Hey all, not much to say other than thank you for the support on this one so far, other stories are being tackled presently... This is what happens when life becomes good when you get a new job and motivation. Strong Tower (Thorin and Onua) is my next post and then most likely Bittersweet at this rate so keep your eyes peeled cause I'm on a roll. Also check out my profile for links to my tumblr story archive which has covers for my stories and pictures of my original characters and more content will be added soon. I am also jumping into the Sons of Anarchy fandom so take a look at the first chapter of Miss Tacoma if you're a fan of Tig and the Sons and let me know.

Enjoy!

Chapter Two

The Outskirts of Moria, T.A. 2798: The fifth year of the War of the Dwarves and Orcs. Thorin: 52, Bofur: 42, Kahvi: 38.

He couldn't quite remember how it had happened in exact detail. He had felt the pain that crippled him to the ground, saw the Orc raise his sword high in the air for the final blow then everything had gone dark as the sword began to fall. When he regained consciousness, Bofur had been lying among a dozen corpses; both Orc and Dwarf alike; his leg throbbing and head pounding.

He tried to convince himself it was just a flesh wound; tried to be optimistic and drag himself to his feet. It'd been pointless as he'd collapsed back to the earth before he'd gotten to his knees, breathing heavily through gritted teeth.

The fight had finished.

Night had fallen and the cold crept over the barren wasteland that was stained with the blood of Dwarf and Orc alike. He lay there for only Aulë knew how long before they came upon him. He had been simply staring up at the stars; picking out the constellations that he knew and creating new ones for his own amusement, imagining himself as one for some great deed he knew would never truly happen. His leg poorly wrapped with a torn strip of cloth from his shirt.

Dwalin and Thorin had been among the party searching for those still breathing among the carnage and finishing off the Orcs as they came across them.

Even years on from that night he could remember how Thorin had been screaming out his name and it comforted him to know he had gained such a friend in Erebor's young prince in those years. He'd called out to them and was rather glad when they'd come rushing to his side.

Thorin immediately dropped to his knees and began searching him for injuries. Bofur saw the hard set of his friend's jaw as sapphire eyes had settled upon the poorly wrapped wound on his thigh.

"Not as bad as it looks," Bofur remarked, grinning at Thorin who actually gave him the smallest of smiles while shaking his head.

"We need to get him to the infirmary," Dwalin said and reached down, hefting the smaller dwarf up onto his shoulder as though he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes. Bofur had managed to bite back the groan as his thigh had been pressed into the armour covering Dwalin's chest.

It was quite a trek to the infirmary and no matter how much Bofur had tried to insist it was not as bad as they may think Dwalin didn't put him down.

Dwalin pushed through the curtains and into the large infirmary; the immediate smell of blood and rotting flesh should have choked them but after countless days spent upon a battlefield, they were unaffected by it.

People rushed about but heads turned when Thorin appeared and Bofur felt ridiculous at being over Dwalin's shoulder like he was. He was a fighter, not a woman in distress.

Speaking of women.

"At least the company in here is a sight better than out there," he mused, smiling weakly at a number of young females who all shook their heads at his remark but smiled back nonetheless.

Thorin chuckled seeing what had caught Bofur's attention. Thorin, only some months back had oddly called upon the females not attached to any but their blood kin and placed them among the healers in the camp. They were helpers; the healers barked at them and sent them running for things or ordered them to watch certain patients in the night. Bofur had tried to question Thorin on it only his friend had remained mute on the matter. Dwalin said it had something to do with one of the healers in command of the infirmary and left it at that.

Bofur didn't mind, despite not having spent more than a few hours in total in the infirmary over the past few years, he had grown to like seeing the pretty females here and there.

The older, more gruff healers had grumbled and whined about them being distractions; they may well have been but a pretty face was a far cry better than theirs were.

Bofur sighed in mourning as he was carried away from the females. He glanced upon the injured that lay upon the makeshift cots all huddled close together; some were resting, others were complaining of their ailments to the healers and women who were dashing from cot to cot, giving food, water and medicine to those in need of it.

In a way Bofur was glad he fought on the battlefield and not in the infirmary. He could deal with masses of Orcs trying to murder him but the idea of braving this each day sent chills down his spine.

Most nodded in respect to Thorin who strode ahead of Dwalin. They passed by a small number of empty cots and Bofur wanted to pipe up and protest that they could just leave him upon any of them and he'd be fine after some rest.

He wasn't all that eager to have the healers grabbing and poking at him.

Towards the back of the infirmary; among the beds for the healers and stores for supplies, Dwalin located a cot and laid him upon it. He straightened up and muttered something about finding a healer and disappeared. Bofur felt like pointing out that they'd walked past five or so on their way in; Thorin needed only to grab one and haul them along with them.

The young dwarf glanced upon his friend in question; five years they had been friends. Five long, hard years of serving in the army for this war and Bofur had become one of several dwarves to fight within the company of Thorin himself.

He knew what an honour it was, being part of the kings' guard; especially give that he was not in truth of Durin's folk. Alongside of him there was Dwalin, Bifur and Oin who aided Thorin when he charged headlong into the massacres that had become their daily life for the last few years.

Bofur was far luckier than most during battle and had avoided death and serious injuries more often than not.

Lifting his head, his dark eyes took in his surroundings. It was quieter back here; most of those around him were sleeping soundly.

Thorin stood by the cots end, right forearm covered by a rather fresh and nasty cut but he made no move to have it tended to. Bofur came first. His men came first.

When Bofur finally looked upon his thigh, his stomach tightened painfully and he could feel his face drain of any colour upon seeing the wound in actual light. Blood matted his pant leg; the cloth of his pants slashed and now stuck to the wound itself, the wound was deep and from movement had started to weep again. His thigh began to throb as the pain fully settled in on him.

Swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, he dropped his head back onto the cot; had it been any higher he knew he wouldn't have made it off the battlefield alive.

As he lay there, no longer up to complaining and trying to talk his way out of letting the healer see to his leg, Bofur wondered if he'd be sent back home now or kept here until healed. It was hard to judge. There was every chance Thorin would order him sent home because he'd be unable to fight for the next month or so and that was if he healed at a decent pace but maybe Thorin could find another use for him.

He didn't want to be sent home because it meant leaving Bifur and all his new friends behind to brave the fight alone; an idea he didn't like to entertain.

When Dwalin returned moments later, Bofur was somewhat surprised by the sight he was met with. Being dragged along behind the large dwarf was a young dark-haired female covered in bloodied clothes. It wasn't her gender that surprised him most; he didn't mind the idea of a female poking and prodding him right about now, no – it was the sight of her pretty, round full face free of any beard and a nose uncommonly small for dwarf kind that claimed his surprise. He'd never seen a fairer creature in his years.

There was barely a cot spare anymore. Everyday one of the injured would recover or pass into sleep eternal and another would take their place. The cots were stained with long since dried blood and she knew they smelt terrible but given the situation there was little they could do. Clean sheets were a comfort for the injured that they didn't have. Most of the sheets they had originally stored away were now torn to strips and used as bandaging for the lesser injuries.

Crouched by the cot of a patient, watching his chest rise and fall steadily as he rested where only an hour prior she had been barking at three others to restrain the poor soldier as she'd amputated his right leg. The cut he'd sustained, along his calf and over his knee, a week ago had festered; the blade which had caused the wound no doubt had never been cleaned and was covered in filth.

Initially she had cleaned the wound day and night, ensured it was always stitched and wrapped but it had been out of her hands. The soldier had chosen life over limb. Once he was able, Kahvi knew he would be sent home to the Ironhills. She prayed he survived the journey back with the other patients who could no longer charge into the slaughter of battle.

Five years it had been since her first day in the camp and revealed herself as a female. It had been Kaan's idea and a brilliant one at that. She had travelled, hooded, cloaked and padded up to resemble him. She had kept to his tent during the nights and of a day she would linger behind the men, her face covered in a false beard made from the clippings of her brother's recently cut beard.

Once in the camp, she had revealed her identity and it was too late to send her home; they couldn't spare the men to take her.

Her first day she had spent being ordered around by the head healer; he had been sour towards her the whole time, grumbling that a woman had no right to be among the camp, that she was bad luck.

It had been her third night when she had been given the chance to show what she was really made of. The young prince Thorin had been injured, a sword had bitten through his armour and into the flesh of his shoulder. The head healer had retired and Kahvi had been the only one awake, tending to the injured where she could.

Dwalin, a dwarf heavily tattooed, tall and sporting a Mohawk had come looking for aid. She had been the only one he'd found and settled for her. Being dragged into the tent of Thorin Oakenshield had been a very frightful experience for the youngling but she had braved it and saved the prince's sword arm.

The next morning she was promoted to the rank of head healer, alongside the elder one and became Thorin's personal healer. He had questioned her upon her appearance only once; her reply had been sufficient, saying she was just born like it, and neither had spoken of it since. She had gained the respect and friendship of the prince of Erebor. It had been through that friendship and respect that she had convinced the prince to allow females to work among the infirmary; if not to heal than just to aid the healers where possible.

Thorin sent for any willing female that very night. Few came, but those that did, Kahvi appreciated their willingness and want to help.

Hearing the horn sound outside, Kahvi glanced over her shoulder to where one of her aids came through the sheet curtain.

Night had come and another day of battle was over. How many more would there be now? The skirmishes had disappeared in favour of brutal assaults upon the gates of Moria. After the sacking of Gundabad, the beheading of Thrór and the disappearance of Thráin; Thorin, their king, son of Thráin had become desperate.

Kahvi tended to the young king whenever in his tent late in the evenings once his soldiers were looked after. She was the only healer allowed into his abode; he refused treatment until she was free. At times, she wished he had chosen another, older healer to tend to him. His tempers were frightening to watch but it was the times when he was silent that terrified her; his eyes were far off and he never even flinched or groaned when she pierced his flesh with a needle.

He was barely fifteen years older than her and yet in moments like those he seemed far beyond his years.

"Get hot water ready, make sure there are bandages, gauze and needles ready," she told the female who quickly bowed her head and disappeared.

Pushing herself onto her feet, she headed out of the enclosed area and made her way to where the injured would arrive. Bare tables would soon be littered with dwarf men all covered in blood, some their own, some not and needing aid.

She watched, weary eyed as the first were carried in; some on the shoulders of their kin and friends, some upon make-shift stretchers. As they were laid upon the tables, she began to take note of the most grievous of injures and which would take priority; deep, long cuts and head injuries always came first and rest of the healers dealt with the broken bones and cauterising of wounds.

Looking down at her hands, she wondered if, after everything was over and done with, the stains upon her skin would leave or stay and haunt her with memories of the lives that she had been unable to save.

Drawing upon her reserves of courage Kahvi headed for the first table where a dwarf lay clutching at his stomach as blood spilled over his shaking fingers.

It was going to be a long night. Just as it had been for the better part of the last five years. She only prayed Kaan wasn't carried in on a stretcher, that she would see him hassle an aid somewhere close by as she worked.

Kahvi had just finished tending to the last of her patients when Dwalin came striding towards her. Had she been any other dwarf, male or female, she would have shrunk back in fear of the large, mohawked and tattooed dwarf. Kahvi though dipped her head in respect to the warrior.

"Dwalin," she greeted, turning to wash the blood off of her hands.

Before she had the opportunity to enquire as to what he was after, or where he was hurt, he had seized her by the arm and began to lead her towards the back of the infirmary.

"What in the name of-?! Dwalin, what are you-?!"

"One of Thorin's guards was injured; we only just brought him off the field. He's lost a lot of blood," he stated as they weaved through the throng of people. Kahvi needed to take small, fast steps in order to keep pace with his large strides, elsewise she'd be dragged behind him like a little girl's ragdoll.

As they came upon the cot bearing the dwarf in question, Kahvi barely spared him a glance as her eyes found his injury and its poor bandage before she turned to order one of the nearby aids to get her bandages, gauze, hot water, needle, twine and a dagger.

Turning her dark eyes up to the dwarf's face, she gave him a kind smile seeing how pale and exhausted he looked. Moving to the cots side, she crouched down.

Kahvi made to reach out to try and free some of the cloth from where it stuck to the wound only a strong, calloused hand caught hers before she was able. Glancing back to his face, she saw the pain clearly in his dark eyes and sighed heavily.

"I'll try and keep this as painless as possible, but I can't take it all away," she whispered to him, eyes shifting to where Thorin and Dwalin stood near the cots end, conversing quietly to one another. "You're lucky you didn't bleed to death out there."

The dwarf merely grinned at her when she turned her attention back to him. "You're very pretty," he blurted out.

Thorin and Dwalin went silent and looked at their friend; torn between amusement and frustration of his disastrous tendency to blurt things out, at the most inconvenient of times, without thinking.

Kahvi's ears burned red in embarrassment. The poor dwarf was delirious. The comment though weighed heavy on her; never had she seen herself as pretty. To have a male dwarf tell her as such was very flattering even if it was because he had lost copious amounts of blood.

"Honestly lad," Dwalin mumbled, shaking his head as Thorin chuckled.

"I doubt you'll think that when I'm sticking a needle into your thigh," she said bluntly to her patient who paled a little. Both were saved as her aid she'd barked her demands to came rushing over with what she needed.

"Do you require help?" the aid inquired, dark eyes looking on the wound with unease.

"Return to what you were doing," Kahvi ordered firmly as she shifted through the items at her side. "I have Dwalin to help – should I need any."

All three dwarf men seemed surprised that she'd volunteered the large warrior to aid her should she require it. Bofur caught the reluctance on Dwalin's face before he nodded once Kahvi turned her eyes on him.

In truth, Dwalin was worried that disagreeing with the she-dwarf would result in a scene more terrifying than facing a battalion of Orcs by oneself. Kahvi had quite the reputation for possessing a fiery temper that rivalled Thorin's and was three times more stubborn than any dwarf male in the camp.

Dwalin had witnessed first hand her temper when she'd first come to the camp five years ago and she'd lost one of the warriors she'd been trying to save. He had understood her pain; the frustration that she must have felt at having been unable to save the dwarf's life.

In the years that followed, Dwalin and Thorin had watched the she-dwarf become a strong youngling in her own right. It mattered not that she was female, highborn and beardless; the lives she had saved were beyond countable these days and the infirmary would not be like it was without her in charge.

The old healer who had recently been stripped down of his commanding role had cursed Kahvi; a female had no place in the camp, she should be back home making pretty trinkets and hoping to catch some man's eye – if they could look past her curse of being without a beard.

Deciding that he didn't need to be on the receiving end of Kahvi's temper, Dwalin moved to stand by her; waiting for her to ask his assistance should she require it.

Thorin sat upon the empty cot on the other side of Bofur's and watched as the she-dwarf pulled a small, thin dagger from a sheath at her waist.

Bofur visibly tensed upon the sight of the weapon. Thorin had crafted it for her not long after she had saved him.

"I'm not going to cause you further injury," she stated while grabbing a handful of his pants just above the knee. With one slice, she ripped the leg of his pants open and then tore it off. Bofur opened his mouth to voice his complaint of her ruining his clothes but a swift shake of the head from Dwalin, he smartly closed his mouth.

He rested upon his elbows, watching as Kahvi slowly cut a tear into the remaining cloth on his leg and slowly tore it up until it reached where his blood and mutilated flesh clung to his skin like dried, caked mud.

Knowing what was coming; Kahvi turned her attention to Dwalin. She didn't need to say anything as he moved to crouch behind Bofur and proceeded to wrap his arms about the younger dwarf, pushing him down onto the cot and holding him fast. "Best not to watch laddie, we don't need you losing your breakfast over us," he supplied.

Kahvi counted to three and ripped the cloth from where it clung to his skin. Bofur hissed, cursing out in Khuzdul as Kahvi grabbed some gauze and dipped it into the hot water.

When she first pressed the damp gauze to the skin just beneath the wound, Bofur groaned and tried to shift his leg.

"I need to keep you from getting the fever," she told him, slowly wiping the dirt and blood from his thigh. Despite breathing heavily through his nose, Bofur nodded and squeezed his eyes shut.

Kahvi smiled softly and continued to clean the underside of the wound. The cut was long and deep.

Every so often she would glance up at him to find his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling in rapid beats.

"How long will he be in bed?" Thorin inquired after she had cut away the cloth which clung to the top side of the wound.

Kahvi sighed, glancing upon the mighty prince sitting before her and then carried on with cleaning around the lesion. "A few weeks, if he heals fast and keeps to the bed," she replied and Bofur cracked one eye open to see her watching him with a clear warning.

Despite the throbbing in his leg Bofur grinned at the healer and mock saluted her. "Warning heeded, my lady," he commented, winking at the she-dwarf.

Thorin chuckled and Dwalin rolled his eyes as Kahvi nodded.

"Should he offend you in anyway, you're most welcome to injure him further," Thorin remarked and Bofur sighed noisily while Kahvi chuckled. "He does not always take things as seriously as he should."

Kahvi placed a bloodied hand on his calf and felt him twitch. Dark eyes turned to her. "This isn't going to be any less painful," she said softly moving to pull upon the upper portion of his mangled breeches. "I'll have one of the girls find you a wearable pair of breeches too."

"All good lass, I can manage fine with these, one-legged and all. I'll get 'em patched when I get back on my feet," he replied through gritted teeth.

She was impressed. Normally the men would be complaining about how much it hurt, how rough she was or how that it was taking too long to fix their ailments.

By the time she had finished with patching him up, Bofur was unconscious. He hadn't been able to stay conscious as she dug the needle and twine into his thigh. Thorin had excused himself not long after and Dwalin had thanked Kahvi for aiding the dwarf. She nodded.

"You know I'm happy to help, Dwalin."

He watched as she scrubbed her hands clean; the blood slicking. Her skin was stained. She cursed softly as she scrubbed harder. He stepped over to her and covered her hands, startling her. "It never comes off. I look at my hands and all I can see is the ones I couldn't save," she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

"Don't dwell on them, sweetheart," he said and tucked a hand under her chin, tilting her head up to his. "See that fool over there." He turned her attention to the unconscious dwarf she'd just patched. "You saved him." She nodded. "And you have saved countless others among us. Not all can be saved, as much as you, I and Thorin wish it possible."

Kahvi's eyes lightened and her lips curled up in the corners. Dwalin grinned. "Now there is my pretty little healer," he teased earning a scarlet blush exploding over her smooth cheeks.

Kahvi sighed softly as she curled up on the small pallet; her back ached in relief and her feet welcomed the respite. It was barely past midnight, an early turn in for her. Dwalin's words still hung about her. He was right and she knew it.

Glancing across the small area that was doused in the dull light of a lone candle, a sheet drawn across for some measure of privacy, Kahvi had to stifle a snort of laughter at the deep snores coming from her newest patient.

He'd woken a little while ago; bleary eyed and sore. She'd coaxed him into drinking some water despite his objection to downing the liquid. Apparently he preferred ale. His disheartened look at her telling him alcohol was prohibited until he recovered was adorable. He'd slipped back to sleep mere moments after, mumbling something about dreams of golden fountains that ran all day and night with ale.

It was endearing. In amongst all the horrible and gruesome he was still able to think of nice things. He was keeping himself alive with thoughts of after the war and not dwelling on the thought he might not walk out of the war.

Kahvi had opted for this small area in the back corner of the infirmary so she would be close to the injured if they needed her at ridiculous hours of the night. Some nights Kaan would amble in and collapse upon the cot that Bofur currently resided in just so each sibling knew the other was safe.

Words were barely ushered between them anymore. Kaan had lost an eye two years ago but Thorin had kept him on at both Kaan and Kahvi's pleading, he sported a nasty scar from his lower back to shoulder blade – that had nearly killed him had Kahvi not gotten her hands on him so quickly.

That day had rattled her. She'd almost lost her brother.

Rolling onto her side, she curled up beneath the blanket and fought back hot tears at the memory of being so shaken she'd barely been able to stitch him back together. Thorin had been at her side, offering whatever assistance he could as the old, grumpy healer had muttered about her being too emotional to handle such a task.

She'd saved him in the end.

In the dim light, her grey eyes watched the steady rise and fall of the sleeping dwarf's chest nearby until it began to lull her to sleep. She nodded off not long after; curled beneath the blanket and exhausted but knowing she'd need to rise in a few hours to check on Bofur's leg and make sure he was alright.