After the Fire

Chapter Seven

At night, the infirmary was almost eerie in its quiet. But night after night, as she pored over the books Óin had given her, Jasna was thankful for that quiet. She dipped her pen in the inkwell and jotted down several notes in the leather bound book of blank parchment that Narnerra had dropped off earlier, then turned back to the medical text.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock softly chimed. One in the morning. She had to be up with the sun, but she was still just too wide awake to sleep. The texts were fascinating, far beyond what she'd been exposed to in Esgaroth, under Mr. Laurence's tutelage. He firmly believed in making his pupils study and study and study before they were allowed near any patients. And while she'd learned more than she'd thought under him, it was nothing compared to being able to put what she'd read to practice, as she did under Óin's watchful eyes. He was a firm believer in hands-on training and she was thankful for it. She certainly picked things up that much more quickly for it.

She turned a page, rubbed one eye, and shifted in her chair. Her back had begun to ache a bit, a combination of bending over patients all day and her desk for the last few hours. The wick in the lamp on her desk had burned to almost a stump. She'd have to draw more out come the morning.

A low moan reached her ears. She sat back, waiting to see if Óin or Narnerra heard it as well. Several minutes passed and no footfalls followed, so when she heard it again, she got to her feet. Moving to the doorway, she listened closely.

At first, only silence greeted her. Perhaps it was nothing more than her imagination playing with her.

But then she heard it again. A low moan coming from her corner.

She lit the candle in the dish on her desk and then made her way out, checking on the men here and there. By now, ten days after the battle, the number of dwarves in the infirmary had been reduced to about a third of its original number, so it took all of five seconds to discern where the moaning came from.

She hurried over to Fíli, whose fists twisted in his sheet. "Easy," she whispered, setting the candle on the bedside table, making sure it was out of his reach. "Do you need pain medicine?"

"Please..." he gritted, eyes screwed shut as he continued to twist the sheet, "make it stop..."

"I will. But you have to help me," she whispered, laying a hand on his forehead. He was cool, thankfully. No fever, just terrible pain.

"Just... take it away..." He grimaced, a tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "Please..."

"I will." She straightened up. "I must get Óin first, but then I'll take it away. I promise."

He let out a strangle cry, but then nodded. She lifted the candle and practically sprinted from the infirmary.

All of Erebor was quiet so late at night, and she'd learned the lay of the land in regards to finding Óin's apartments, and this was not the first time she'd shown up at his door in the middle of the night. Still, she wasn't entirely comfortable even as she rapped a fist against the door.

Óin pulled open the door, peering out through bleary eyes. "Jasna? Who is it?"

"Fíli," she said. "He is in terrible pain."

"I'll be right there. Go and sit with him."

"Of course."

She hurried back to the infirmary, where Fíli's breath came in short, harsh bursts. She dragged over a chair and sank into it, slipping her hand beneath his. "I'm here, Fíli," she murmured, clasping her other hand atop his. "Squeeze my hand if you need to. Óin will be here in moments."

"It hurts... under my s-skin... in my-my bones."

"That's the healing process at work," she told him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze between hers. "It s-sounds silly, I-I know, but that's w-what it is."