After the Fire

Chapter Three

"Thorin?"

The voice sounded so very far away, as if the speaker had found their way into the bottom of a well. Or perhaps it was just the roar of his blood in his ears that made hearing more difficult. Then again, it might also be the slow, steady creeping pain that began at his feet and crawled its way up his body, growing hotter and fiercer by the second. He didn't know. All Thorin knew was he couldn't force any words past his stubborn lips.

"Thorin?"

He knew the voice. Knew it and knew it well.

"Óin? What happened?"

"Shhh... don't try to speak just yet, laddie. Give the sedatives time to wear off."

"Sedatives? What happened? Where is Fíli? Kíli?"

"Yer not making any sense, laddie. Rest now. Yer out of danger at the moment. Out of danger and in good hands. Now, ye need to let us work. Be still."

"Danger?"

"What?"

Thorin let out an irritated growl. At least, he hoped it sounded irritated. "Danger?"

A hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I know that made sense to ye. Or, at least, I assume it did. But to those of us outside yer head, it's not much more than gibberish. And gettin' yerself all worked up helps no one, either. Stay calm, laddie. Let us work."

Thorin sighed. He tried to open his eyes but simply didn't have the strength, so he gave up and just relaxed. It seemed no time at all had passed before Óin patted his shoulder again and said, "Are you thirsty?"

Wait... that wasn't Óin's voice at all. Glóin's wife, Narnerra, perhaps? She often worked alongside Óin. But no, he didn't remember her voice being so soft, and gentle. Her voice was almost as deep as her husband's, if memory served.

So, who was this strange girl?

"Who..." His head ached now as badly as the rest of his body. His lips were dry and chapped, his throat was dry. He swallowed hard and couldn't hold back his soft moan as the pain swelled. "Who are you?"

"Easy." A hand moved lightly over his hair. "I can give you some wine if you're thirsty. But, don't try to speak. Nod."

It took every bit of strength he had to move his head a fraction of an inch, but it must have been enough, for the hand on his hair skimmed lightly along the top of his head, and then vanished. Moments later, the bed shifted slightly to raise his head. Unfortunately, as it did, a hot, agonizing sting slid down from his chest toward his hips and he couldn't hold back his cry of pain.

Mercifully, it subsided. Slowly, but it did so.

"I—I am so sorry about that," the soft voice comforted him, the hand on his hair once more, "b-but if you lay fl-flat, you would have drowned. Here."

The cool rim of a goblet pressed to his lower lip and the voice whispered, "Small sips."

Small sips. As if he could do any large sips. Pain still radiated through him, but little by little it dulled until he no longer thought it would drive him mad.

"There." The goblet fell away. "You should sleep now, Your Highness. You've h-had a very l-l-long day."

All he could do was nod. Then, he slept.

Jasna sat back, the goblet resting on her thigh now. Óin looked up from where he'd bent over Fíli on the far side of the infirmary that had been quickly scoured and restored for those wounded in the battle of the Five Armies. The Durins were in the farthest corner, near the newly repaired windows that overlooked an overgrown and somewhat dilapidated courtyard. To her surprise, they were not kept away from the others, not brought to private rooms or treated any differently than the other wounded, aside from of course being far more urgent than most of the others.