Of Stars and Stone
Chapter 9
Night Watch
It had been weeks. Bofur could not stop wringing his hat in his hands, watching as Óin moved to the bed where Kíli laid. He sighed when Óin indicated no change. Of all the dwarves, Óin and Bofur spent the most time with the youngest of their company. He remembered so clearly the day they brought the king and his sister sons back into the mountain for what they all thought was the final time. Realizing that Kíli clung desperately to the edge of life had shaken them and left the company in an unending state of anxious anticipation.
There hadn't been much to do for him but monitor his lungs and heart. The wound on his chest, though appearing deep and grave, was surprisingly clean and needed little tending. On that first day, it had needed the most attention. They had carefully cut away the clothing covering and around the wound before applying a dressing with one of Óin's homemade ointments and sealing the wound. The dressing was changed regularly even though the wound had oddly stopped bleeding well before they discovered Kili's condition. They hoped it might ease his breathing and increase his heart rate to normal, but no change had come. They spoke to him telling stories and jokes, gently eased water into his mouth, and kept an eye on him through the night.
Óin and Bofur had only abandoned their charge twice and only on the condition that someone remained with Kili. They had stepped away to join the rest of their company as they led a large procession of mourners to view their fallen king and prince. Not all the dwarves or Bilbo could contain their tears and disbelief as they walked to where their comrades lay.
Thorin had not been laid in splendor of gold or kingly robes. He rested upon the tomb in his eternal repose dressed in the garb that he wore in his final battle, that in which he had won back Erebor. The Arkenstone shone in his hands and Orcrist lay at his side. Forever he would be entombed as Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, the leader of his company who took back his kingdom and died to protect and keep it.
Fíli had been placed just as carefully on his tomb, his sword laid upon him and held in his grasp. Both uncle and nephew had been cleaned, redressed, and postured with great care. For the last two weeks, Dwalin had stood guard over Thorin during every step and through all processions as dwarves came to mourn and pay respects. He felt that he had failed in every duty, so he would carry out his protection even in his king and friend's death.
Most felt a warring of shame for failing their purpose and not knowing what was next, but Dwalin perhaps more than the rest. He had tried to reach Thorin but was waylaid by so many fell creatures to hack through. They'd slowed his progress and he couldn't help thinking of how he might have changed their fate if he'd have been there. When he was not standing guard for Thorin and Fíli, he was impatiently pacing outside Kíli's healing room or brooding in his brother's company.
Dain had taken the mantle of King and postponed official ceremonies and feasts in order to make a hasty though temporary return to the Iron Hills. None of the ten dwarves or Bilbo argued the point as no one knew what the future held for Kili. Whether he would wake or not was yet to be seen, and even less known was how changed he might be after such a destructive blow. If he ever regained consciousness, would he be fit to rule? Would his body or mind survive the trauma intact? Even though the wound to his chest had mostly closed, it was not fully healed and there was no telling what other damage was yet to be seen.
Just that morning, Bofur would have sworn that he'd heard Kíli's heart stutter even in its slowed state moments before a tear fell from his closed eyes. He called to him, touched his shoulder and gripped his hand, but got no response. His coloring was still so pale.
The rest of the morning had been uneventful. When Óin came to take over, Bofur decided he needed air. He loved nothing more than being within the mountain, but after so long enjoying the outdoors on their journey, he admitted only to himself he wouldn't mind a more frequent exposure to the cold fresh air. He thought maybe he would take over a watch on the wall or at the gates before returning to the healing room.
As he made his way through the halls of the mountain, passing where they were repairing the rooms that would be for the king of Erebor had his thoughts turning once again to their fallen friends and the uncertainty of Kíli's fate. He hoped that those rooms might be home to Kíli sooner rather than later. Mahal forbid he never wake to see them at all. Heading up the main corridor to the grand entrance, he wiped the tears from his cheeks and shook himself steady as he replaced his hat upon his head.
Relieving the dwarf at the gate, Bofur swung his scarf once more around his neck and hefted his mattock to rest upon his shoulder. Breathing deep he looked out across the open field towards the south. With the destruction of the town on the Long Lake, Dale was being rebuilt under Bard's guidance. Some lights from the city now broke through the darkness and burned until dawn. Men and dwarves were not so different, he thought, that they would both be working through day and night to rebuild their homes.
He thought back to the last time he stood watch over the gate. It was closing in on midnight and just as cold and windy then as it was now. He'd been warming his hands over a brazier and watching the elves move archers into position when Bilbo came upon him. The hobbit had thought Bofur didn't know he'd been attempting to sneak out unnoticed and was surprised to be caught in the act. He couldn't blame Bilbo for wanting to be elsewhere. He'd left the wall to wake Bombur for his watch, believing that was the last he'd see of the hobbit. Surely, he had thought at the time, the fight would not last long and none would see the end of it.
None of them should have been willing to fight the elves or anyone over gems in that treasure horde in the first place. Granted, his own opinion of elves had swayed a bit in their favor after witnessing one of them heal Kíli and then weep over him to the point of collapse. That was something he didn't quite understand but didn't question. He'd liked her and hoped she'd fare well against the wrath of that snobby stuck up king of hers.
Lost in thought and memories, he thought he might take a small wander from the gate to see if he could find any unruly sprouts of kingsfoil to bring back to Óin. Before he could really entertain the idea, movement from the south caught his eye. He swung his mattock off his shoulder and squinted, waiting in stillness until the horse and rider came clearer to his sight.
"By Mahal's beard…"
Shaking his head in disbelief, he lowered his weapon and waited for their approach. A few moments later, her cloak fell back from her head as she dismounted, revealing her long flaming hair. She approached the large gate on foot, her horse following without bidding. He shouted greetings from the ramparts.
"And just what brings one of the fine eldar folk to our humble mountain nigh on midnight?"
"Mae govannen, master dwarf."
Though a smile seemed to form at her lips, the shadows of sorrow in her eyes was one he knew all too well. Quick and nimble, Bofur came down the steps to her.
"Lady Tauriel," he said as found himself removing his hat and bowing to the tall elf before him. "You are very welcome to Erebor."
He took a moment to be impressed by the manning of the city from Dain's men that had stayed behind as a young dwarf ran up to take care of the horse, even though he seemed unsure of its rider. Since Bofur had greeted her with welcome though, the younger one didn't question and jogged off with her horse in tow.
"To what do we owe your visit?"
"I have something of Kíli's to return."
It couldn't be anything substantial as he could see only what she wore and carried on her person. Her daggers, bow and arrows were on her and little else. Even if small, it had to be important to bring her to their gates now. Before he could ask what it might be, the sound of heavy running footsteps coming from within the mountain, stiffening both their spines. A moment later Bombur appeared, impressively large, wide-eyed and a bit out of breath. Bombur put his hands on his knees and breathed heavily while Bofur and Tauriel looked on in confusion. When he finally straightened and spoke, they shared a brief glance at each other before Bombur turned and ran back from whence he'd came. Bofur was hot on his heels and dragging Tauriel by the hand in stunned confusion behind him.
"He's awake!"
Sindarin translations:
"Mae govannen" - Well met.
