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middleearthpixie · 8 months

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Living Proof

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen. She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia

Warnings: Description of wounds, but nothing too graphic

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @sotwk @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Kaia crept along the edge of the pathway, ready to dive into the foliage to her left if the need arose and with the way orcs seemed to have taken over practically all of the woodland areas of Middle Earth, the need was most likely going to arise and soon. The scratches on her arms and legs and cheeks from her last encounter with them were only partially healed. Damn orcs caused more trouble than a thousand field mice on a rampage in her larder. More trouble, more damage, and far more aggravation, that was for certain.

The thunder of pounding feet shattered the silence and the deer she’d been stalking leapt off into the brush like quicksilver. She stood there for a moment, scowling at the skittish deer, then she sank into the brush as well. And not a moment too soon, for she had no sooner moved off the path when the army of orcs came thundering around a bend from the north.

She sank back as deeply into the trees and underbrush as she could and willed herself into absolute silence. From where she stood, it seemed the orcs were endless, pressing on without stopping, without slowing down, and as she moved throughout a good portion of Middle Earth, she was all too familiar with orcs and could say with certainty she’d never seen so many on the move at one time. This was no pack, but an army, and one, it seemed, with a sole purpose.

They stalked something.

Well, it wouldn’t be her, that was for sure.

The thunder dulled to a low rumble, but as she was about to step out onto the path once more, the thunder returned. Only this time, no orcs came around the bend, nor did the thunder come from the north. Instead, it rolled up from the south as the forest came alive with not only that thunder, but with the clang of steel and the whistling thwock of arrows.

A battle? Orcs battled with one another on a regular basis, but never on this great a scale. Somewhere just south of where she stood it seemed they were suddenly waging war. Perhaps they’d found their quarry?

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Kaia crept toward the sounds. Foolish, no doubt, but she needed to know whether or not the time had come to move on, as she did more often than she cared to think about. Not that she wished to move. She’d been in this part of Middle Earth for some time now—although she could not say for certain just how long that time actually was, as the days had a way of blending together. Even so, it was long enough that the cabin that had been abandoned when she found it was now actually something of a cozy little home.

But at the same time, she needed to know if she was in for much in the way of trouble, and so there she was, sneaking through the underbrush with a care she reserved usually for tracking swift-footed animals. She crept over fallen logs and around decayed stumps, picked her way carefully through pricker bushes and all the while, her heart beat fast enough that she could hear it as her pulse pounded through her temples. Still, she’d learned in at the time she’d been on her own, how to move without a sound, and so she reached the top of a clearing surrounded by mossed-over stone ruins that had once probably been white and immense but were now little more than stained and discolored stone scraps.

She crept closer to the stone, using it for cover as she peered around at the scene before her. The halflings caught her attention, for while she had heard of them, she’d never seen any. Compared to the orcs surrounding them, they were indeed small. And terrified, from the looks of it, even as they shouted to catch the orcs’ attention to lure them away from the wide river she knew flowed along the western shore.

Without hesitation, she reached for her bow and slipped an arrow from the quiver on her back. She lay the arrow on the rest, but did not draw back the string. Not yet. There were far too many orcs for her to intervene on behalf of the halflings and while she felt pang of sympathy and the annoying sting of helplessness, there was truly nothing she could do for them. She certainly was not about to sacrifice herself for anyone she did not know.

But then, hurtling over the ridge across from her, came a man and in his grasp, a sword of gleaming steel. Without hesitation, he threw himself into the fray, swinging that blade with an expert precision that was almost fluid in its grace. A large ivory horn banged against his hip and as he swung about to his right, he grabbed it with his left hand to jerk to his lips. The bleats rang out with such power, the sound actually knocked her back a step and she stumbled over a downed branch. She lost her footing, toppling end over end back down into the gully behind her. Her bow went in one direction, the arrow in another, and she landed hard enough that she knocked the wind from herself. Stunned, she lay staring up at the leaf-spattered sky, the sounds of battle sounding so far away and hollow as she struggled to draw breath. The sounds of the battle drowned out the sounds of her fall, thankfully, and when her lungs finally chose to re-inflate, she gasped to fill them.

With a soft groan, she managed to roll onto her hands and knees, and slowly got to her feet again. Steel meeting steel reverberated at a normal volume once more as she shook off the last of the cobwebs, retrieved her bow and the arrow, and climbed back to her perch.

She reached the top in time to see two orcs snatch up the halflings, just scooped each up and lumbered out of the clearing, still moving south while the rest of them continued the battle. The fighting raged, but like the two orcs and their halflings, it moved south as well.

As quickly as they erupted, the sounds of battle ceased and silence slammed down all around her as the last of the orcs followed their brethren south and as the path wound out of sight, so did the army. Kaia waited wit heated breath, to see if any would return. When she was satisfied that they would not, she slipped the bow back where it belonged, the arrow back into the quiver, and instead eased her broadsword from the sheath at her right hip, and crested the hill to descend into the clearing. She looked about for the man with the horn, as she’d not seen what his fate had been, only to find he was nowhere about.

But, as the battle sounds rang into memory, she realized that she still heard something. Wounded orcs perhaps, so she crossed the clearing to the opposite slope, and crept as noiselessly as she could, over the ridge and climbed down into the clearing.

At first, she thought perhaps the sounds actually did come from the battle still being fought further upriver and that the woods for some reason bastardized them. But as she moved about the broken, decimated orc bodies, leaves, tree branches, arrows and other abandoned weapons, toward a large oak slightly to the northeast, Kaia realized that noise was not that of a battle at all. And as she climbed up the opposite slope toward that big tree, her fingers tightened of their own about her sword’s somewhat worn grips, her heart hammering louder still against her ribs, leaving her as breathless as she had been when she’d slammed down into the hard-packed earth only minutes before.

A man lay there, somewhat propped up by the tree’s gnarled trunk. But that wasn’t what made her hand tighten about her sword until her fingers went numb. Nor was it the sight of the the arrows that riddled him which rendered her dumb for a long moment, her grip loosening, the sword clattering into the broken leaves and debris at her feet.

No, what made her stare was that he still lived.

His breathing came rapid and shallow, each breath punctured by a moan of pain that grew softer with each one drawn. Sweat soaked him, plastering his dark hair to his head, the arrows quivering as he fought for air, which in turn led to more moaning.

She dropped to her knees alongside him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There, there,” she whispered when he moaned again, “I’ll not hurt you.”

His eyes had been closed, but as she spoke, the lids lifted slowly. His eyes were pale, blue or perhaps gray, she couldn't tell. She could tell they focused on nothing, however, but darted about as he gasped, “They took the little ones…”

His eyes slid shut once more, and he went still. Kaia stared, her mouth going oddly dry as she whispered, “Please… breathe, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. “I am so sorry…”

“Easy now,” she patted his shoulder again. “The orcs are gone, but they might come back.”

She peered over her shoulder, at where her sword lay. It was just beyond reach. Turning back to the man, she murmured, “I’ll be but a moment.”

A low moan, even softer still, answered her. She patted his shoulder a third time then scooted back to snatch up her sword. Footsteps grew louder and the urge to bolt surged through her. Self-preservation screamed at her to simply run, to blend into the woods and disappear before the orc army returned.

But she couldn't leave him. She might not be able to do much, but if she left him there, he’d be condemned to death. She counted no less than five arrows protruding from his large body. His surcoat and tunic were dark—royal blue and scarlet respectively, so it was impossible to tell how much blood he’d lost. But, a childhood spent on a farm taught her all she need know about bleeding and injuries and how to treat them and her mother’s voice sounded in her head.

With that, she slid her blade back into its scabbard and returned to the man’s side. “Come. We need to leave. Now.”

“No…” he almost whimpered, his head lolling from side to side, “leave me…”

“I’ll do no such thing.” She crouched, grabbed his arm and, whispering, “Forgive me,” hefted him to his feet.

His cry rang out, raw and anguished and she winced as it echoed throughout the clearing. “Hush… lest you wish them to return.”

“I cannot…”

“You can and you will.” She gritted, ignoring the dull ache in her back as it felt like every bone in her spine compacted from the weight of him pulling down on her. He towered over her, far broader than she would ever be, and could barely stand on his own. Two arrows protruded from his left thigh, and with each step, he whimpered as his weight shifted from his uninjured leg to his injured one.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, ignoring the trickle of sweat rolled down along her spine, and down between her breasts. It had been a cool day, almost crisp, but as she all but dragged him from the clearing of Amon Hen, it might as well have been the dead of summer. Sweat soaked her tunic and dampened her hair, leaving it to hang in wet strings about her face, which she was certain was most likely bright red by now from the exertion of dragging a full grown man through the woods. If that wasn’t bad enough, he could barely walk, which mean the toes of his boots caught on every single bit of debris in their path. Never mind the arrows still protruding from his body. Her initial reaction had been to yank them out, but then wisdom prevailed and she left them in place, although she wished she had something to wrap about each one to keep them as steady as possible until it was safe for her to remove them.

“Please…” His voice was fainter still. “Leave me to die and go on… if they come back…”

“Oh, hush and just try to help me, if you can.”

“I beg… your pardon…”

He grew heavier still, but as the thunder grew louder once more, she ignored the pain in her back, the burn of the muscles pulling along her neck and shoulder, ignored everything but the need to get him—and herself—out of danger as quickly as she could.

Black dots danced before her eyes and her blood roared in her ears as the thunder grew louder and the man grew heavier still. Her right shoulder felt almost in danger of separating completely from her body as she stumbled over an exposed root and he let out a howl.

They slid most of the way down the last slope and across a wide path, and it wasn't until she spotted the familiar towering oak tree that marked the beginning of the narrow path deeper into the thickest part of the forest that she allowed herself to think they might actually be safe.

But then he slipped from her to land on his knees and the howl that rang out was primal in its agony, reverberating through the woods with enough force that birds took flight.

Kaia froze. There was no way possible the orcs did not hear that. They had to.

“Please,” she moved around to grab the man’s hands, her right arm only barely obeying her by now, it hurt so badly, “we need to get off this road now. Those orcs are on their way and I cannot fend off that entire horde alone.”

“Leave me,” he whispered.

“I’ll not and I swear, if you say it again, I’ll drag you back by your hair.” She crouched to grab his arm and drape it about her neck once more. “Now, on your feet!”

With that, she yanked and stood, a hot sting racing along the side of her neck as she did. He weighted down her shoulder, but at least managed to stand and there must have been a bit of divine intervention at work for they made it into the darkness, off the path and out of sight of any orcs.

The cabin was foreboding from a distance and no warmer up close, and Kaia kept it that way, as it looked as if it had been unoccupied for ages, which meant no one would stop there if they didn't absolutely have to. From time to time, vagrants thought to pass a night there, only to find themselves firmly evicted at the point of her sword.

Although it looked run down and dilapidated, she’d made certain to reinforce it in any way she could, and so as she shoved open the door, then shoved the man into the great room, she was finally able to breathe easily as she pushed the door shut behind them and locked it firmly.

The great room was sparsely furnished, but thankfully she did have a sofa and that was where she not so elegantly deposited her large parcel, who whimpered as he sank into the cushions.

“I know, it isn’t the most comfortable place, but I’m fairly certain my arm is about to fall off, so you will simply have to make do. Give me a moment to wash my hands and I’ll tend to your wounds.”

“Hopeless…”

“Nothing is hopeless as long as you draw breath.” Rubbing her sore shoulder, she moved to the kitchen, where the ewer she’d filled that morning held enough water for her to wash her hands and still have some left over to wash his wounds.

She kept her meager supplies in the kitchen cupboard, and brought over what she had. Needle and thread, should she have to stitch his wounds, and worn, discolored strips of linen she’d used in the past as bandages. They looked sketchy, but were in fact clean.

“I’ll be back in but a moment,” she told him, setting the things on the stone table before the sofa. “I’ll need to get something I can tear for dressings.”

“Please don't trouble…”

“Stop it. I am not going to keep telling you that.” She turned to go into her bedroom, which was a small room off the kitchen and toward the rear of the cabin. As she rarely wore gowns any longer, she had several chemises she kept folded in the low chest for just such an occasion, although it was usually herself she was patching back together and never another body.

The linen was old, but also clean, and tore easily into strips that would be folded as necessary and when she brought them back out, she said, “I am sorry, but I’ve nothing to give you for pain. A bit of wine, perhaps, but it is more vinegar than anything now.”

He didn't reply, but just let his head loll from left to right. He was frightfully pale, the darkness of his hair emphasizing it, and sweat beaded his high forehead while a scruffy beard shadowed his cheeks and jaw. He looked as if he’d been lost in these woods for months. As carefully as she could manage, she unfastened the elegant jade and silver clasp that held his fine grayish-brownish-green cloak at his throat, pulled off his gloves, then worked the fine leather surcoat from him without causing him too much pain. His tunic and trousers would have to be cut from him, if she was to be able to reach his wounds, but there was no other options. Hopefully she would find something to give him to wear. She picked up many odds and ends in her travels, and could probably come up with a shirt large enough from him to wear. Trousers would be a different story, but she would worry about that when—and honestly, if—the time came.

Along with the two arrows embedded in his left thigh, three more protruded from his torso—one just below his left collarbone, one only slightly lower, and one down just above his left hip. He’d been incredibly lucky, although she doubted he would agree with her. As far as she could tell, she could remove them, but there was no promising he would survive it, or the coming days.

Still, she had to try, and so as carefully as she could, she removed the one at his collarbone, her stomach clenching at the soft grind of the arrowhead against his bone. He stiffened, a hiss of breath leaking through his clenched teeth as she worked it free and blood spilled from the wound.

“I know it hurts,” she murmured, “and for that I am sorry, but there is no avoiding it.”

She dropped the arrow onto the floor and pressed a folded square of linen against his chest at the blood bubbling up. Within minutes, she had the bleeding slowed, her hands reddened from it as she first probed the wound, then flushed it, and when she was certain she had the bleeding under control, she then threaded her needle to stitch the wound closed.

He stiffened with each step, but remained surprisingly stoic, but finally sank into unconsciousness as she went about moving to the next wound. And the next. With endless patience, she removed the arrows, cleaned the wounds, sewed them up, and bandaged them, not stopping to rest or do much more than wash her hands when they grew too bloodied, or to light the lamp when it grew too dark for her to see what she was doing.

Finally, she finished and sat back with a soft groan, bowing her back, and sighed with relief as her spine popped and cracked and the pressure eased. Then, she stood, moving to the far end of the sofa, taking care not to fall over the man’s boots, which she’d simply tossed aside after tugging them off.

The pump for the water was behind the cabin and she filled the ewer once more, then brought it inside, where she’d let it warm over the fire, which was little more than embers, but wouldn’t take much to stoke back to life.

It had to be near midnight by the time she sank back onto the edge of the stone table and as gently as she could manage, set about bathing the man’s face, his neck, down into the broad plane of his chest, along his arms, his midsection—being careful not to jostle him or get the bandages wet. They were bloodstained, but it had begun to take on the rusty hue of old blood, so she breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to staunch the bleeding and she didn't kill him, so perhaps he would survive the night after all.

She sat there for a while, just watching his chest rise and fall, shallow still, but not nearly as shallow as it had been earlier. His jaw clenched and he whimpered every now and again, but otherwise, he seemed as at peace as one could be in that situation.

Her stomach growled to remind her of why she’d been in the forest to begin with, and so with a sigh, she rose and moved to the cupboard to see what she might have to feed her guest come morning. Not much, unfortunately. She’d have to check the larder, and so out into the darkness she stepped.

All was quiet. Even the nocturnal animals seemed to sense the disruption to their habitat and so remained wherever they spent their days. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees, cooler than it had been of late, which meant summer had actually finally ended and the cold weather was on its way.

The larder was a bit more promising, a few eggs, thanks to the market that popped up every now and then on the western side of the forest. Black market, no doubt, but she didn't care. Eggs were eggs and she was happy to have them, even if they cost nearly as much as gold now. A slab of bacon procured with the eggs. A joint of beef. But not much else.

Still, it would be enough, or so she hoped.

Wood cracked in the distance. Most likely a raccoon or some other creature just going about their business, but just in case… Kaia slunk back into the house and dropped the heavy wood bar into the rests.

A bowl of apples, picked not to far from where she’d found the man, stood on the battered kitchen table. It was better than nothing, so she grabbed one and made her way back into the great room, where she’d planned to sit up and watch over her patient. However, her body thought differently and as she sank into the lone chair, across from the sofa, and leaned her head back for a moment—only a moment, mind you—the apple rolled from her grasp as sleep snuck up on her and clubbed her over the head.

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Sean Bean #Everybody Lives #Sons of Gondor

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sotwk · 9 months

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Whag do you think about Lord of The Rings: The rings of power?

Did you watched it? If not, why? If yes, why?

Oooh! A bit of a controversial question, but one that I am happy to finally be asked, so I can give my thoughts and opinions about it. Thank you for the Ask, @estethell!!

My Thoughts on "The Rings of Power"

When I heard a new Tolkien/Middle-earth series was coming out, I was super excited about it. I watched the first two episodes the very evening it came out on Amazon. My excitement was so contagious, I even got my husband (who wouldn't know an elf from a dwarf) to sit down and watch it with me for like 5 whole minutes.

Now, the truth: my initial excitement about the series quickly dropped about four episodes in. The storyline and characterizations just weren't really what I expected (actually, I'm not even sure what my expectations were, except that they were high), and so my interest dwindled in my disappointment.

However, a few weeks later, after all the episodes had been released, I sat back down to finish the series, and my impressions of it improved overall.

I wouldn't say I love Rings of Power, but there are enough things about it that I liked and enjoyed to be able to engage with others who do love it. It's kind of like the folks who didn't like The Hobbit movies, but are able to gush over Lee Pace's Thranduil anyway.

Stuff in Rings of Power that I liked:

Liked BEST: Young Elrond, and the way he was portrayed as such a wise and kind lord by Robert Aramayo (so handsomely elf-y!).

A Close Second: Durin IV and Disa. What a wonderful couple that brought just the right amount of comic relief.

The chance to see Khazad-dum in its glory.

Poppy Proudfellow. We all need a friend like her.

The music/soundtrack, ESPECIALLY the song "This Wandering Day" Poppy sang--I literally cried when she sang it.

Arondir. He was a such sweetheart and I hope he comes back next season.

Adar. The take on orcs being corrupted elves is one I embrace.

Elendil and Isildur. Excellent acting on Lloyd Owen's part, and I liked Maxim Baldry's earnestness.

Halbrand. I'll admit, I wasn't too impressed or happy with the revelation of him as Sauron, but the character alone as it stands was actually very good, and very well portrayed by Charlie Vickers.

Stuff I didn't like so much (so probably don't ask me about them 'cause I prefer not to dwell on critiques):

Short-haired elves. Just not a fan, purely a preference thing.

Galadriel being short. This is petty and minor, but for some reason, even though Morfydd Clark did a fine job, it bugged me to see Galadriel looking UP at mortal men.

Celebrimbor cast as an older man. So sorry, Charles Edwards is a lovely actor, but this was far from what I had in mind for the character.

Eärien. Normally I will give OCs a chance, but I did not like this one. Felt really unnecessary, and the screen time should have been given to Anárion, wherever he might be.

The poor armor design and nerfing of the Numenorean army.

Portrayal of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. Again, I expected much more.

The origin story of mithril. Such a strange choice.

WAY, WAAAAAAY too much CGI. Why is everything so shiny??

Overall low/poor production value. But honestly, there is never gonna be another production like Peter Jackson's trilogy. It's sad, but filmmakers just don't do that anymore. I hope someone proves me wrong.

I remain conflicted about the following:

The Haladriel ship. I'm a Celeborn fan (I have some lovely HCs about him and his ties to Thranduil), and I ship Galadriel with him. However, the way Halbrand looks at Galadriel just does something to me, so even though I'm not sold, my mind is open to it as an AU. I blame Charlie Vickers being such a charming rogue.

The Elf-Human love story. Arondir and Bronwynn were sweet and convincing, and I did swoon for them, but... this is just so overdone already. Couldn't we have just featured other kinds of relationships?

The revised origin of Gandalf. I kind of get it, and I appreciate the relationship between him and the Hobbit progenitors... but it's kind of also weird.

Halbrand as Sauron. I plan on withholding judgement until I see where they are going with this in Season 2.

Overall Rating and Conclusion:

62% fresh SotWK Tomato Rating

I choose to just be HAPPY and GRATEFUL that we have another cinematic adaptation to the Tolkien fandom, however flawed it might be.

Definitely looking forward to Season 2 and I will definitely watch it.

Positive vibes ONLY, please! I am happy to publicly post and gush with others about the good points of RoP. But I will not have public bashing of things other fans might love and enjoy. I am very against crapping on the things others love, even if I might hate them myself.

If anyone wants to discuss the things I dislike about RoP, we can do it via DM or private Asks.

Everyone has a right to enjoy whatever they want in this show; let's just all respect each others' differences in tastes and opinions! <3

#sotwk answers #rings of power #tolkien #middle earth #rop #rings of power review

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estethell · 3 years

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I can only imagine how long it took Thorin to write his signature in that majestic and sophisticated way. He must also look good on a piece of paper!

Image found on Google

#the hobbit #lotr #tolkien #thorin oakenshield #Estethell middle earth Thoughts

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cassiabaggins · 3 years

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Athelas

A/N: lets get this Kiliel week started! All these stories are canon with my Extra Burglar timeline and occur following the Battle of Five Armies. I hope you enjoy, and please like, reblog, and leave a comment if you do! Also check out my Masterlist or AO3 for the rest of my works!beating! Also a special thanks to my betas, @anjhope1 and @deathlikessodaandpizza

Warnings: mention of major character death

Word count: 3552

Next Masterlist

Taglist: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza @lonikje @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @drowingintheempty @kilielweek @estethell

Summary: Kili is grievously wounded in the Battle of the Five Armies and Tauriel is the only person who can keep him alive, but her presence is less than welcomed by many of the dwarves

To his credit, Kili is not the most difficult patient Tauriel has ever had. Granted, he does little but sleep for the first few weeks, and his care is only left to her because the dwarven healers have long since realized that they have no idea how to keep him alive, and the elven ones are too preoccupied with their own kind.

Sleep though he may, it is not a consistent one, and Kili fades to almost wakefulness several times, enough so she can feed him thin broth, mixed with crushed athelas, to replenish his strength and numb the pain. At first, she isn't positive even athelas will help him, but he seems to rest easier when he takes it, even if it is only a few sips. She battles against the possibility of infection and his own mortality and wishes, not for the first time, she had pursued healing with more vigor. She has enough knowledge to bind a wound in battle and keep a comrade alive until the real healers arrive, but knows next to nothing about nursing a dwarf back from the brink of death, so in what little free time she has, she lurks near the healer’s tents, learning what she can to help him. A far cry from her younger self, who would have chafed at the idea of sitting still and listening, but now, she has a reason to.

As Tauriel continues to tend to the wounded dwarf, she notices something quite strange: Kili gets few visitors. Tauriel wonders if that is because he has few friends, or if it is because his brother, the king, has forbidden it. She suspects the latter. The reason for this belief is because just days after the battle, while Kili is still hovering between life and death, a healer from the Iron Hills comes to check on him. She takes one look at Kili's wound and her eyes widen. Then she glances suspiciously at Tauriel and whispers something to Fili, that she knows she isn't supposed to catch.

"He should be dead," the healer says. "Your Majesty, your brother should not be alive. I am sorry, but I fear this is not him but an elvish trick, seeking to gain your trust and usurp your throne." Fili does not like that, and the dwarf is sent from the tent with a voice trembling with anger.

The brother in question sits with Kili whenever he can spare a moment, holding his hand or braiding his hair and talking to him, but there are not many moments to be had. The halflings visit more often, but they must begin their long journey home before the winter becomes too harsh. So, usually, it is just Tauriel sitting with Kili for such a long amount of time, that her younger self would be both annoyed and impressed with her commitment to the dwarf. However, there is only so much sitting still she can stand and restlessness has her pacing and singing and itching for activity. But she cannot leave him. She will not. He needs her.

Finally, on the seventeenth day, Kili awakens enough to speak. As he slowly fades into consciousness, he realizes he has been awoken by an argument between Fili, his tone heavy with annoyance and anger, and another voice, one he doesn’t know.

“...an elf taking care of the prince of Erebor?” The stranger is saying. “It’s unheard of!”

“She saved his life!” Fili snaps back. “As far as I am concerned, that means she can stay as long as needed!”

“Your subjects are already questioning your ability to rule, lad, don’t give them any more reason to doubt you.”

Kili can hear his brother’s voice shaking with anger. “I am fine with whatever they think of me, if it is to ensure my brother’s full recovery. And it is Your Majesty to you, not lad.”

Kili can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him. Fili sounds like Thorin when he does that, all pomp and pride. The argument stops and he senses someone moving close to him.

“Kili?” Fili asks, placing his hand on his forehead. It is warm and comforting. “How are you feeling?”

“I’d feel better if you all quieted down and let me sleep,” Kili mumbles.

“Aye,” his older brother says, stroking his bangs off his forehead. “I’ll take this outside. You get some sleep.”

“Where’s Tauriel?” Kili finds himself asking. He’s a little afraid he just dreamed her presence, that she has already left and returned home.

“I am here,” her soft voice murmurs, and his heart leaps.

Kili cracks his eyes open to see her and his brother leaning over him, both of their foreheads drawn with concern. "You're missing an eye," Kili finds himself saying to his brother, who gives him a dry look.

"I am aware."

Kili loses interest in Fili's bandaged face and looks over at Tauriel, a much lovelier sight. He smiles.

“Amrâlimê,” he mumbles, drinking in the sight of her. Fili’s one visible eyebrow shoots up in surprise, so high Kili wants to laugh again, but that hurts too much. Tauriel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“I’m sorry, Kili, I don’t know what that means,” she whispers.

“Yes, you do,” he replies, sliding his eyes shut again. He reaches out with the hand nearest to her, searching for her cool skin.

“Kili,” Fili hisses, “you can’t just--”

Of course he’d protest. Kili twists up his face, suspecting his brother is more concerned with the use of Khuzdul around non-dwarrow than the fact he just confessed his love for an elf in front of two witnesses. “You’re making my head pound, nadad,” he says pettily, knowing that will shut Fili down, and it does. He subsides with some minor grumbling under his breath about Kili defeating the whole point of a secret language with a display like that.

“Get some more rest, Kili,” he says, “When you feel a bit better, we can bring you into the Mountain. I have a room set up for you already.”

“Can Tauriel come?” Kili asks, suddenly terrified his brother will tell her to leave. He reaches out for her again, making a slight grabbing motion with his fingers, but she does not weave her fingers with his like she had before. Fili sighs.

“Yes, she will come, too. She’s the one keeping you alive, after all.”

“Good.”

The stranger, whoever they are, starts to protest, but Fili says, “enough. Khar, we will finish this outside. Come with me.”

Khar. The name sounds familiar. Kili believes Thorin had a few meetings with a Lord Khar back in Ered Luin, and he had a vague memory of a dwarf with a red beard and brown eyes. Kili hadn’t liked him then, and he certainly doesn’t like him now. He reaches again for Tauriel’s hand. She’s so quiet, he’s suddenly afraid she’s disappeared. The third time turns out to be the charm, and perhaps the others have left, because her cool, slim hand suddenly slips into his.

Kili smiles. “Tauriel,” he breathes.

“Kili,” she replies, “your brother is right. Try to sleep. It will help you heal.”

“Can you sing to me?”

She is silent for a while. He opens one eye to peek at her, a little worried that asking for a lullaby is a bit more intimate in her culture. However, when their eyes meet, she is looking at him with surprise. He frowns a little, and then she lets out a breath, closing her eyes, a smile playing around her lips. “Yes, I will sing to you.”

And she does.

On the twenty seventh day, Tauriel deems him well enough to be moved into Erebor. They lay him on a pallet in a cart drawn by rams, and despite all the cautions taken, it turns out to be one of the most excruciating experiences Kili has ever undergone. His whole body is pure fire, radiating out from his wound, and every jolt of the cart is a lightning strike of pain lancing through him. He bites back the groans he wants to let out, and squeezes tight to Tauriel’s hand. At least three times the pain becomes too unbearable, and he faints, but each time when he comes to, her hand is still holding his.

The final time he passes out must be for quite a while, because when he loses consciousness, they are just approaching the mountain, and when he wakes, he is tucked up in a nice, warm, comfortable dwarven bed, leagues better than the thin cot he had been lying on in the healing tents on the battlefield. It's warmer, too, a fire crackling merrily in the hearth at the foot of his bed, and blissfully free of that post war scent of blood and mud and rotting corpses. Kili rather thought it had gone away in those last few days, but apparently he had just gotten used to it, because the smells of this room— herbs and stone and smoke and dust— are like the finest perfumes in all of Middle Earth, even with the faint lingering trace of dragon hanging about the place. He takes a deep breath in through the nose. Aye. Besides the dragon, it smells dwarven. It smells like home. But even the homey smells can’t drive away the pain encompassing his body, and he lets the deep breath out in a rush accompanied by a pained groan.

He doesn’t really notice he’s alone until a door to his left swings open and Tauriel steps through. She looks fresh faced and clean, her hair braided back, a few strands hanging free, and she’s changed clothes as well, to a loose blue tunic that looks suspiciously dwarven, and brown trousers. Kili decides he likes trousers on a lass... and the shape of her legs. She’s carrying a tray with a teapot and mug, and smiles when she sees that he is awake.

“Good evening,” she says, setting the tray on the bedside table. “You slept for a whole day.” She picks up the teapot and pours some of the contents into the mug. “How are you feeling? In pain?”

He manages a weak nod, but that hurts, too.

"I thought so. Here. Drink this," she says. Kili peers suspiciously at the steaming cup she holds toward him. He thinks it may be medicine, but unlike the dwarven tonics he's used to, it doesn't smell awful. It smells like a combination of mint, earth, and something floral, but he doesn't know the scent, so he is suspicious. He hurts too much to move or speak, but the doubtful look he shoots her is enough. She sits down on his bedside, frowning. "It is merely an infusion of athelas, Kili. It will dull your pain. If I wanted to poison you I would have done it long ago."

That wasn't what he was worried about, but he doesn't have the energy to point that out. He sighs and opens his mouth a bit, and she helps him drink. It is hot, but not burning, and warms him right down to his toes. It would even taste like a normal tea, if not for the faint bitter aftertaste. Slowly, the radiating pain from his chest begins to dull and his muscles relax, and he thinks he might be able to sleep. Actually sleep, not pass out.

"Thank you," Tauriel says, setting the mug aside. "I am going to give you a sponge bath and change your bandages, and then you can try to rest, unless you would like to try eating. How does that sound?"

"You sure you don' jus' wanna see me naked?" He finds himself mumbling with a smirk. She scoffs.

"You are hardly an appealing picture at the moment, laying here, barely alive, half drunk from pain."

Kili chuckles, but it turns into a hiss as his movement jars his wound and pain shoots through his body. "Everything hurts," he moans.

Tauriel tenderly touches his cheek in comfort. "I know. Give the athelas a moment to work."

He nods weakly and she stands up.

"Where are you—"

"I am merely fetching soap, hot water, and fresh bandages," she replies soothingly before leaving the room.

Before long she returns with a large bowl of steaming water, several rags, soap, and some warm fluffy towels. Slowly, she places the objects down next to him and it dawns on him as she soaks the soft towels in the warm water that she was about to wash him. Suddenly, Kili squirms and shies away from her.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” he mumbles.

“About what?” She asks without looking up from her task, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“About you seeing me naked,” he whispers, looking anywhere but at her.

Tauriel stops and stares at him for a while and he can feel his cheeks tingling with a blush. “I have seen you naked before,” she says blithely.

Kili’s head shoots up in dismay. “What?! When?!”

She sighs. “Who do you think has been bathing you and changing your bandages for the past month?”

Now it is his turn to stare at her. He hadn’t thought of that. Tauriel touches his shoulder sympathetically.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to wash between the waist and the knees.”

In the end, that is what they settle on. While she bathes him, she is careful and gentle, but thorough. Just as quick as it begins she is taking away the bathing materials and returning with fresh bandages and a small pot of something.

“I have to change your bandages,” she says apologetically. “This will be… painful.”

“What’s in the jar?” he asks.

"An ointment that will prevent infection and reduce your pain. It's mostly echinacea, chamomile, and athelas, mixed with a lard base."

"You sure like that athelas stuff. What is it, anyway?"

"Some call it kingsfoil," she says, opening the container and checking the contents. She tilts it so he can see a greenish brown paste inside. "See? I'll spread this over your wound. It shall help it heal, with the right incantations."

"Isn't kingsfoil a weed? I've been told that it's a weed."

"It is often seen as a weed, but truly it is a healing herb, though the knowledge of how to use it has been mostly lost to mortals. I've used it on you before, when you were shot by the orcish arrow."

"Oh. I don't remember that."

"I don't find that surprising, you were quite delirious."

Kili feels cold air on his chest and suddenly realizes that Tauriel has been carefully untying his bandages. He looks down and is quite shocked at the sight of his wound. This is the first time he's seen it, an ugly, puckered gash stitched closed with thick black thread.

"Well," he says shakily, "that will leave a scar."

Tauriel doesn't laugh at his joke, too preoccupied with assessing the wound. "Soon I'll be able to take these stitches out, but not yet." She looks up at him. "I am going to clean it now. Are you ready?"

He gives her a lopsided smile. "Aye. I'm a grown dwarf, I won't cry."

In the end, a few silent tears do manage to squeeze themselves out of his eyes. After her treatment, she lays him back and feeds him medicine that not only numbs the pain but also causes him some drowsiness and he falls asleep once more until she wakes him to feed him. From there, this same routine continues, with a few minor changes with Company members visiting him when they can, but for the most part, it is just him and Tauriel.

As more members of the Company come by, Tauriel better acquaints herself with them. However, as kind as they are to her, she is no fool. She knows the distrust (and in some cases, hatred) the other Dwarves of the mountain have toward her. They only keep her around due to Kili’s steadily improving condition. But before long, he will not need her anymore. He will be at a point in his recovery where the dwarven healers will be able to manage just fine and the dwarves will tolerate her no longer. She must leave before it all comes to a head and something terrible happens.

She begins to prepare travelling supplies: food, drink, and clothing, a map as well, as she makes her plans. Plans she tells no one of; she intends to slip away, unnoticed, into the night. They will not follow her and she knows she will not be missed. They just want her out of the mountain. She plans her route carefully; choosing to slip out in between the changing of the guard and taking a discrete route south. She calculates how many days she can ration out her lembas on foot versus on horseback or by boat, how long she can walk without sleep, how long her tinderbox can last, everything is carefully planned. However, what she did not plan for, is Kili.

On the winter night that she executes her plan, she doesn't notice that Kill awakens as she creeps about the room, watching shrewdly as she gathers her belongings and crosses the room to her exit. But before she has the chance to even reach for the doorknob, he breaks his silence.

"You're leaving," he whispers accusingly.

Tauriel closes her eyes and sighs. “Kili,” she says softly, not looking at him.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” he says, “I’ve snuck out enough times in my life to recognize when someone is doing just that.” Tauriel's shoulders slump. She opens her eyes and looks up at the ceiling, studying the gold flecked green stone, but she still does not turn and look at him.

“Please don’t be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry! ” he huffs, clearly angry. Finally, she turns and raises an eyebrow at him, meeting his glare. "You’re just going to leave me, without so much as a goodbye?!” he continues, his eyes blazing with passion.

“Kili, surely you know of the strife my presence is causing,” she replies, “I know you aren’t blind to what is going on in the Mountain.”

“Of course I know!” He explodes, punching the mattress beside his thigh, “I'm not stupid! But you can’t just go!” Tauriel rather gets the impression that he’s hiding his sadness and betrayal behind anger, and if she didn’t know better, she'd think he was begging. But that’s ridiculous. Dwarves are proud. They do not beg. Silently, Tauriel moves away from the door and toward the bed, as graceful as water, and looks down at him.

“And why is that?”

“Because then they win!” He shouts, gesturing wildly outward, as if to indicate the entire mountain and every dwarf within it. Immediately afterward, he seems to feel guilty for raising his voice, and drops his arms, looking down and away and picking at his blankets. Tauriel takes the opportunity to sit down on the bed beside him, contemplating his words.

“Kili,” she says finally, after what seems like an age, “I wish it was that simple.”

“It can be,” he murmurs, turning back to look at her, his hand catching hers where it rests on the blanket. “Tauriel, amrâlimê...”

She looks down at their joined hands and something alien wells up within her. Is it love? Is it fear? She doesn’t know.

“Stay with me,” he says, gripping her fingers. “Please.”

She looks up at him. He’s giving her the same pleading look he gave her on the lakeshore, conveying all his emotions in his gaze: love and determination and desperation...

“I can’t,” she whispers.

His face crumples and he moves his hand off hers with a heavy sigh. “I know,” he replies. Because he does. Despite how desperately he wants it, he knows that at this point in time, what they have, or at least what they want to have, is impossible. He looks away so he doesn’t have to see her leave. The mattress shifts as she stands, and he listens to her footsteps begin to move away from him. Then, they pause.

“I have something of yours,” she says. He looks up to see her reaching into her bodice. He frowns, confused, until she draws out her hand and holds it open to him. His runestone rests on her palm. She kept it? She still has it? “This belongs to you.”

“No,” he replies, staring listlessly at the stone. “It’s yours. It was a gift.”

She stands in silence for a moment, then her fingers close over it and she returns it back to where she had it, smoothing her shirt down over it. “Thank you.” She says after a while. He nods, looking down again.

She moves again to leave, he hears rustling as she shoulders her pack, and the door creaks open.

“Where will you go?” he calls after her. She turns to look at him, framed by the door.

“I’ve always wanted to see the sea,” she replies.

He nods. “Ah.”

She gives him a smile, but he doesn’t have the strength to return it, and her face falls. “Perhaps I will see you again someday,” she tells him, and is gone before he can reply.

#kilielweek #kilielweek2021 #kiliel #kili #tauriel #my writing #kiliel fanfiction #lotr #the hobbit #hobbit fanfiction #hobbit fanfic #kiliel fanfic #the hobbit fanfic #fili #bilbo baggins #post botfa

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avaria-revallier · 3 years

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Wanted

Finally, Dwalin caught sight of the dwarf he had been looking for. Karsus was standing near his father, head down and looking a little downtrodden. Tired maybe, Dwalin thought. Suddenly, bright blue eyes met his. Eyes as blue and clear as the sea.

Dwalin gave Karsus a crooked grin, causing the younger dwarf to blush and look away quickly. Perhaps he had made the dwarf uncomfortable. Then no, Karsus glanced up again and gave Dwalin a warm smile.

~ This is the love story of an old overprotective guard and a stuttering young silver-smith.

Hope you enjoy it!

Ava & Middle Earth Mama

A new story only available on ao3!

@shrimpsthings @estethell @middleearthmama

#just my stupid idea #story #collab #wanted #the hobbit #hobbit headcannons #dwalin #dwalin x oc #dwalin x karsus #so cute #fluff #fix it #hobbit imagine #the hobbit fanfiction #hobbit fandom #short story

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brglhobbit · 3 years

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30 Questions Yay I got tagged thank you @reshirement 1. name or nickname: brglhobbit because I brgl idk someone give me a nickname or something 2. gender: brgl 3. star sign: scorpio 4. height: smol 5. time: afternoon 6. bday: scorpio that’s all you going to get 7. fav band(s): KEiiNO, dir en grey, idk I don’t care about bands that much anymore I’m old like that 8. fav solo artist(s): Howard Shore was my number one most streamed last year on spotify 9. song stuck in your head: none at the moment how boring 10. last movie: Fellowship of the Ring 11. last show: Brooklyn 99 (it was so weird to see SAM AS A HACKER) 12. when did i create this blog: late 2020, at first I just lurked and reblogged bagginshield 13. what do i post: I post my bagginshield drawings. Also some random thoughts type of posts and reblogging other people’s art. 14. last thing i googled: Proteus mirabilis 15. other blogs: I don’t have other blogs (that would have had any activity after 2017) 16. do i get asks: Eeehhh not much, some here and there? But I mean I don’t really send asks so it makes sense right? I’m not good at being social like that... 17. why i chose my url: uhhhh I just wanted it to have a very obvious reference to the Hobbit movies because that’s what this blog is all about it’s not too deep 18. following: 64 (I need more blogs to follow I guess) 19. followers: 590 (seriously how??) 20. avg hrs of sleep: 5-7 21. lucky no.: I don’t have one 22. instruments: Musical instruments? Never played any, I was more of an art kid so. Surgical instruments? 23. what i’m wearing: sweatpants and hoodie 24. dream job: professional bird watcher or mushroom hunter or maybe mushroom scientist or chocolate taster 25. dream trip: train trip around Europe to visit all the fanciest botanical gardens and parks 26. fave food: sushi 27. nationality: hobbit 28. fav song: Honestly it changes so much but Behöver inte dig idag by Clara Klingenström is definitely a current fav 30. top 3 fictional universes i wanna live in: middle-earth middle-earth middle-earth idk I’m just boring like that and I don’t know enough universes

Aaaand let me tag @mandolinearts @ooowyn @estethell @theresonlyzuul and please do not feel pressured to do this but yay if you decide to do this :3

#ok wow it is not afternoon anymore #i was writing this when i took a break to repot a cactus and then I got distracted #i've been tagged

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middleearthpixie · 7 months

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Living Proof ~ Chapter Three

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia

Warnings: none

Rating: T

Word Count: 3.2k

Author’s Note: While I do thoroughly research any medical scenes to the best of my ability, I do sometimes have to take a bit of poetic license with treatments, wounds, etc. This might be one of those times…

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here.

Leaves scuttled all around as he dove at the hobbit, but Frodo was too fast, darting out of reach as Boromir leapt. Still, Boromir was determined and dove again, this time pinning the hobbit beneath him. The Ring. All he wanted was the Ring. He needed it.

His fingers tightened on Frodo, who fought with a strength belied by his size. The Ring glinted in the fading sunlight. He was so close to snatching it.

So…

…close

Then, the halfling disappeared.

Fury scorched through Boromir. He couldn’t let Frodo get away. Couldn’t let the Ring get away.

He gave chase, sweating despite the chill air, leaves and other debris clinging to his hair, his clothes. The sun burned bright through the treetops. Fury made him hotter still. Everything burned inside him. Sweat dripped from him.

Arrows came from all directions. Merry. Pippin. They were on the other side of the clearing, stunned and staring as he emerged over the ridge. He shouted at them. Told the fools to run. And they did.

No, they didn’t.

He didn't know who fired the first arrow, but heat of anger, of desperation that flooded him already burned hotter as the arrow found its mark. Searing hot pain sliced through him. Again. And again. He tried deflect the arrows, but the heat raged into an inferno and his arms and legs failed him, refused to do it bidding.

Flames licked his legs, climbed up across his chest, threatened to immolate him where he stood and no one seemed to notice. His blood roared through his temples. Pain wracked his entire body. Death nipped at his heels and he cared not. It would be a relief from the relentless burning, the relentless heat, the relentless fire.

“Oh!” The fireball burst, sweat prickled along his skin and when he jerked awake, it seemed every fiber in his body screeched in protest.

The clearing. The hobbits. The orcs. They all vanished as if swept away by some invisible force, leaving him alone, on his back, staring up at the exposed beams of a strange room, drenched in sweat and breathing as if he’d run from one end of Middle Earth to the other.

But he had no idea where he was or how he’d come to be there.

The pain radiated through him, but not nearly as hot now. It made his stomach clench. Made bile rise in the back of his throat. And while he continued to sweat, a shiver came close on its heels.

He lay there, trying to will away the hot sting that centered on the left side of his torso, his left thigh. Little by little, breathing grew easier and the pain faded to a dull ache, but he still had no idea where he might be or how he came to be there at all.

Silence greeted him as the dull roar of his blood rushing in his ears quieted down and his heartbeat slowed as well. He felt no need to panic, as he lay there on a somewhat lumpy sofa, although he did wonder how he’d come to be very nearly naked beneath the worn quilt drawn over him. A threadbare chair stood on the far side of the table before him and on it were his surcoat and the cloak given to him by the lady Galadriel. He wore his small clothes still, but his tunic and trousers had been removed. His wounds had been treated and dressed as well.

His wounds.

Remnants of his dream still swirled through him. He’d been struck down by orcs. Hot shame swirled through him, and he squeezed his eyes closed as it flooded him like a mighty river. Whoever dragged him away from that clearing should have left him there to rot. It was that simple. He deserved no mercy, no kindness. He certainly deserved nothing but scorn and fury and shame.

And yet, someone had taken him in, had cared for him. Why?

A door opened somewhere behind him and footsteps sounded softly against the floorboards. Whoever it was sang softly to themselves as they came int the house, their voice low and husky and almost soothing, although he understood not a word of what was being sung.

The floor behind the sofa creaked and he gently craned his neck to see a woman standing over him, her mass of dark red curls wild about her face and tumbling about her shoulders. A hint of a smile lifted her lips as she said, “Well, a good morning to you. How are you feeling?”

“Who are you and where am I?”

Her smile faded as she skirted the arm of the sofa and moved to sink onto the table before him. “I’m Kaia. And this is no place special, but it’s home for now. How are you feeling?”

She leaned over as she spoke and to his surprise, pulled back the quilt to his hips. Without thinking, he snatched it back, hissing as fire shot through his chest from his hips upward. “What are you about?”

She met his stare easily. “Who do you think sewed you back together again, sir? Now, let me see how they’re healing.”

He tightened his hold on the quilt’s binding. “I’ll do no such thing. The last thing I want or need is your father coming in and seeing this and demanding I marry you.”

Kaia sat back on the table and just stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Then, she shook her head, replying, “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Where are my clothes? I need to go.”

“You are not going anywhere. At least, not on that leg. As for your clothes? I had to cut your tunic and trousers away to treat your wounds. And as for the lunacy that is you thinking anyone is going to demand I marry you, well… that’s lunacy, indeed. I have no father and the only one who will decide whether or not I marry is me. And trust me, I am not going to be looking to marry you.”

A hint of idiocy swirled through him. “What?”

“You heard me. Now, will you let me check your wounds or not?”

“Not.” He met her glare with one of his own. “And what do you mean, you cut my clothes away?”

“What part of that do you not understand?” Her hands dangled between her knees. “You were wounded in the leg, middle, and chest, as you can at least feel, if not see. How was I to get to the wounds, if they were buried beneath layers of clothing?”

“So you took the liberty of cutting them off?”

“I did. It was that or let you die. So, I made what my stepfather would have called an executive decision and I cut them from you. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

He broke his stare to focus on the exposed ceiling beams instead. “You ought but have let me die.”

“Self-pity is an ugly trait, you know.”

“Ask me if I care.”

She stared at him for a long moment and he waited, bracing for her argument. But to his surprise, she didn't argue at all. Instead, the look she offered up was one that bordered on amusement. With a slight smile accompanying it. Whoever this girl was, she was infuriating, to say the least.

“Suit yourself.”

With an almost lazy shrug, she rose and disappeared around the sofa to go into whatever room was behind him. He waited for her to begin muttering to herself, most likely just loud enough for him to hear as she moved about whatever room it was she was in.

But instead of muttering, she resumed her singing.

Singing.

Once more, he realized he understood not a word of what she sang, but it reminded him of the lament he’d heard in Lothlórien, after Gandalf fell into shadow and flame at the hands of a balrog when they were in the mines of Moria.

His eyes closed of their own volition and he tried to will away the thoughts he had no desire to dwell upon. But they kept coming just the same. The Watcher in the Water that tried to snatch Frodo, Merry, Pippin, as they thought to retreat from Moria and find another way around in their trek to Mordor. The cave troll. The countless number of orcs they’d battled.

The balrog itself.

His gut churned harder with each vision that slid before his eyes and no matter how he tried stave it off, the nausea worsened. A brackish taste flooded his mouth and with icy cold dread, he knew he was about to be sick.

He swallowed hard against the rising tide as he lifted a shaking arm to reach for the bucket tucked just beneath the table’s edge. The wood screeched against the floor as he tried to pull it closer, but his strength failed him and the bucket tipped onto its side.

Kaia was there in an instant, though, righting it to pull it close and no sooner had she, when his stomach emptied itself. Every muscle locked, went rigid as he coughed and gagged and to his surprise, Kaia remained where she was, a hand on his back, her voice soft as she whispered, “Easy… don’t fight it…”

At last, he sank into the cushions, the feeling of having done this already washing over him as she stroked his hair away from his forehead and murmured, “I have birch and mint if you wish that tea now.”

He sagged back, his eyes closing, and had just enough energy to whisper, “What tea?”

“I told you earlier, birch for pain, mint to settle your stomach. So far, you’ve refused it.”

“You’ve offered me nothing.”

“Of course I have. More than once, actually. You simply do not recall.” Her hand came to rest on his forehead, her touch still as gentle as a breeze. “Your fever has broken, and that’s good. You’ve had a rough few days.”

“I remember nothing.”

“Really?”

He nodded slowly. “I recall no offer of tea.”

“Well, I did offer. And I offer it again. But, let me get this taken care of before the entire cabin reeks.”

He cracked one eye to peer up at her. “I tried to stop it.”

“Impossible. Not to mention foolish. Let nature do what nature does. Are you always so stubborn?”

She didn't wait for him to reply, but carted the foul bucket out and left him there, with both eyes closed once more.

He must have fallen asleep for when he opened his eyes again, it was dark, the cabin lit by a single lamp on the table and it was so quiet, he wondered if he’d imagined Kaia after all. If he had been with fever, it would explain conjuring up this odd girl.

Of course, that wouldn’t explain the cabin and that was how he knew he was absolutely awake now.

With that, he tried to sit up, moving very slowly as he did and the sutures holding him together pulled slightly. He paused. A painful rumble rolled through his gut. He waited.

It receded and he managed to come upright, although it tired him out and sent a fresh sweat prickling across his bare back. Three strips of linen wound about him, and he wondered how she’d managed it without waking him. But then again, if he’d been unconscious from the pain, it most likely made her task that much easier.

Each wound ached, but he didn't think they hurt as badly as they had earlier. Then again, he had no way of knowing how long he’d been on that sofa, in this cabin, under her care.

And why had she brought him here?

The cabin door opened and Kaia stepped over the threshold with an armful of wood that she brought into the kitchen. That was the room behind the sofa and from his vantage point, he saw a fire already crackling on the stone hearth, a kettle hanging over it, and cupboards lining the far wall, broken up only by the washbasin and a small icebox of sorts.

“How are you feeling?” she asked without turning toward him.

“Better.” He swallowed hard against a rogue rumble in his gut, then added, “How long have I been here?”

“Four days.”

He just stared at her for a long moment. “What?”

She nodded. “Four days. I found you on Sunday. And today is Thursday. Four days.”

“But… I remember none of it.”

“You were in terrible shape when I found you, so I’m not surprised.” She finished stacking the wood, then wiping her hands on the seat of her trousers, she came over to the back of the sofa. “Do you remember anything?”

He let his gaze wander about the cabin as he tried to gather his thoughts. If he didn't know she lived there, he would think it had been abandoned for years before he woke in the great room. It had that abandoned feel about it, one that went beyond its meager furnishings and lack of personal belongings. It simply felt… empty.

Slowly, he shook his head. “No. As I said, I remember none of it.”

For a moment, it seemed she might challenge him on that. But then, she said, “Perhaps in time it will come back to you. Now, will you let me check on your wounds, or are you determined to remain stubborn about it?”

It would give him an excuse to lie back down again, and that was what he wanted more than anything, so he sighed and nodded. “Yes. I mean, you may, of course.”

“Good. Because I was checking them either way.”

She came around to sink onto the table and folded the quilt away from him. Warm air skittered along his bare skin as she unknotted the topmost strip of linen, holding the bandage in place over the wound below his left collarbone. Unlike the others, this bandage went up and over his shoulder and he wondered at how she managed it without waking him.

Then her voice cut through wondering as she explained, “This one was the deepest, and you were lucky that it went in straight and did not angle downward. It would’ve nicked your heart and if it went a bit more to the center, your lung. It is the perfect spot to be struck, if such a thing exists.”

“Lucky, you say?” He shook his head as he stared up at those dark exposed beams once more. “I’m afraid I don't feel quite so lucky.”

“Well, no, I imagine you don’t. But,” she looked up just as he looked down and met his gaze, “you are.”

“I’ll not argue it. I’m alive.” He sucked in a sharp breath as she probed at the wound. “Take care, if you’d not mind!”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, laying the bandage back over the wound, “I’ll try to be more gentle.”

“Dare I ask how it looks?”

“It looks ugly. And it will for some time still. But, it’s no longer bleeding at all and that’s a good thing. I only have the barest of supplies, since I don't come across many wounded men and I’m not often having to patch myself back together.”

“You live here alone?”

“I do.”

“Where are your people?”

She didn't answer right away, but unknotted the linen lower down, halfway between the first wound and his hip, but more center. “This one was not as deep. You must have turned when it was fired, for by rights, it should have skewered you. I mean, far worse than it actually did.”

“More good luck.”

“Exactly.”

“You didn't answer me, you know.”

She looked up at him. Her eyes were green. Green and direct and she nodded. “I know.”

He waited for her to continue, but she turned her attention back to the wound. He gritted his teeth at the soft, prickling sting that accompanied her examination, and sighed with relief when she slid the linen back over the bandage and re-knotted it.

The last one gave him pause, for it was just above his left hip and while he still wore his small clothes (and he’d rather not think about how long they’d been on him, if he was honest with himself,) they were of thin muslin and he barely knew this woman.

But, she apparently did not feel the same hesitancy, for she shifted down along the sofa, saying, “I think the arrowhead here glanced off your hipbone. Again, probably you were turning away.” She looked up at him once more. “Why were you in the clearing? And who were the halflings I saw? I mean, they were halflings, weren’t they? I’ve never seen any but have heard of them.”

He nodded, trying to stave off the hint of embarrassment swirling through him as she unknotted the bandage, then carefully eased down the waist of the small clothes to lift it away from him. “They were, yes. The orcs took them, didn't they?”

“You said they did. They took the little ones were your exact words. But why?”

He offered up a long, level look even as a hot sting swept through him from her prodding. “Are you certain you wish to know? They were taken by orcs.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then her eyes went wide and she brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, no…”

He nodded slowly. “So, perhaps I should be on my way. I might be able to find them before it’s too late.”

“You can’t go anywhere just yet. I pulled two arrows from your left leg as well. I’d be surprised if you could stand on that leg just yet. And besides, you could start with another fever and if you are out in the forest alone and that happens? You would stand no chance against anyone, never mind an army of orcs.”

“An army… you saw them?”

She nodded as she turned back to his wound. “I did, yes. I couldn't even hazard a guess as to how many there were. But they marched straight through and have not come back. Not even to bury their dead.”

“They don't bury their dead. They don’t grieve. They don’t care.” He let his eyes close once more and sighed as she re-knotted that strip. “Let me guess, it looks good.”

“Good is a bit optimistic, but they look better.” She slid the waist of his small clothes back into place. “You do sound better as well. Not so tired now.”

“I hide it well. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not surprised.” She lifted the quilt from his left leg, folding it back over his right. “Sleep, then. This shouldn’t take long and I will try not to hurt you.”

He nodded slowly as the drowsiness crept over him once more. He had to get back on his feet, had to find the others and rejoin the quest.

But most of all, he had to find Frodo. He owed it to him, owed it to the Fellowship to see the Ring brought to Mount Doom and destroyed.

Still, he couldn’t tell this woman any of it. He barely knew her, let along trusted her. He would remain where he was only as long as he absolutely had to and once he was certain he could bear weight on his leg and his wounds would not open up and bleed again, he would take his leave and go in search of the rest of the Fellowship.

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