He stood there and listened to the young woman in front of him, unable to understand what was wrong. It didn't go past him that she was upset, but he didn't understand why, most of what she said going in one ear and out the other as his focus remained on trying to understand the reason.
She didn't want the other woman that travelled with the group to share their room, because she didn't want to sleep with strangers. He understood this, she didn't. Was she being selfish? He could only wonder.
They talked more, and he still had trouble understanding, why was it so hard? He tried to give his sense and reason, but it was for naught. She told him that the other woman had called her a pig, and yet he couldn't recall anything like that. He recalled the bitter woman saying she didn't eat like a pig, there was no mention of the other being one and yet she held onto this and that he didn't protect her. What was he meant to protect her from?
She didn't want him to touch the other woman, he couldn't understand the reason. Why was he not allowed to grasp the woman's hand or place it on her shoulder? Give her reassurance and to positively reinforce the bitter mind. He knew and understood how much a simple touch could bring. Maybe it was different for those that had enough of it.
She left, and he watched after her, still uncertain what had just happened and why. He should have simply agreed; she was happy when he agreed. That's when it worked.
-
It was hard to fit into the company; he didn't know these people and found it hard to sit and talk to them. Rarely did he find the time to settle with the guide to talk, and he understood why. The man had brought his woman, and they wished to spend time together, this he could understand. Conversation with the guide could be difficult and easy. He still didn't understand the man's humour, and it often caught him off-guard, interrupting the flow of thoughts in favour of trying to understand what had just been said. It always felt as if the former sellsword had to tell him if a joke had been made and it did help, even if the young doctor would feel like an idiot after.
Their conversations often turned to something larger, questions without answers and thoughts without reason. It kept the mind busy and problems distant for a short while. There was always an odd feeling of peace when his mind was too occupied thinking of one thing, unable to bother with another.
-
Strangely he felt the most comfortable talking to those that spoke and treated him the worst, they were direct and listened. One found interest listening to what the doctor had learned in his time about the human body, the other was more keen on laughing, but could listen and sometimes even find something of interest in the topic.
He spoke of his work and the interest in it to her, and the woman wanted to hear more about it, she was curious, and he felt an odd sense of relief being able to share without her frowning or giving him worried looks.
They were both complicated people, and yet, they were the easiest ones to talk to. Even easier than the dwarves, because he didn't have to be careful and that made it was simple.
-
It had been a long week, but they were back, but instead of announcing his return, the doctor hid away in the barber shop to do his experiments. After all that had happened with the woman, he didn't want to deal with it yet, he wanted to do his work and was excited about it. If he could accomplish this, then maybe his name would go into the history books, he'd be remembered for something other than his oddity and father's name.
The myth became a reality for two days, and he felt excited. If he had managed to create gold out of the lead, then everything would have been worth it. He only needed the dwarves to confirm whether or not the flakes that danced within the bottle were real or not.
After being locked away in the barbershop for over a week, he finally returned to his establishment, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. There was no one inside to greet him; not even the cat could be heard. The doctor wasn't certain why, but the silence he was greeted with after such a discovery was slightly upsetting, nothing that couldn't be brushed away as he stepped further inside.
A letter waited for him on the table, likely placed there by the dwarf who had overseen the establishment while the doctor was away. He didn't think much of it until after he had put the flask away for the dwarves to study later.
-
The letter was dated over three months after he had left the city of Minas Tirith to begin a new life in the north. He had been long enough in this land for the letter to come when it did.
It was his aunt's handwriting, informing the doctor of his mother's death. The letter was simple, and to the point, there was no formal greeting or farewell, only the information that the man's mother had passed away while he was gone and he was to blame for not having been there to cure her illness. Was it true?
-
A day passed, and he was startled out of his thoughts by a voice outside the study, he knew that voice, and he felt a strange sense of relief after the tension that had sat in his body. He opened the door to see her face and then that of a stranger. Whatever he had thought of doing at that moment was gone and his focus turned to take care of the man and what he needed from the doctor.
One of his workers must have noticed the door unlocked again because she came in as well. Already he felt there were too many people, but he kept his posture and spoke with them. The one he was meant to talk to soon left, with the man she arrived with saying he'd check on her once he had time.
The doctor was left with the scholar, for a time uncertain what to say. With a lack of what to talk about, he thought of showing this woman his experiment and a small sense of excitement returned. The grief and guilt had now been pushed aside for a few moments as he showed and explained what he had made. She was eager to listen.
-
There were too many people this day. The face he had hoped for came again, along with the stranger once more, and the attention was shifted to care for his order. He didn't leave afterward but stood there without a purpose.
Before the doctor could ask him to leave, the door opened again and a woman came in seeking more medicine. Only after she left, did he hear a bitter comment made from the girl who sat nearby, the one he wished to speak to. The words irritated him, but he kept himself quiet, perhaps having learned his lesson. His desire to speak with her faded at that point, but he followed when she stepped outside to talk with him in private.
She spoke, and the doctor soon found himself lost yet again, unable to understand, and while he wanted to tell her what had happened, he saw no reason to any longer. It was better she didn't know.
Then, a choice. He couldn't understand her reason, but either he would choose her or his student. How was he meant to make such a choice? He tried to reason it, but she wouldn't listen and he made his mistake again. He didn't agree as he should have and as before, the doctor watched her leave.
-
A letter arrived later that evening, removing his responsibility to choose as the woman had decided to take it upon herself. He wasn't sure how to take these news and had he gotten them while speaking with the dwarves, having shown them his experiment.
There was no excitement about it any longer, for he had failed. The gold he had created was false, a simple matter to make into decoration and fancy pigment for writing.
He felt his chest grow heavier by each passing moment, one thing piling on top of the other and no idea what to do or who to turn to. Listening to the dwarves go on, he watched the gilded flakes float weightlessly within the bottle, and his eyes began to burn. The doctor took no notice until he felt something falling down his cheek, but quickly dismissed it and the dwarves didn't ask.
-
He paced back and forth; he sat down and stood up again. The doctor looked through books, then tried to make something to eat, but no matter what he tried to busy himself with, he felt restless and couldn't focus. He had nothing to do, and it irritated him. No projects or experiments, just himself and his loud mind. He needed something to do.
He sat down and began to write, but stopped. Again and again, he attempted to write, but it had no purpose to be made. It had no place to be delivered, and the woman it was meant for was no longer alive. Why did he find the need to write it? Slowly the crumbled up paper piled up and the ink wasted with no result or ease to his busy and troubled mind.
The day was occupied briefly by a visit from a familiar woman; they talked until something broke. He wanted her gone in that moment, he looked away, and he dismissed the topic, looking for something else to talk about until it had passed and she needed to leave.
Later in the evening one of the dwarves arrived with news. The doctor managed to put up a face he knew, he listened, and he focused so that the same thing wouldn't happen again.
He saw an opportunity in their talk, to give the dwarf something to busy himself with and so the doctor set forth a task for him, to craft. As he did, the man began to wonder if he should try to find such a hobby himself, something to fill his time and keep his mind silent, if only for a short while. He had no idea what he could do and so he continued to listen to the dwarf until the time came to attempt to sleep again and rest.
The morning came and there was still no rest to be had, no matter how much he slept.
