Esgaroth, what led him to turn his back on the people whose lives he'd upended, what led him to choose war over anything else.
And eventually, what led Nina to seek revenge.
He winced, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to think about her now. Her betrayal was too fresh, too raw, and his heart felt as if it had been raked over with razor-sharp claws, leaving it shredded and dripping both blood and regret. He felt sick, his gut roiling like the Long Lake during a storm, and a sour taste flooded his mouth, one that he fought back. He didn't want to be sick, didn't want to give Nina that power over him. She was nothing to him. As low as Azog had been. Perhaps lower.
At least, that was what he told himself.
Either way, he had no desire to discuss it with Dwalin, to look at the smug expression Dwalin was certain to give him to go along with his I told you so.
"I've no wish to speak of it," he replied slowly. "And I am not brooding over her."
"Thorin, you were staring off into the dark forever." Nina affixed him with a long look. "That's brooding."
"I was thinking."
"You were brooding. It's all right. You can admit it."
He didn't want to think about Nina. In fact, he wished he could forget ever crossing paths with her.
Some of the irritation left Dwalin's normally cold eyes. With a low sigh, he crossed over to sink onto the bench alongside him. "I'm sorry, laddie. I had the feeling she was trouble and I tried to tell ye."
"Aye, she was." Thorin couldn't keep the sigh from his voice. "And I should have listened to you."
"It matters not now," Dwalin told him. "It is all water under the bridge."
It was, but it wasn't. He'd never felt for anyone what he'd begun to feel for Nina, and that made her betrayal even worse and his pain almost untenable. He was fairly certain he was falling in love with her and he hated everything about it.
But he certainly couldn't say that to Dwalin. He'd never hear the end of it. Would never hear the end of those I told you sos.
And right now, all he wanted was to go home. To go back to Erebor and lick his wounds and to never be so bloody foolish again.
****
Dale was far busier than it had been the last time he saw it, but Thorin paid little heed to it as he and Dwalin made their way down Stone Street, past new shops and cafes that were not entirely renovated, but were still open for business. He had no interest in shopping and while his stomach did growl, he wanted only what awaited him back in Erebor.
Finally, they were on Dale's outskirts and all that lay between him and home was a rutted road across the plains. He and Dwalin said little as they crossed it and it wasn't until they were at Erebor's gates that he let relief surge through him.
"Your Majesty!" The gatekeeper called down. "Welcome home!"
"Thank you, Fait. It's good to be back."
The gates opened and he and Dwalin stepped into welcoming darkness of home. They parted ways at the Great Hall, with Thorin heading down into the depths of the city, where his recently renovated apartments were, down at the end of a dark corridor, lit only by the torches in sconces mounted high above in the labradorite stone walls.
The door opened without a sound and when he closed it, he leaned back against it, eyes closed, a sense of utter weariness sweeping through him. Normally he craved the silence and the solitude. But at that moment, it felt odd, almost suffocating to him. He couldn't help but wonder where Nina had gone, and how she fared, and despite his utter fury with her, he had to admit he was worried as well. She was wounded and had been turned out like a common criminal, left to the mercies of the woods and anyone she might encounter.
The price on his head remained and orcs knew she hunted him. If they still followed her, they might not necessarily know that she no longer traveled with him. And that would not bode well for her.
His first instinct was to go and search for her. But that was impossible. He couldn't trust her. She had betrayed him.
"Thorin?"
He bit back a groan at his sister's voice. "What is it, Dís?"
"Are you all right? I just bumped into Dwalin and he said you wished to be left to your thoughts."
"And yet, here you are, not leaving me to my thoughts."
"Don't be cross, Thorin. I'm concerned. He looked concerned."
He thunked his head back against the door, his eyes closing again. Dís meant well. He knew she did. But at the same time, he'd gladly throttle Dwalin if given the chance.
"Thorin?"
With a sigh, he turned to tug open the door and gazed down at his sister. "I'm fine, Dís. Truly. I am."
"Good. He also said you'd run into trouble. More than once."
His gut curdled. "It was nothing we could not handle. A persistent orc pack."
Her eyes, the same blue as his, narrowed. "Is that all?"
"It is, yes."
"Thorin."
"If you want to know, go ask Dwalin, since he seems ever so willing to discuss my life."
She moved by him and into his apartment. "He is concerned for you. He said he's never seen you this way. What's going on?"
"Nothing, Dís. Nothing is going on." He closed the door behind her, making a mental note to let Dwalin know just how much he appreciated his misplaced concern.
"He said you traveled with a woman?"
As she arched one narrow brow, Thorin's mental note went from words to actually pummeling Dwalin when he had the chance. "We did, yes. A mercenary who thought to accompany us to Mirkwood."
"A mercenary?"
He nodded. "That's what I just said, isn't it?"
"And her name?"
"Her name matters not and this discussion is over. I am tired and weary from travel and wish only a soak in my tub and a rest in my bed and I'll not answer any more questions."
To her credit, Dís looked contrite. But only for a minute. Then, she said, "You're in love with her, aren't you? This woman with no name."
"In love with—" He snorted to let her know what he thought of that. "Don't be daft. I told you, she was a mercenary. I paid no mind to her."
"Of course not. Thorin, please, I know lovesick when I see it."
His insides twisted far tighter now and the discomfort made him more irritated by the second. "I'll not keep repeating myself, Dís. And you know nothing of which you speak, so I beg you, leave off."
She pressed her lips together and slowly nodded. "Of course. But, know, all you need do is send word to Mirkwood and—"
"I said, leave off," he snapped, his patience gone. "Go find your sons if you wish to mother someone, for I do not need it. And if that is the only reason you've come, take yourself off."
"I'm only concerned."
"I understand and appreciate it, but enough is enough and I'll not ask again."
"Very well. I apologize for overstepping. Now, why don't you come up to the kitchens and eat something and not talk about this mercenary over tea?"
It was on the tip of his tongue to turn her down and send her on her way, but food and drink did sound like a good idea, so he nodded. "Very well, but I'm having ale."
"Suit yourself."
****
Icy rain soaked into Nina's hair, her tunic, and her leggings. Her boots actually squished with each step. Her thigh throbbed, heat wafting from the wound in a way that made her nauseous. Infection. Her worst fear had come true and there was nothing she could do about it.
Dale was quiet due to the weather, the stalls in the town square covered by brightly striped canvas canopies that had been unrolled and tied down to keep the wind and rain from lashing the goods within. Shops were open, as were cafes, but she knew better than to enter any of them, for any shopkeeper would take but a single look at her and send her on her way.
"Nina? Nina Carren?"
The voice was vaguely familiar and as she squinted through the rain, at the young woman hurrying toward her, a relief so powerful it brought tears to her eyes swept through her. "Sigrid?"
Sigrid, daughter of Dale's current Master, Bard, was a welcome sight. Nina knew her from the times she and Bard would come to their stand in Esgaroth and thought she was a bit younger than Nina, over time they'd become friends.
"Oh, goodness, Nina, what happened to you? Come and let's get you out of this terrible weather."
As she spoke, Sigrid looped an arm about Nina's waist, which made Nina's eyes tear up and her throat tighten from the power of the relief sweeping through her. She could barely put any weight on her leg, it hurt so much, and the heat radiated through her from the wound. "Thank you," she managed to whisper.
"What happened? Oh, you know, forget I asked. We can talk about it once we've got out of this weather."
Nina's stomach lurched with the thought of explaining to Bard why her bedraggled self had latched onto Sigrid. "Where do you call home now?"
"I moved into my own flat a few weeks ago," Sigrid replied, leading her down a narrow alley toward the northern end of town. "I have a job as well, at a tavern. If you like, I can see about getting you in to speak to Harald. I mean, if you need a job, that is."
"I will, but first, I think I need a doctor."
"What happened?"
"I crossed paths with an orc pack. It wasn't a morgul blade, but still did its damage."
"Let's get you inside and I will take a look and then I can send for the doctor if need be."
Nina nodded and that was the last they spoke until Sigrid unlocked a door at the street-level of a white stone building at the very end of the street, overlooking the lake. Sigrid helped her over the threshold and over to the lone sofa in the room, and Nina was never so thankful for anyone's kindness as she was for hers.
"You rest," Sigrid told her, drawing a colorful quilt over her. "I'll fetch Mr. Mathews. He'll know what to do."
"I promise, I won't move a muscle."
The last thing she remembered was Sigrid's gentle smile, then she gave into her exhaustion.