Kings and Masters

Chapter 3

The world was calm and still and for a moment in time; Thorin had no thoughts, no cares, no worries. For a moment, he thought he was dead, and nothing seemed to matter to him anymore. But memory slowly began to seep into his consciousness.

He didn't open his eyes right away, wanting only to listen and to feel. It was warm and soft. He gathered he was in bed. Around him, he could hear the faint ticking of a clock and the creak of someone wandering about near him. He could hear the crackling of a fire and could smell the sweet scent of pipeweed in the air.

He groaned before opening his eyes, blinking at the brightness. "Ahh," came Gandalf's familiar voice. "Welcome back to the world of the living, Thorin Oakenshield." Thorin slowly moved his head to his left, and Gandalf's large form came into focus. He was sitting in a rocking chair by Thorin's bedside, smoking his pipe. The wizard gave Thorin a hard glance as he looked him over.

"Where am I?" Thorin croaked, his voice hoarse from misuse. He gazed around at his surroundings. He was in what seemed to be bedchambers. All around him were signs of luxury. Gold trim statues decorated the area; thick oak furniture lined the room. And he lay in a bed of silk sheets; they were the most comfortable he had ever laid in. He was bare-chested, and his torso was wrapped in bandaging.

"You are in the private lakeshore residence of the master of Lake-town," Gandalf answered. "This is one of the many bedchambers in this somewhat opulent manor which the master has so... graciously allowed us to use as a house of healing for the many souls wounded in this battle."

Thorin's eyes suddenly fell on something just beyond Gandalf. "Kili..." he gasped, trying to lift his head as he caught sight of his nephew laying in another bed behind Gandalf. He quickly turned his head the other direction to find Fili laying in a third bed to Thorin's right. Then, like a rushing waterfall, the memories came rushing back to him. The war, the battle, the death, the blood. The sight of his nephew's broken bodies as he held them both in his arms.

"Not so fast," Gandalf said, pushing Thorin back down. The king was overwhelmed with dizziness and with fear as he kept his eyes on his nephew's still forms. Fili was bare-chested, his chest peppered with bruises and lacerations. A bandage wrapped around his torso, along with what looked like a cloth back brace. A nasty looking gash was visible above his right eyebrow. But he was alive. Thorin could see the steady rise and fall of his nephew's chest as he breathed.

Kili was dressed similarly, but Thorin could see a large bruise on the brown-haired dwarf's torso, poking out under the layers of bandaging. Kili's breathing was uneven and hitched with pain, even in his sleep.

"How are they?" Thorin asked, looking at Gandalf. He felt his stomach drop when Gandalf hesitated to answer him. "Gandalf?"

"Oin is... hopeful that they will recover fully," Gandalf said after a pause, giving Thorin a reassuring smile. But his tone of voice lacked confidence.

"Gandalf," Thorin probed, looking at the wizard.

"Well, they both received serious injuries," Gandalf said. "You did, as well. But I'm afraid you are in the best condition between the three of you. Kili broke a few ribs, and one of them got into his lung. I'm afraid Master Oin had to operate to remove the bone. He's having some trouble breathing, as you can see. Also, he lost massive amounts of blood from his blade wound. And he was exposed to the cold for far too long, as were you and Fili; the lads both nearly froze to death. But... for now, he is stable, and that is more than any of us can hope for."

Thorin swallowed, receiving the news stoically before asking, "Fili?"

"The lad is in more serious condition," Gandalf replied. "The wound he received was bad enough, but I'm afraid it was the least of his woes. The injuries from his fall were extensive. He has a bad head injury, as you can see. But Thorin he's broken his leg... and his back."