Having not been out in the world for nearly twenty years Ianthe has been dying to wander again, and when an old friend visits she is anything but calm upon hearing of some dwarves quest. So when Gandalf comes to her cottage and claims to be in need...
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The wait to see their beloved mage seemed like it lasted for days. Many within the company decided to 'keep watch' outside the room she had been given, and even though they had been told it would be a while before she would actually wake, they refused to leave. Their hearts grew heavy when one of the healers in Rivendell explained the full extent of Ianthe's injuries. In addition to the three ugly strips that not brandished her back, many of her ribs had been fractured and broken— thanks to the Wargs heavy paw— to the point that they dug mercilessly into her lungs. The bruise to her spine that she acquired from their encounter with the trolls was no better, and her arms and legs seemed to have grown dark with bruises and cuts she had gained from her time in the forest. They were told that, if her body reacted to their healing methods as ointments well, then she should wake by the fourth day.
But as the fourth day grew closer the more they waited with bated breath. Oin had often grilled that the dwarvish healing methods were better suited for someone like Ianthe and that he could have her awake and feeling better in no time at all, but no one dared step through her doors without hearing that she was awake. No campfires or stories were told as they waited for their mage to return to them. Little Ori had tried to set off a series of songs one night as Bofur played his flute, but the mood around their make-shift camp— they had refused any rooms given to them— was somber. Even the brothers were sat huddled together, hands in their laps as they kept quite. Kili kept his gaze low and his fringe fell to cover his eyes as he let out a deep sigh.
He had wanted nothing more than to burst through the door of Ianthe's chambers hold her. His heart was frozen with worry and the fear in his chest was still there. The only thing that would ease the prickling feeling of the dwarf prince was to see that Ianthe was alive. He was the one in front of her door this evening, eyes locked and unblinking on the cold door handle. Kili wasn't exactly sure what he would do when the healers finally announced that she was awake, but he knew that as soon as he was given the chance he would be by her side. The look in her eyes as the Warg trampled her body haunted him. It was often that he found himself at the Elves training grounds when he wasn't waiting in front of her door. His fingers were rubbed raw from the endless amount of times he had pulled back the string of his bow, and the bruises that littered his elbow and forearm from a careless form showed how long he truly spent firing his weapon. But anything to get her off of his mind. The pain in his arms and shoulders were nothing compared to the pain that settled deep in his gut when he thought about her and how she had pushed him back and out of harm's way.
The day was coming to an end, which meant the next person on watch outside of her door would be coming soon. The pad of Kili's palm was pressed against his forehead as he let out a deep sigh, his elbow resting against his knee as he leaned forward. He was exhausted, and though the thought of closing his eyes to rest for a moment sounded quite appealing, he refused to give in. Stay awake he thought to himself, his hands slapping his cheeks to try and wake himself up a bit. He blinked rapidly before pressing his fingers into his eyes, hoping that he could rub the sleep that settled in his eyes away. Yet as he fell back, his head resting against the cold wall behind him, he shut his eyes for a brief moment. He didn't open them though, even when Ianthe flashed in front of him. Her smile was inviting and warm, and the fluttering of his heart was a sweet feeling he had grown to love. He could hear her laugh echo in his mind, and he could see the way the blue of her eyes swam like a roaring sea when she listened to his crazy stories. Kili frowned though, and his eyebrows knitted together when the image shifted and he saw the hurt and guilt that captured her features during their captivity by the trolls. It changed again, and this time he could see the determination that clouded her yellow eyes as she pushed him into his uncle's arms as the Warg attacked her from behind, her blood coloring her clothing and the ground an ugly red. His lip quivered at the sight, and his nails dug deep into his palms when tears stung the back of his eyes. He felt useless in that moment. He knew he should've tried to fight harder against his uncle, or that he should've grabbed her and pushed her in front of him when they first started running, or he could've—
