It wasn’t January who came that afternoon, but his wife. Bard knew her somewhat better; she offered lessons in reading or numbers to Laketown’s girls, and his daughters would attend when they could afford to. She remained properly outside the door when he answered her knock, not sneaking a peek at the interior. Of course, thought Bard sourly, January had probably already told her all about the dwarves.
She carried a basket filled with odds and ends– Bard could see several loaves of bread, a bag of apples, and a neatly woven scarf– which was to be expected. Laketown’s market operated more on barter than coin these days. A man stood behind her, thin of face and no taller than Mistress January, carrying a second basket. Bard distantly recognized him from having seen him with the Januarys before; he would have assumed the man was a brother or cousin, if he hadn’t looked nothing like either of them. “These belong to you, I understand,” she said, handing Bard her basket.
He accepted it, trying to keep his body angled in such a way as to keep the door mostly closed. His effort was rendered pointless as a squabble inside suddenly grew louder, the voices too deep to be his children’s. He thought he caught sight of one side of Mistress January’s mouth quirking up into a quickly repressed smile, but she turned before he was sure. She said nothing, merely taking the second basket from her friend and passing it to Bard.
“Thank you,” he said, conscious of his manners but wanting to end the conversation immediately.
“Please let us know if we may be of any additional assistance,” she said before he could close the door. “My husband and I understand that it’s not always possible to do both the right thing and the legal one. We’re willing to help you.”
Bard, only half-listening, muttered, “Of course,” and prodded her foot off of his threshold and once more began to shut the door. She let herself be backed up, but one of the dwarves caught the edge of its frame and held it in place against Bard’s efforts. “You are in hiding,” Bard said, meaning to whisper but coming closer to a shout.
The dwarf– it was the oldest one, his beard and hair gone entirely white, whom Bard thought was named Balin- ignored him, looking Mistress January carefully up and down. He frowned, staring at her so intensely that it boarded on offensive. Mistress January’s eyebrows went up, but she calmly folded her hands in front of her waist and waited for him to finish. Finally Balin nodded, having apparently judged her trustworthy. “We’ve got an injured dwarf in here. The wound looks infected. Anything you can do about that?”
“My husband’s a healer.” She turned to her friend. “Go and bring Benjamin, tell him–”
“No,” Bard said. “Tell him nothing. There’s already enough people in and out of here to be suspicious. Besides, I’ve never heard of him being a healer before now.”
Mistress January didn’t flinch at the implied accusation. “And how many people in Laketown can afford medicine, when the matter isn’t life-threatening? We all do what we must to survive.”
“Kili needs a healer,” Balin said, pulling Bard’s gaze away from Mistress January. “Let her bring her husband, or I’ll go and find one myself.”
Bard held out for another few seconds, but relented and opened the door wide. Mistress January quickly caught the hand of her friend and pressed it, releasing him to speed away. She turned to Bard with a smile, lifting her skirts to cross the threshold.
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branchandroot
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Date: 2014-01-21 11:57 pm (UTC)She carried a basket filled with odds and ends– Bard could see several loaves of bread, a bag of apples, and a neatly woven scarf– which was to be expected. Laketown’s market operated more on barter than coin these days. A man stood behind her, thin of face and no taller than Mistress January, carrying a second basket. Bard distantly recognized him from having seen him with the Januarys before; he would have assumed the man was a brother or cousin, if he hadn’t looked nothing like either of them. “These belong to you, I understand,” she said, handing Bard her basket.
He accepted it, trying to keep his body angled in such a way as to keep the door mostly closed. His effort was rendered pointless as a squabble inside suddenly grew louder, the voices too deep to be his children’s. He thought he caught sight of one side of Mistress January’s mouth quirking up into a quickly repressed smile, but she turned before he was sure. She said nothing, merely taking the second basket from her friend and passing it to Bard.
“Thank you,” he said, conscious of his manners but wanting to end the conversation immediately.
“Please let us know if we may be of any additional assistance,” she said before he could close the door. “My husband and I understand that it’s not always possible to do both the right thing and the legal one. We’re willing to help you.”
Bard, only half-listening, muttered, “Of course,” and prodded her foot off of his threshold and once more began to shut the door. She let herself be backed up, but one of the dwarves caught the edge of its frame and held it in place against Bard’s efforts. “You are in hiding,” Bard said, meaning to whisper but coming closer to a shout.
The dwarf– it was the oldest one, his beard and hair gone entirely white, whom Bard thought was named Balin- ignored him, looking Mistress January carefully up and down. He frowned, staring at her so intensely that it boarded on offensive. Mistress January’s eyebrows went up, but she calmly folded her hands in front of her waist and waited for him to finish. Finally Balin nodded, having apparently judged her trustworthy. “We’ve got an injured dwarf in here. The wound looks infected. Anything you can do about that?”
“My husband’s a healer.” She turned to her friend. “Go and bring Benjamin, tell him–”
“No,” Bard said. “Tell him nothing. There’s already enough people in and out of here to be suspicious. Besides, I’ve never heard of him being a healer before now.”
Mistress January didn’t flinch at the implied accusation. “And how many people in Laketown can afford medicine, when the matter isn’t life-threatening? We all do what we must to survive.”
“Kili needs a healer,” Balin said, pulling Bard’s gaze away from Mistress January. “Let her bring her husband, or I’ll go and find one myself.”
Bard held out for another few seconds, but relented and opened the door wide. Mistress January quickly caught the hand of her friend and pressed it, releasing him to speed away. She turned to Bard with a smile, lifting her skirts to cross the threshold.