An Unexpected Addition (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Injuries

"Owwww! What's in that damn stuff?"

The oldest prince of Erebor was tucked away in his bedrooms, stripped down to a flimsy pair of underpants and nothing else for his medical evaluation. His younger brother and Bilbo were sitting on either side of his bed, both holding down Fíli's twitching limbs while Óin applied some of his salves to the open wound. Poor Fíli had become even more pale after they'd reached his room, skin becoming clammy and heart rate increasing as the first stages of infection set in. Thankfully, the traitor's blade had not been poisoned with a toxic agent, which had been Óin's worst fear.

"Did you see how rusty that blade was?" said Óin, his fingers carefully picking at severely damaged tissue with a pair of tweezers. "Nastier than an orc's blade, it was. And the chances of you contracting lockjaw are very high, but the faster I clean out this wound with my salve, the less likely you are to develop the worst symptoms. Now hold still, I've almost finished the debridement. Or would you rather I use the maggots?"

Eyes widening in horror, Fíli shook his head. "No, no, I like tweezers. They're not squirmy and wormy and maggoty and..."

"Here, take another sip," said Bilbo, holding the pain tonic to Fíli's mouth. "Just a lil' bit, there you go. It'll take some of that nasty edge off."

"Why couldn't I be knocked out again?"

"Because you've lost far too much blood for my liking," answered Óin. He had an unpleasant looking set of scalpels in his hands now. "I'd prefer you ingest some food or warm drink before we let you fall asleep. It'll help replenish some of your lost strength and fight off the infection."

"Fíli?!"

The Dwarf-King came bursting through the bedroom doors, something he'd been doing more and more often as of late. Several members of the Royal Council could be heard in the corridor, all of them demanding clarification from the harried King about reconstructive damages, retribution, and the possibility of war with the home kingdom of the traitors. With a flick of his wrist, Balin slammed the door shut and then gave it a rather disdainful glare.

"Like a bunch of babbling toddlers, the whole lot of them," muttered the elderly dwarf. "Mahâl save us all from inborn stupidity."

"What happened?" demanded Thorin, stopping at the foot of his nephew's bed to examine the open wound. It was angry and swollen red, Óin trying his hardest to remove all the damaged tissues in and around it. "Who did this?!"

"Bilbo skewered him like a wild boar!" said Kíli with a cruel smile.

"It was quite the sight, watching a small hobbit stab straight through a full grown dwarf like that," crowed Bofur upon his arrival. Frodo was holding his hand and walking beside him, newly cleaned and clothed in a fresh pair of pajamas. Rupert, as usual, was a constant presence in his drooping arms. "Don't reckon I'd like to see it again, though. I'd much prefer our hobbit-y burglar remain just what he likes being, all paternal and garden-making and cooking extraordinaire of Erebor."

"Cupcakes?"

"Not for at least a few days, Fíli," said Bilbo, readying the razor blade to shave off all of the hair on the prince's injured thigh. "We need to get some hardier foods and warm liquids into you first, but after that, you can have all the icy cupcakes your dwarfy lil' heart desires."

Óin nodded in grim satisfaction at the irritated wound. "I've cleared away as much of the damaged tissues as I can, but infection's still a possibility. We'll have to make sure nothing gets into it. Oh, and you can start now, Bilbo."

"I feel bald already," Fíli grumbled. "A dwarf with no leg hair..."

"Button up, you whiny whelp," said the healer. "He'll only shave the hair directly around the wound site. You'll still look pretty for the lasses, so stop your belly-aching. Is my box of salves here yet?"