Trial of Leadership (10/11)

'I keep waking up in strange places.'

That was Fíli's first coherent thought once he managed to open his gummy eyes some time later. Above his head, he could see a roof, only slightly charred. A smoky smell laid over everything, but he could also smell the sharp odor of blood and something spicy, like one of Óin's dreadful ointments. And sheep. He cleared his throat cautiously.

The feeble sound drew attention, for hands entered his field of vision, holding a cup of water. A hoarse voice spoke, which Fíli recognized though he didn't understand the words. "Bifur," he rasped after the water had unlocked his throat.

A pat on the side of his face, very gentle, and then that inscrutable face darkened with emotion. "Uzbadê, íridzu du-khuzd belkul."

"Um," Fíli said. "Okay, Bifur. Would you help me sit up?"

A querulous voice scolded him from somewhere out of sight: "You should lie still."

Fíli craned his neck and saw an elderly woman approach. She laid her cool, wrinkled hand on his forehead. "Fever's gone down, finally. Wasn't sure it would. I've heard dwarves have a strong constitution, but you were pretty far gone. It's been two days."

"Two days?"

The woman hummed. "The blows you took to the head did you no favors, but it was actually the other wounds that were more serious. They were putrid with infection. I thought you would lose that arm."

Fíli's fingers clenched compulsively, sending a shock of pain straight to his elbow. Instinct told him he owed his wellbeing to this woman's tending, and he thanked her sincerely. "You have my gratitude."

"You almost had no one to thank, you young fool," she answered in a crotchety tone. "That wound was deep and stinking. I didn't think I could drain it."

"Spiders," Fíli said weakly, feeling the deep ache in his belly where it had pierced him and where the healer's lance had sought out the infirmity. "My side, too."

"Yes. Stupid not to have treated it."

"We weren't in much condition for that," Fíli said, but even as he did, another thought occurred. "I wasn't the only one bitten. Are the others well?" Not slaughtered by the orcs, or stuck with an arrow –? He didn't realize how hard he was breathing until Bifur laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

"They're well," the healer said. "We tended them. None were as bad as yours."

Bifur raised his tunic, revealing what remained of a puncture wound high on his ribs, busily mixed in with his other scars. It was well on its way to healing.

"Guess I was unlucky," Fíli said, relieved.

The healer gave him a pointed look. "Even youth can be pushed too far."

Fíli knew she was right, though it made him feel like a fool. He'd known there was something wrong, and he was certain that when he saw Dwalin, he would hear about it. For the moment, though, there were more serious concerns. Searching the healer's face, he asked, "Did many die?"

She paused. "Not so many. We would have lost more had you not come to our aid."

Closing his eyes, Fíli said, "I'm sorry that you had to lose any."

Picking up a armful of bandages ready for use, the woman moved toward the door. "Your people are waiting. Since you're awake, I'll tell them."

She was gone only moments before the flap over the door was flung open. Fíli was startled when Ori suddenly fastened onto him. Propriety caught up almost right away, however, and he backed up onto his knees, embarrassed. "Sorry," he muttered. "It's just so good to see you awake. Did I hurt you?"

Fíli stretched his stiff body, feeling the reluctant aches, and couldn't help repeating a proverb he'd heard many times: "Pain means you're alive. Right, Mister Dwalin?"

"I've had enough of your mimicry," said the older dwarf sternly, but in the clearer light, Fíli could see the fretful lines on his face. To his surprise, Dwalin made no effort to hide it, even going so far as to lower himself onto Fíli's sickbed. He asked, "How do you feel, Laddie?"

"Much stronger," he said, trying to sit up. In the end, he required a hand from Ori and Bifur. "Still, I'm sure I'll be hale and hearty soon enough. Those ugly punctures are sewn up, and as for my head, I've been told it's quite hard."

"You could have lost it entirely," Dwalin said, reaching out carefully to part his hair. Fíli hissed when fingers found the newest knot. "I saw you face that orc with its scimitar, and you carrying only a hatchet. Did I not teach you better?"

"I saw it, too, from the tower," said Ori, his voice bordering on awe. "You were brave."

"Stupid, you mean," muttered Fíli, uncomfortable with the way Ori was looking at him. It was bad enough before, but this was ridiculous. Hoping for reprieve, he attempted to engage dependable Bofur. "Serve me right if I were decapitated, wouldn't you say, Bofur?"

However, the perpetual joker let him down. Much quieter than usual, he said, "No. It was brave."

Sensing a change in the current between them, Fíli looked sharply at his companions. The last he'd spoken to them, he'd been sure they were ready to dump him in the river. Now they were acting strangely. Had he worried them so much?

"I'm fine," he said reassuringly, in case that was it. "Better than I have a right to be, considering. Perhaps it wouldn't have been so without you. Thank you for coming back."

"It was the right thing to do," said Nori. It was the first time he had spoken, but now he leaned closer and said, "Fíli, I wasn't thinking right in that shed. You were right not to jump straight to violence; it would have been wrong. You should have seen these people, after the orcs left."

"Everyone was weeping, their faces stark white," Ori said sadly. "After the fires were out, some of them just sat down on the ground and rocked. It was terrible."

"They aren't fighters," Nori said. "If we'd have left, those bastards would have killed everyone, and I can't bear thinking of it."

For a time there was only grieved silence; however, Dwalin didn't allow it to hang too long. "Laddie," he began. "I was afraid for you."

Fíli rubbed the back of his neck. "I know better than to ignore a wound. I suppose you think I got what I deserved."

"Never would I think that," Dwalin denied fiercely, but there was something else, something beyond how near Fíli had come to death. Something Dwalin seemed to be struggling to articulate. Finally, he spoke plainly. "I'm not an eloquent dwarf. My brother's always been the deep thinker. He calls me simple, hot-headed, but I've always embraced my nature. I speak what's on my mind, and I think with my fists more often than not. I've always taken pride in that."

Fíli was confused. "I don't understand, Mister Dwalin."

Dwalin grimaced. "There's no other way to say it: I'm sorry."

"Sorry!" Fíli's eyebrows flew into his hairline. To say that he was shocked to hear those words was an understatement. Never, in his entire life had he heard an apology from Dwalin son of Fundin. It was enough to make wonder if the blows he'd taken were causing him to hear things. "But, Mister Dwalin – why?"

"Because I let my prejudices get the better of me. I judged based on my own way of doing things…and on Thorin's. If I'd had more faith in you, maybe things would have been different."

Fíli felt humbled and slightly sick to his stomach. He didn't feel that he had earned such faith. "I haven't given you much reason. I've lead us into disaster at every turn, and now this. I don't even know for certain that Ki – that Thorin – waits for us at Lake-town. We barely survived, and we may have come all this way for nothing."

Ori reached out and grasped his hand. It was childish, but the warmth of contact did bring comfort. "You're too hard on yourself, Fíli. I think you've done wonderfully."

Fíli almost rolled his eyes, for he knew that Ori saw all his efforts through a lens biased in his favor, but to his surprise, Nori echoed him, "He's right. You've had the chore or leading a bunch of mules around by the nose, and I think you've managed it well."

"It's true," Bofur piped up cheerfully. "I think I'll be remembering Mister Dwalin's face dripping with mud for all of my days!"

Fíli grimaced; that childish outburst of his was still embarrassing to recall. He looked at Bifur. "Everyone is so encouraging. Have you any more just criticism to give?"

The old veteran gazed at him with his misty eyes, which so often seemed far off and unknowable. But now they were rapt, and as he watched they filled with tears. "Sâti khuzd belkul," he said, and made a sign that was unmistakable, a fisted hand thrust against his heart in grave salute.

Deeply moved, Fíli looked around at his friends, soaking in their warm regard, something he'd had reason to believe he would never earn. He still wasn't sure he had done right, but there was a relaxing of tension, a certain peace, in knowing they didn't blame him for his mistakes.

"The truth is that I'll be happy to leave these cares to Thorin." Fíli said, covering his eyes. "It makes me tired."

Very low, almost too low for any to hear but Fíli, Dwalin murmured, "You would make a good king."

A kind of pain filled up Fíli's chest again, but this time it was easier, much easier, to bear. Offering his old mentor a smile, he said, "Let us hope we will never have to find out."

The fever passed, and with his wounds properly tended, Fíli made strides toward recovery. It would be hard to travel, but he knew that with help he could. It was a good thing, too. The nip of the freshening north wind admonished him. If they were ever to catch up to his uncle before Durin's day, they must go soon.

However, there was a discussion that needed to happen before then. Valor agreed to speak with him, and they met outside the healer's cottage. Fíli was somewhat surprised to find Jordon was with him. More surprised still when the first thing his former adversary did was extend his arm, a gesture between equals. He said, "I didn't believe you. I'm sorry."

Fíli took the offered arm and gripped it with strength. "If it had been me, I might have done the same. I understand."

"But I do not." The lines on Valor's face seemed more strident than ever, and his hair was mused with the passage of restless fingers. "You joined a battle to defend your captors when you could have gone."

Fíli couldn't keep a sliver of humor from coloring his voice. "How many times must I say that we are neighbors?" However, when Valor's frown remained fixed, Fíli tried another tact. "When I saw your folk being attacked by those orcs, it just wasn't in me to walk away. That's all."

Valor's eyes were turbulent and deep – like the river. And also like the river, they were wet. He blinked, asking, "Are all dwarves so foolhearty?"

It made Fíli's heart lift to hear that admonishment, because it was wrapped in acceptance. Acceptance they could build on. Yet before he could continue speaking, a feather-light touch on his knee interrupted him. He looked down and found a child standing by him, large dark eyes on a solemn face. Puzzled, he glanced at the men for an explanation.

"This is my daughter," Jordan said. "She was behind the door."

Behind the... "Oh," Fíli said. Sadly, he smiled at the quiet child, who had been witness to such terrible violence. "Hullo, lass."

Her nose scrunched, and in that moment it was easy to see her father in her. Then she raised her arms in a wordless request. It was a universal gesture, one easily understood. Fíli glanced at her watchful father, but he made no objection, so he lifted her and sat her on his knee. There she peered at his face, the blond stubble and his pale eyes, which he tried to curve into pleasant shapes for her. Finding her gaze had latched onto the gristly stitches, he offered a grimacing smile. "I bumped my head."

Jordon spoke. "She saw."

Fíli glanced up with understanding. He read the gratitude Jordon couldn't express. Bolder now, the girl patted Fíli's chest to draw his attention. Her fists caught his hair and pulled down, so that her cool lips could place a kiss on his nose.

"Good girl," said the old woman, who was lingering nearby. "Nothing mends wounds faster. Make sure he drinks that tea, and you'll make a fine healer one day." She pointed at imperious finger at the clay cup in Fíli's hand.

Jordon's daughter remained in his lap for the rest of the interview, turning the tassel of his hood in her fingers and pressing the noxious tea into his chin when he left it neglected too long. Fíli was soothed by her presence, a tangible reminder of what might have been lost had another choice been made.

There were practical matters to speak of. For one thing, Fíli was concerned about the orcs. He didn't understand their presence here. Dwalin, who was leaning against the building, shook his head. "It may be that you're right. Azog and that other filth I could reason away as something to do with the quest, but –"

"Not this," Fíli agreed. "These weren't a bedraggled group of scavengers. They were warg riders, with weapons that had been forged, not stolen." He remembered that scimitar vividly. His notched ear wasn't nearly so bad as Dwalin's, but he would always remember that weapon by the flesh it had sheered away.

"We didn't realize it was orcs," said Valor. "We thought they were wainriders, after the horses, or just bandits. This is much worse than we feared."

"You think there may be more?"

Valor looked up. "Don't you?"

Fíli nodded regretfully. "There's something –" He struggled to describe his dread. Mountain trolls in the gentle bottom lands, goblins infesting a pass thought by a wizard to be safe. The Greenwood infested with spiders, and now wandering bands of orcs where they should not be. He shook his head. "Something isn't right, Valor. It may be best if you moved east. Further from Mirkwood."

"You're likely right," Valor said, looking with regret at the burnt remains of his village. "We didn't want to abandon our home, but were it not for you and your people, we would have lost everything."

Fíli agreed. Orcs did not leave survivors unless they took them as slaves, which by most was considered a fate worse than death. Still, as he felt Valor's grief, it moved him to say, "You may feel like you're being driven from your homeland, but you can reclaim it. Survive and return another day."

He didn't expect the sympathy in Valor's eyes as he said, "You're right. I just hope it will not take so long that my great-grandson must fight for it."

Fíli grinned. "Hard to say. The lives of men are so short."

Dwalin snorted.

"On to other business," Valor said. "Getting you and your company safely to the end of your journey. We can outfit you, and if you don't mind the smell, there are weapons in plenty. We took them before we burned the carcasses."

The acrid black smoke was still lifting into the air, and it did stink.

"That would do fine," said Fíli. "But what would do even better is a guide. I hate to admit it, but we haven't done well on our own."

Jordan lifted his daughter onto his hip. "I'll take them," he said, and when everyone present looked at him with suprise, he pinned Fíli with a fierce, proud eye. "You protected my family, even after I did you harm. I don't know if I believe in a King Under the Mountain, but if there was one, I would not mind if it were you."

Fíli coughed. "Well, I'll probably get eaten by a dragon."

Jordon made a sign, a ward against evil. "May it never be."

Next Chapter Summary: Finally, the company of Thorin Oakenshield is finally reunited.