mithril

V.

— V —

Dawn rises warm and refreshing as the eagles soar over the mountains. I would relish in the beauty of this morning, but my gaze hasn't left the injured dwarf held loosely in the talons of the front eagle. It has been hours and the tug is still there. There, but faint. I fear for him, I truly do.

The eagles place us gently on a mountain peak. I feel the light brush of feathers on my cheek before the raptor flaps its great wings in a backwards motion. Thorin's limp body comes to a rest against the flat stone several lengths away from the rest of the company. Gandalf runs to him first, followed by the Dwarves. I want to run to him. I want to make sure he's alive.

Tug tug.

I have to trust the wizard, despite my misgivings. I watch his hands press against the Dwarf's chest, then pass over his face. Slowly, the bruised and bloodied face of Thorin winces back into awareness. Thorin rises slowly, moving in pained carefulness. His company starts speaking all at once in excited tones.

He ignores the clamoring Dwarves, turning to Bilbo. I don't like the dark look on his face. I start to step forward, but Gandalf's staff crosses my path. The wizard's expression is unreadable. I look away as he starts to speak to the Hobbit harshly. My jaw grinds as I prepare to walk away before I jump in front of the Hobbit. Instead, Thorin surprises me by embracing the Halfling. Again, the relief that floods through me makes me relax.

The fighting and crashing and falling have had such a toll on my body that my legs quiver where I stand. I can't fight the exhaustion that edges my vision. My limbs are weak, my body bruised. I need a long rest and a hot meal before I can continue on like this, but I will never admit that to the company. And especially to Thorin.

My eyes are still diverted from the tall Dwarf, looking at nothing and trying to calm my aching limbs. My senses are so dull I don't notice Thorin's approach until the heavy boots stop in front of me. Still, I can't look up. Can't rise. A part of me feels the burn of shame that I've allowed myself to deteriorate to the point where it aches to take a step. I am pained and numb all at once.

His rough fingers reach to my chin, lifting it as gently as if I were a butterfly. I look up at him, at those pale eyes that try to read the deepest parts of me. His fingers drag down my cheek once. Twice. He smiles at me, ever so slightly.

"You are tough, for a human. I accept your offer, Dúnedan."

Offer...offer? What offer?

Oh.

The Hobbit. That's right.

I nod numbly in response. My lack of smile, smirk, or any other emotion makes his eyes flash with something dangerous. I blink slowly, stepping back from his touch. I almost trod on Gandalf, who catches my arm.

"You are not well, Celebdraug," he murmurs in my ear. I ignore him. Thorin is turning, his attention drawn by the murmurs of the other Dwarves. They have seen their destination, the Lonely Mountain rising from the land in one great peak above all else. The one place they ache to go, but it swims before me in a mix of grey and blue.

"I'm fine," I finally whisper to the wizard, my voice hoarse. I will not delay this trip unnecessarily.

Gandalf watches me closely as we travel, the one thing I am aware of in the blur of greens until I look up from our relentless walking and find that we have settled in a forest. The Hobbit is scrambling away from us, but I can't raise my strength enough to complain about his absence. I sink back against a rock, my folded hands feeling clammy and weak in my lap. I groan, allowing my head to drop back against the stone. The lichen that covers the grey surface is as good as a pillow. My eyes start to slide shut.