Jamie and the Dwarves, Part 2

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Just one scene tonight; am falling slightly behind, damn my evening job. A week or so after he arrives, Jamie is healed up enough to hobble down to the forge for a chat with King Gunnar that starts lighthearted but quickly gets serious, and gives Jamie more to think about than the old dwarf intended.



Someone had stuffed Jamie's head full of towels. And grown fur on his tongue. That was the only possible explanation.

He opened his eyes, whimpered, and squeezed them shut again. The diabolical fiend had also turned up the brightness on the world.

Or maybe, just maybe, he should've decided to go thirsty at the feast the previous night until he could get back to his room and boil some water, instead of filling up on ale. That might have had something to do with it.

After taking a moment to gather his courage, he cracked his eyes open again and looked around the room. There was a covered pitcher on the bedside table, steaming slightly from the spout, next to a clay cup and a little plate of what looked like . . . aah. Dried apple peel. He smiled (then winced, because smiling moved muscles on his head)--Disa had obviously been in to check on him. It was good to have a friend.

A few scattered memories of the previous night hooked together in his head–-oh, so that was how he'd gotten back to the room. It was good to have a friend who didn't mind being your spare crutch, or helping yank your boots off, or tucking you into-–

Jamie blinked suddenly, and winced again, then lifted the blankets to check on something.

Well, they'd probably had to cut his jeans off him to get at the spear wound, so it wasn't like she hadn't seen it before, he supposed. And different cultures had different ideas about nudity-–heck, that was where the word "berserk" came from wasn't it? But even so, as Jamie sucked down the truly vile-tasting tea, and rinsed the taste out of his mouth with the apple peel, he made a note to have another talk with Disa on the subject of Okay, Here's Another Weird Thing Midgarders Are Funny About.

Once Jamie felt a little more human, he managed to get dressed without yelping too much–-that applesauce was strong stuff, barely a week and he had sort of ugly dents in his leg instead of a giant hole, and even those were getting shallower every day-–and hopped over to where he'd left his crutch.

He still couldn't get over the sheer architectural beauty of the dwarven halls; "tunnels" in no way did them justice. The walls had been shaped and carved by loving hands over centuries, and lit by warm, smokeless lanterns; the floors, when not covered with woven rugs, were intricately inlaid mosaic tile.

A few wrong turns, and some helpful directions that reminded Jamie he really needed to work on his Dwarvish later, he fetched up in the great forge. Disa had shown him through it the day before–-the tour had marked the first time she'd allowed him out of bed-–and he'd been fairly well bowled over on being shown the actual anvil on which Mjolnir, among other things, had been forged. Norse myth had always been one of his favorite reads in elementary school, although he was getting the distinct feeling he'd had the expurgated version.

That anvil was hardly ever used anymore, however–-the dwarves seldom needed to do work on that scale these days. Further down, past the great furnaces that were making Jamie break out in a sweat even as far away as the doorway, were the community forges, and the personal workshops of those dwarves who had them.

King Gunnar was one of these; he looked up as Jamie hobbled in, and smiled. The dwarf-king wore a leather apron over his bare chest; his arms were ruddy from the heat, and the rhythm of his hammer never faltered. "Jamie, lad! Good afternoon." The smile broadened into a grin. "Or 'Draupnir,' I should say. How's the head?"

Jamie chuckled wryly–-one of the dwarves at the feast had given him the nickname after Jamie's fourth ale, when it had seemed like a wonderful idea to demonstrate his mutant power to the crowd. "Better than it was when I woke up, Your M–uh, Gunnar." 'There is no rank or station in the forge, only skill,' Disa had said. "I thought I'd stretch my legs a little, and this was about the only place I knew how to get to." He grinned. "Well, sort of. Had to ask for directions." In halting Dwarvish, he added "'Where is the forge? I am a very foolish Midgarder who needs his hand held always.'"

Gunnar blinked, then boomed a laugh. "Disa has been teaching you our language, hasn't she? What did she tell you the last part meant?"

"Uh . . . 'please help me, I'm lost?'" When Gunnar explained the actual translation, Jamie nearly overbalanced himself laughing. "That little . . . okay, that's it, I'm inventing the Asgardian whoopee cushion, I swear." He snorted. "Prank me, will she . . ."

Gunnar shook his head solemnly. "By the Seven Clans, I don't know if the hold can survive two with her sense of humor. Here, sit–-she would not thank me if I let you strain your leg."

Jamie eased himself into the offered chair with a sigh. "Thanks. I keep telling myself it'll take a bunch of baby steps before I can take baby steps, but I've never been a very patient patient."

Gunnar snickered. "Enough, lad, you'll throw me off. Here-–" He moved his foot off the bellows treadle, kicked the switch, and indicated a lever sticking out of the furnace near Jamie's head. "Make yourself useful, and pump that for me, could you? A little bit faster, now-–ah, there it is. Let me know if you get tired."

"Will do." A little mindless physical labor, Jamie thought, would be a good thing right now–-sweat out the last of his headache, if nothing else. "Don't suppose you've heard anything about my friends yet?"

The old dwarf shook his head heavily. "Just dust on the wind, lad, nothing more. You'll know as soon as I do–-and you're in no shape to travel yet, either way."

Jamie glared down at his leg. "Guess not. I can't help worrying about them, though."

"Oh, aye, I know that one." Gunnar sighed. "I've two scouting parties in the western marches, and an embassy to the most reasonable of the troll chieftains, and I'll not sleep soundly until I know they're back and safe."

Jamie cocked his head. "An embassy? To those guys who were just trying to kill you last week?"

"Different tribe." Gunnar scowled at the iron bar he was hammering. "There's more clans, tribes, packs, and bandit camps of trolls back in those hills than anyone can keep track of–-more than we can fight, truth to tell, except they'll fight each other just as fast, and they don't have the numbers or the discipline to force their way in here." He paused to reheat the iron, and gestured Jamie to pump the bellows harder. "But there's not enough of us to clean them out, nor stand a long war, and we've the best fighters in the dwarven kingdoms."

"So why fight at all? I mean, if they can't get in here . . . seems like doing the diplomat thing would work better if there wasn't, you know, killing on both sides every so often, and since that's what you're trying to get the permanent solution out of . . ."

Gunnar chuckled. "You're thinking long-term, lad. That's good, as far as it goes, but it's not good enough, not when you're king. Long-term, aye, the embassies will win out–-or I hope so; Disa, or her children, or her children's children, may see something there. But we can't sit in our fortress and wait. We've trade, and lives to lead." The dwarf shook his head. "There'll always be those who don't listen to words and promises, no matter how sweet, and those you have to fight, or go under. That's the world, Jamie, and it's a hard place. You work for the future, aye, and work hard–-but if you're to have a future, you have to defend what needs defending in the here and now."

"I guess that makes sense." Jamie frowned thoughtfully. "Can I . . . I mean, do you mind if I go back to my room now? I want to think about that some more."

The dwarf smiled. "Go ahead, lad–-just stop the bellows at the top, there, I'll switch it back over to the treadle. Come back down if you'd like to talk some more." He inspected the bar of iron carefully. "And you did a fine job helping me here–-if you'd like, I can show you a bit about metal, later."

Jamie smiled as he hauled himself to his feet. "Thanks. I'd like that."