"When you came down to get your wounds tended," Regis reasoned.
"Bah, just a scratch," said the dwarf. "Came down to get some long spears so we can build a few new defenses."
He nodded and started back out.
"How goes the fighting in the tunnels?" Regis asked after he recovered from the dwarf's statement.
The warrior looked much worse than he was letting on. One side of the head-wrap was dark with blood and his armor showed dozens of tears and dents. The dwarf turned back.
"Ye ever try to push an enemy outta a tunnel?" he asked. "An enemy that's dug in and ready for ye?"
Regis tried not to grimace as he shook his head. The dwarf just nodded grimly and walked away.
That brought yet another sigh from Regis, but not until the dwarf had closed the door—he didn't want to show any outward display of despair or weakness after all. But it was getting to him, truly wearing at his emotional edges. Dwarves were fighting and dying, and ultimately, it was his decision to keep them there. As steward, the halfling could recall Banak and his forces, could bring all of Clan Battlehammer and all of the newcomers to the halls back within the defenses of Mithral Hall itself. Let the orcs try to move them out then! And given his own revelation that this continuing battle might be exactly what the orcs were hoping for, perhaps recalling the forces would be the most prudent move.
But such a move would, in effect, be handing all the region over to the invading orcs, would be abandoning Mithral Hall's standing as the primary kingdom in their common cause of the defense of the goodly folk in the wild lands beneath the shadows of the eastern stretches of the Spine of the World.
It was all too confusing and all too overwhelming.
"I am no leader," Regis whispered. "Curse that I was put in this role."
The moment of despair passed quickly, replaced by a wistful grin as Regis imagined the answer Bruenor would have had for him had he heard him utter those words.
The dwarf would have called him Rumblebelly, of course, and would have backhanded him across the back of his head.
"Ah, Bruenor," Regis whispered. "Will you just wake up then and see to these troubles?"
He closed his eyes and pictured Bruenor, lying so still and so pale. He went to Bruenor each night, and slept in a chair right beside the dwarf king's bed. Drizzt was nowhere around, and Catti-brie and Wulfgar were both tied up with Banak in the fighting, but Regis was determined that Bruenor would not die without one of his closest companions beside him.
The halfling both feared and hoped for that moment. He couldn't understand why Bruenor was even still alive, actually, since all the clerics had told him that the dwarf would not survive more than a day or so without their tending—and that had been several days before.
Stubborn old dwarf, Regis figured, and he pulled himself out of his chair, thinking to go and sit with his friend. He usually didn't visit Bruenor that early in the evening, certainly not before he had taken his supper, but for some reason, Regis felt that he had to go there just then. Perhaps he needed the comfort of Bruenor's company, the reminder that he was the dwarf king's closest friend, and therefore was correct in accepting the call as Steward of Clan Battlehammer.
Or maybe he could simply find strength in sitting next to Bruenor, recalling as he often did his old times beside the toughened dwarf. What an example Bruenor had been for him all those years, standing strong when others turned to flee, laughing when others crouched in fear.
As he was moving through the door, another thought struck Regis and took from him every ounce of comfort that the notion of going to Bruenor had seeded within his heart and mind.
Perhaps, he suddenly realized, he had felt the need to go to Bruenor because somehow Bruenor's spirit was calling out to him, telling him to get to the king's bedside if he truly wanted to be there when his friend breathed his last.
"Oh no," the halfling gasped, and he ran off down the corridor as fast as his legs would carry him.
The speed of his approach and the unusually early arrival time in Bruenor's chamber brought to Regis an unexpected enlightenment, for as he moved through the door, he found not only Bruenor Battlehammer, lying still as death on the bed, but another dwarf crouching over him, whispering prayers to Moradin.
For a moment Regis thought that the priest was helping to usher Bruenor over to the other side and that perhaps he had arrived too late to witness his friend's passage.
But then the halfling realized the truth of it, that the priest, Cordio Muffinhead, was not saying good-bye but was casting spells of healing upon Bruenor.
Wide-eyed, wondering if Bruenor had done something to elicit such hope as healing spells, Regis bounded forward. His sudden movement alerted Cordio to his presence, and the dwarf looked up and fell back, sucking in his breath. That nervous movement clued Regis in that his hopes were for naught, that something else was going on there.
"What are you about?" the halfling asked.
"I come to pray for Bruenor's passing every day," the dwarf gruffly replied, a half-truth if Regis had ever heard one.
"To ease it, I mean," Cordio tried to clarify. "Praying to Moradin to take him gently."
"You told me that Bruenor was already at Moradin's side."
"Aye, and so his spirit might be—aye, it… it must be," Cordio stammered. "But we're not for wanting the body's passing to be a painful thing, are we?"
Regis hardly heard the response, as he stood there considering Bruenor, considering his friend who should have died days before, soon after he gave the order to the priests to let him be.
"What are you about, Cordio?" the halfling started to ask, but he stopped short when another rushed into the room.
"Steward's comi—" Stumpet Rakingclaw started to say, until she noted that Regis was already in the room.
Her eyes went wide, and she seemed to mutter some curse under her breath as she stepped back.
"Aye, Cordio Muffinhead," Regis remarked. "Steward's coming, so end your spells of healing on King Bruenor and be gone quick."
He turned on Cordio as he spoke the accusation, and the dwarf did not shrink back.
"Aye," Cordio replied, "that would've been close to Stumpet's own words, had ye not been in here."
"You're healing him," Regis accused, engulfing them both in his unyielding glare. "Every day you come in here and cast your magic into his body, preserving his life's breath. You won't let him die."
"His body's here, but his spirit's long gone," Cordio replied.
"Then let him die!" Regis ordered.
"I cannot," said Cordio.
"There is no dignity!" the halfling yelled.
"No," Cordio agreed. "But Bruenor's got his duty now, and I'm seeing that he holds it. I cannot let King Bruenor's body pass over."
"Not yet," said Stumpet.
"But you are the ones who told me that you cannot bring him back, that soul and body are far separated and will not hear the call of healing powers," the half-ling argued. "Your own words brought forth my decision to let Bruenor go in peace, and now you defy my order?"
"King Bruenor cannot fully join his ancestors until the fighting's done," Cordio explained. "And not for Bruenor's sake—this's got nothing to do with Bruenor."
"It's got to do with the king, but not the dwarf," Stumpet added. "It's got to do with them who're out there fighting for Mithral Hall, fighting under the name o' King Bruenor Battlehammer. Ye go and tell Banak Brawnanvil that Bruenor's dead and see how long his line'll hold against the orc press."
"This ain't for Bruenor," said Cordio. "It's for them fighting in Bruenor's name. Ye should be understanding that. Mithral Hall's needing a king."
Regis tried to find an argument. His lips moved, but no sound came forth. His eyes were drawn low, to the specter of Bruenor, his friend, the king, lying so pale and so still on the bed, his strong hands drawn up one over the other on his once-strong chest.