for all the gold || hobbit {completed}

chapter twenty-six - all's well

I remember clambering up onto the giant eagle's back after Fili. I remember holding him tight, my arms wrapped around his middle. I remember the world suddenly falling out from beneath us and how I had buried my face against Fili's shoulder, unable to watch as the eagle flew off of the frozen waterfall's edge.

I had no memory after that, besides waking up some hours later, buried beneath a stack of blankets. 

It had been the familiar scratching sound of Ori's quill pen that had pulled me out of my slumber and the younger dwarf cast his pen and book aside as I began to stir. 

"Whe- wha- Water," I just about managed to make that word out, my throat parched and my mouth uncomfortably dry. The entire right side of my face ached with a vengeance and even the smallest movement of my mouth was enough to send sharp shooting pains upwards. 

Ori helped raise me up - and if I had thought my face hurt, my body was another matter. As I took slow slips from Ori's proffered water cup, I managed to gain my bearings. I was in some form of makeshift camp within the Mountain. Even from where I sat on the floor, at the furthest end of the hall, I could see the dark night sky outside through the cracks in the Mountain's ruined entrance front. 

"We won?" I managed, and Ori nodded eagerly. The younger dwarf was still in his armour from before, with mud still smeared across his face and caught in his beard, but he was otherwise unhurt. Rather he was stained more so with ink than with blood.

Ori saw me look to his quill and book. "A history of the battle," he said, almost apologetically. "I thought future dwarves should know what happened here."

I could only nod, uncertain if future dwarves really would want a blow-by-blow account of such a battle. Memories of it were slowly coming back to me in brief sudden flashes and I could only hope Ori left out some details, particularly the part where I had bitten Azog's leg. 

Before I could secure a promise out of Ori to re-write history, Oin came over. Like Ori, he appeared uninjured, rather busily moving about with an armful of bandages. 

"You're awake, are you?" was all he said to me, before he set about, poking and prodding at me. 

"Ow," I said, going to swat his hand away after the fifth time he prodded my swollen cheek. It was then that I realised my left arm had been fixed between two splints. "I broke it?"

"No, just a sprain," Oin said, before rattling off a list of my other injuries. "Some broken teeth, some loose ones, a nasty bruise on my right cheek, bruised ribs, bruised back, a sprained wrist, a possible concussion and mild hypothermia."

"What's the prognosis then?" I just about said. My tongue rolled over my teeth, noting the damage, wincing at the worst of it. Looked like I would be eating broth for the next however long. 

"What?" I repeated myself, louder. "Oh, that, you'll recover just fine. Some rest, no sudden moving about. Lots of fluids." Oin clapped Ori on the shoulder and already the younger dwarf was re-filling his water cup up. "Oh, and no biting any more orcs."

I could only groan as the Company's medic walked off, laughing to himself. I wondered how that story had got out already. My suspicions fell on Dwalin. 

I shook my head to Ori's offer of more water and instead set about climbing back up to my feet, despite Ori's protests. It was then that I realised I was no longer in my sodden tunic and trousers, but someone had stuffed me into what had once been a potato sack, with arms and head fortunately cut out. Whatever it was it was surprisingly comfortable, dry and warm. My hair had yet to dry still, falling about my shoulders in damp strands and plaits.