After the Battle of the Five Armies...

Heat and pain… His body was burning, fire raging in every tendron and every vein, and he prayed Mahal for only one thing. A passing with honour. He was hoping that the torment he was experiencing wasn't escaping his body in sounds, he gritted his teeth, and hoped that the Halls of Awakening would open their gate for him soon.

And he hoped he would not see his sister-sons on the other side. He fell, he saw Fili jump on the Pale Orc, both his blades already coloured with blood of hundreds of enemies, his teeth bared, rage splashing in the blue eyes. Kili's face swam out of the haze of excruciating pain in Thorin's broken body, his nephew's wide Dwarven sword glistened in the air, and then Thorin fell through the darkness.

It felt as if the fire was burning stronger, devouring him, its heart in the wound in his side, where the spear head entered him deeply, the shoulders and the back still remembered the shafts of arrows, and he thought that if the Forefathers were to bestow him with a gift of relief in Itdendum, he assumed it would be a dive into a cool pond.

Voices came, distressed, ringing in his ears, and he winced. He wanted them to go away, he seemed to feel the thread connecting him to the light coming from the slowly opening leaves of the large stone gates ahead, and he wanted to step ahead, but then a cool hand lay on his forehead, and it bothered him, and brought relief, but he prohibited himself from enjoying it. It was fleeting, and it would go away, and he would be left in the blaze of the agony.

But it didn't go, it was stroking the sides of his face, and then soft voice was whispering something, and he almost felt enraged, it was not letting him to go to the gate, and he felt there were just a few steps left, and then he heard his name… Thorin…

Something cool lay on his forehead, and a cup was pressed to his lips, the drink was bitter and earthy, and he sputtered it, mixed with the blood from his throat, but a cool palm was stroking his jaw and soft whisper crawled into his ear… Please, please, my King, you have to try…

And he did. For the cool hand, for the strange soothing presence near him, and the drink ran down his throat, and he choked on it… Soft comforting noises, more caresses, more touches… He made the last gulp, and then it was dark…


Minutes, or hours, or days passed, and with each passing instant the fire was ebbing, cool fingers brushed his wounds, smearing some balm, it smelled fresh and seemed to seep in, bringing chill with it, into the flesh and even into the bones, and soon he took a deep breath in and didn't feel charring ache.

Voices were becoming louder, but bothered him less, and he felt if he could just listened a bit harder he would recognise them. He couldn't remember any faces, the fire had burnt them out, but when terror would overcome him, he once again would feel this cool presence nearby, and soon he thought he could move his hand, and he shifted, searching for the fingers, they wrapped around his, the same soft murmur came, and he sagged in his bed.


The first face he saw when he opened his eyes was Balin, he was standing by the door speaking to an unfamiliar Dwarf, they kept their voices down, but Balin was gesturing in agitation. A soft clank came from another side, and Thorin turned his head with difficulty.

There was a table by the opposite wall, crowded with vials and jars and rolls of bandages. He saw a woman of Men, her back to him, in a healer's robe from the city of Dale, her hair covered with a scarf, her elbows moving energetically, she was stirring something, and then his lids felt heavy, and he fell asleep.


"And I am telling you, she is staying!" Fili's voice was shaking, from fury and, it seemed, from physical exhaustion, and Thorin stirred, but he felt too weak to open his eyes.

"She is not of Khazad, and you are letting her tend to your King, Fili," Balin's voice was quiet but firm, "And it is not even Elven magic, the herbs she is using… they are not of Men or Elves… And Fili, the healers said there was no hope..."

"I will decide what is best for the King, Balin," Thorin had never heard such authoritativeness from his nephew. "They say there is no hope, which means no harm can come from her trying. And if he… if Thorin dies, I am to take his throne. I am the King of Erebor, and thusly my decisions will not be disputed."

Thorin tried to speak, but his throat was constricted, dry, it was the heat again, and then he heard a soft rustle, he assumed the tent opened, and a gush of fresh air touched his face. There were soft steps, and a cold hand lay on his cheek, it was the same one, the same soothing presence he felt before, and he heard the same soft voice.

"Has he opened his eyes yet?" He understood it was a woman, and then he heard Balin's answer, strained and curt, and he assumed she was the woman he and Fili had been discussing.

"He did not, honourable healer. No changes." Cool fingers ran over his forehead, and he felt acute loss when they left his skin. She was comforting, he needed it, he wanted her back. Everything was gritty, painful, heated, she was like a drink of cold water after hours of walking in the heat, or toiling in a forge.

"He will," her tone was calm but resolute. "It is not long to wait. He might even hear us now."

Balin made some sort of disgruntled scoffing nose, and then Thorin heard the sound of an irritated jerk of the tent's fabric. There was silence, and then Fili spoke.

"He does not seem any better, honourable healer," his voice was full of doubt, now that Balin had left, and Thorin felt her fingers lightly run on his wounds, examining the bandages.

"He is, Fili, you just have to patient." She spoke to him softly. "He is closer to us than to the Halls of Awaiting now. He will return. Remember, he promised to me?" Fili gave out a chuckle, it was weak and uncertain, but Thorin noticed genuine warmth in it.

"I have recognised you the moment you entered the tent, honorable healer."

"You have not change much either," there is was a light teasing lilt in her voice, "The same stubborn pout." He chuckled again, and Thorin tried to stir. He needed her to touch him, to return to him, he felt almost jealous, and then her palm cupped his face and he forgot his irritation. The other hand joined it, she stroked his beard, and the relief her hands brought lulled him to sleep.


Thorin, you have to wake up… You gave me a promise, my King… You, stubborn, cantankerous, temperamental Dwarf, you promised me… Khazad warriors do not break their promises, and I have returned… You said if I come back, you will ask me… And I did… Open your eyes, Thorin…


"Kili, what are you doing here?" This time her voice was almost irritated, and he stirred. He didn't like her like that, he liked her touches and soothing words, weaved into his dreams, calming, bringing respite from the pain.

"I needed to see Uncle."

"You should have asked someone to assist you. You cannot strain your leg."

"The healer said it is healed enough."

"And your healer is a dimwit," she snorted derisively, "They will leave you limp for life. Sit," her tone was imperious, and Thorin suddenly felt something was familiar in it, as if from long ago.

"They prattle behind our backs… They dispute Fili's decision to keep you here…" Kili's voice was distressed, "They say he should have awoken by now," apology was laced into Kili's voice, and she made the same scoffing sound.

"And I thought they said he was supposed to be dead by now." She was busy with something, Thorin assumed she was by the table he already knew was by the wall. "And yet he is still breathing." There was a pause, and then she spoke much more softly, "Forgive me, I spoke harshly. I just sometimes feel like bashing their thick Dwarven heads together. I understand their prejudice, but I am certain of my craft. I will bring him back. Kili, do you hear me?" She shifted, Thorin heard soft steps, almost inaudible, "Trust me, Kili. I know I can help."

"I believe you..." Kili's voice was shaky, he took a deep breath in, and they were silent for a few seconds. "It is just… He had always seemed invulnerable, staunch… And he is so..."

"Broken?" She walked up to Thorin again, he had learnt to recognise her presence, and brushed her hand on his forehead, moving hair off it. "He is not, Kili. He is still fighting now. It is the hardest battle. And he is winning. Neither one of us would have endured the way he can..." Her tone was tender, and Thorin felt a tinge of pleasure from her words. He was slipping again, this time he seemed to have stayed longer, and her hands were on his bandages again, and for the first time he regretted falling in his slumber.


"Leave her," Fili's voice was harsh and loud, and Thorin jerked.

"I am removing her from my brother's tent," Thorin recognised his sister's voice, it was harsh, almost hysterical, and then the healer's soft voice followed.

"Fili, do not argue with your mother over me. I can leave now, anyone can continue my work. Forgive my intrusion, lady Dis. Birashagammi. Biraikni y'umal, Dis, adran safkitabi 'aimukhurb." I am asking for forgiveness. With the lowest bow. It is time I left.

Shocked silence hung in the tent. Her Khuzdul was impeccable, and then he heard Fili speak in Khuzdul.

"Amad, she nursed him to health. He is breathing, and he is less pale. They were all saying he would die, he still has not joined the Halls of Our Forefathers. Send the guards away."

"It is no trouble," the healer spoke in Common Speech, "Accept my respect, lady Dis. I can indeed leave now, other healers can change the bandages, and he will awaken soon, I assure you."

Thorin felt panicked, she could not leave! He needed her! Her cool touch and her presence, soft and reliving, were what kept bringing him back, with each time longer, and he felt that just a few more moments, full of her voice or the strokes of her hand, and he would open his eyes. He seemed to be seeing light, seeping under his lids, and he stirred. He needed to make them let her stay! His throat was dry, as if full of sparks from under a hammer hitting an anvil, but they were taking her away from him!

"Honorable healer, please do not take..." Fili rushed to reassure her, when suddenly Dis' loud voice interrupted him.

"D'aklut Mahal aglub!" Let Mahal speak. It was an order to be silent, and both the healer and Fili grew quiet. Thorin felt fierce gratitude to his sister. "His breathing has changed."

There was shuffling, and a hand lay on his forehead. It was warm and sturdy, and he frowned.

"Thorin?" Dis' voice was hopeful.

He pushed himself, he had to make steps to keep the healer near, and the lids fluttered, the light splashed in his eyes, and faces, hazy and blurry, started taking shape in front of him. He jerked his hand, his fingers twitched on the sheets, and Dis' grabbed his hand. He met Fili's blue eyes, wide open and brilliant, and Thorin whispered, "Magl… Magl rathkh..." The cool… cool hand.

There was some clanking again, and suddenly a cup was pressed to his lips again.

"Drink it, drink..."

There she was, he met her eyes, obediently drinking. The lashes were long and thick, framing the strange colour, fire opal or amber, and he collected all strength left and grabbed her wrist. She was making comforting noses, encouraging him to drink, and then the cup was empty, and she tried to move away. And then she laughed, softly and quietly, and his heart clenched.

"Fili, could you please take the cup? Your Uncle does not let me go."

He loved her voice like that even more, with little bubbles of glee in it, and he fell back into the pillows, his fingers slipping off her, and he felt panic, but then she wrapped the fingers of both her hands around his hand on the sheets, she sat down on a low stool near his cot, and he allowed himself repose.


She was humming a song, and he cringed. She was terribly out of tune, but then he opened his eyes, and saw her straight back again, she was rolling up bandages by the table, and her shoulders were moving slightly in the rhythm she heard in her head, but honestly speaking was not capable to relay. The scarf was gone, and he stared at the waves of coppered gold scattered on her shoulders. The curls were mad, there was so much of them that it was like a halo around her head, each thread swirling and slithering on its own accord, shorter ones sticking out, and then she suddenly swung her hips and shook her head. The bright orange mane wavered, curls bounced, and she turned to him and threw a glance at his face, probably in a habitual gesture, probably repeated thousands of times through the day, and she froze staring in his eyes.

He recognised her immediately, or perhaps he knew from the start, from the very first touch of her cool hand, or from the soft whisper of his name. She was around twenty five, but she looked younger. She had the same build, once again he thought she looked as if made of twigs, the same angular face, high cheekbones, wide mouth. She did not grow into a beauty, and he felt the corners of his lips twitch.

"Wren..."

Tears were running down her face, and he lifted his hand towards her, she rushed and knelt in front of his bed, clasping his hand between her cool palms, and he sighed contently.

"Thorin..." Her voice was shaking, and she pressed his hand to her lips. And then she suddenly jumped up, dropping his hand on the sheets, "The tonic, the tonic..." She rushed to the table, and he watched her rummage through the jars, clanking and quietly mumbling under her nose. She was fussing, and he was simply watching her move.

Another bitter drink was poured into his throat, and he compliantly drank. She was whispering some comforting nonsense, and he was looking at her freckles. He was clasping her other hand in his weakened fingers again, this time she just placed the cup on the floor at her feet, and he pulled at her arm weakly. She looked at him not understanding.

"What?"

"Sit..." It was easier to speak, after the drink washed down his throat, and she shifted, her nose twitched, and he suddenly felt merry. The habit was still there, he had not thought of her even once in these years, but he suddenly remembered every little detail. The turn-up nose, the shape of the lips, she was giving him a dubious look, and he remembered her not believing him to be a King. Kings were old and grey for her then, he was a beautiful prince.

She finally tucked herself down, on the very edge of his bed, he was fighting with his sleep, he wondered if the draught was making him drowsy, and she started stroking the back of his hand with her fingers, and his eyes closed against his will.


He woke up, strange dim light passing through the open flap of the tent, and he understood it was close to dawn. Kili was sleeping sitting on a bench by the wall. There was a long cane near his hand on the bench, bright white sling was supporting his bent right arm, altogether the pose seemed awkward, but there was a blanket thrown over him. Thorin assumed someone tried to make him at least a bit more comfortable.

The tent was cool. Thorin lifted his arm, there were pristine white bandages on his left upper arm, he remember an Orc arrow, its black fletching, and he shifted his whole body, trying to feel what hurt. Everything did. The side, where the spear left a gushing wound in him, they probably had to cut out its head, the shoulder of the right arm, the right leg, all the left side, and to think of it all his muscles and all ligaments, and he groaned. It felt like ache even resided in the bones.

The tent entrance moved, and Dis came in. She was carrying a mug with something hot, and Thorin caught the smell of broth, some herbs laced in its aroma, and he remembered that there existed food in the world.

"Kili," Dis softly shook the shoulder of her younger son, "You need to eat." Thorin shortly thought he would not say 'no' to a mug of broth as well.

"Is she back yet?" Kili's voice was raspy from sleep and from being bent under an unnatural angle for hours perhaps, and he sat up with a frustrated grunt.

"No," Dis' voice was soft, "It has been seven hours, Kili, and all her belongings are gone. She is not coming back."

"Amad, do not blame yourself, you have not insulted her," Kili took a sip. Thorin understood that he was lying in the shadows, and that was why they still had not noticed that his eyes were open. "She didn't take offense, I'm certain."

"Then why did she leave him? She saved his life, she was to nurse him back to health." Kili blew at his mug and took another sip.

"Perhaps she thought her work was done." Dis sat on the bench near him heavily, and then she threw a look at him and ruffled his hair.

"When did my inudoy become so grown-up?" He smiled to her widely, the same boyish white-toothed grin Thorin remembered from all these years.

"You wound me, amad. Fili is the mature one here, I was just looking for an adventure." She wrapped her arm around him and pressed her cheek into his shoulder.

And that was when she saw Thorin watching them, he realised there was a tear running down his cheek. Dis gasped and pressed her hands over her mouth. Kili awkwardly jerked, pushing the mug onto the bench, and started getting up, blindly battering his hand in the search of the cane.

"Water..." Thorin rasped, and Dis rushed to him with a cup.

He drank, cold liquid sliding down his throat, and he felt his hands shake. She left. The healer was gone.


A/N:

Amad = (Khuzdul) mother

Inudoy = (Khuzdul) boy