Chapter Ten

Tumbling Down

She turned, firing the arrow already tensed in the string, but she was far, far too close for it to save her. Her heart thudded in her ears. It took a split second to throw the wood from her fingers and reach –

Thump.

The world inverted, throwing her implausibly away from the ground. For a split second, gravity itself was nauseatingly absent. Then she was enveloped in a hot, suffocating embrace that tossed her back, assaulting her with pain that was as if bricks had just dropped out of the sky and landed on her chest. What little breath remained left her in a scream. Everything closed in. The only thing between her and the warg was the slip of metal she'd managed to get into her hand just. The pressure on her wrist was like a hot poker, but it was her right leg that was truly on fire.

Someone screamed her name. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Her throat was clogged with the stench of the animal and its impact to her ribs, the sensation seeming to crush her entirely. She realised the creature must have dug into her leg at the thigh and there was blood pouring down her arms – but it wasn't hers. By some miracle she'd stuck the short sword through the back of its jaw, and it was this that was holding the muzzle away from her throat. The viscous liquid streamed over her hands and into her hair; onto her face. But she couldn't let go. It was her shield. She felt as if knives were going in to her wrist and wedging the bones apart, but she could not let go. She was still fighting. She shrieked with all the anger she could muster, even as the warg writhed.

But it was too heavy; too much. Her limbs shook. Her head physically hurt with the effort of holding off the pain and the stink – she couldn't…(her vision tunnelled)…she couldn't keep going, she –

"AAAARRRRRRGG!"

For a moment she was irrationally distracted. The cry made something sing in her suffocated blood. She'd never heard him sound like that. The hell? Why did he sound like that? Why (she remembered that night, looking to find him looking at her…when something had shifted in her chest)…why? Wh…

Thorin hit the warg like a storm wave, shoving it from her. Pain lanced through her, even as she was pulled back from the brink, her entire being narrowed to holding in the scream. Her lungs were full of broken glass as they tried – and failed – to work.

"Kili!"

Thorin's voice sounded a long way off, though the vibration thundered in her ears. She was aware of being hauled to her feet and propelled towards the crack.

"Oh Aulё, come on, nearly there," Kili's voice shook violently even as he tried to sound calm.

Senga wrenched herself desperately back together and forced her legs to take her weight. It hurt – oh, holy FUCK it hurt! – but she stayed on her feet, bringing her surroundings back into clarity. Kili was white as a sheet. Fili was behind him at the fissure, and Thorin –

She was pressed into a barrel chest, an arm around her waist. The grip was immovable as the mountain. It had been there the whole time.

"Down we go!"

The chest was suddenly gone and she was in Fili's arms, sliding down, down. The sunlight vanished and the air was full of heavy breathing. Kili came down after them, and finally Thorin. The brothers held her close, stalwart in their positions in front of her. The wargs closed on the entrance; only a matter of time before discovering where their quarry went. Senga still couldn't get her chest to inflate – this was a problem. Spots danced in her vision as quickly as she tried to dismiss them, compounded by their close quarters and the pain ravaging her, dragging her away with it as she tried to resist.

Any second –

Horns. Very specific horns, melding together as they drew closer.

She looked to Gandalf to see recognition spreading over his face as well. They could hear the commotion of horses and the panic of the orcs as they tried to resist the onslaught. A thud, a scream and without warning a rider fell heavily through the fissure and rolled onto the floor amongst them. Senga's blood froze – before she realised the creature was obviously dead. The noise faded; they were retreating. They were gone.

Thorin stooped to grasp the shaft of an arrow sticking out of the orc's head.

"Elves." He said dully, casting the arrow away with dull disgust. He looked up at Gandalf, searching for something in the wizard's face.

They'd just been rescued by elves bearing the horns of Elrond.

Right…okay…

Senga bit on a growl as her lungs shredded, her eyes spiking suddenly. Instantly, Thorin's eyes were on hers, piercing and intense.

"Are you injured?"

Utilitarian. Nothing more. But the emotionlessness was a mask she knew well, even if she was in no state to try and see past it. And his to-the-point was…comforting. In the end, she said the only words that came clearly in her rapidly darkening brain.

"I canne breathe!"

Instantly, the air cleared. Thorin and Oin all but chased everyone else away – the only reason Thorin stayed was because he was too busy with her to notice Oin's exasperated glare. Ignoring his king's protests – and Senga's airless yelp of surprise – the old dwarf placed his hands on either side of her rib cage and gently pressed. The air stuttered in her throat, but only a little pain hummed through them, at least compared to what had recently racked her. Oin seemed to nod before removing his hands and putting them on her shoulders, easing her into a crouch. The old dwarf whispered soothing encouragement as he settled her down, looking over the blood on her face.

"Lassie, I need you to take deep breaths," he said patiently. "Long, deep breaths…tha's it! Go on!"

Senga shuddered with the agony of disturbing the bottle bank in her chest, but it did get easier. The burning gradually died down, the spots dissipating from her eyes. Suddenly her attention was given back to Oin as he looked from the blood to her eyes in growing alarm.

"Lassie..."

"Don' worry," She said croakily. "Most o' it's no' mine."

She pushed herself determinably to her feet, barely swallowing a scream as her thigh tautened. It…wasn't as bad as she'd thought. She gripped Kili's arm mercilessly as the brothers rushed to support her, but she didn't let them carry her. She did a mental check and managed to distinguish the pain.

Twisted knee: check.

Sprained wrist: check.

Claw stab wounds: check, but not debilitating. Maybe unhardened leather wasn't as useless as everyone thought. Or maybe she was just lucky. Either way there was nothing, in theory, that would stop her walking.

Bruised (but not cracked) ribs: check.

Not so bad then. She'd come away without permanent injury, as long as she was careful with the knee. She'd just begun to allow herself a morsel of victory, when Dwalin found his voice.

"Well, seems tha' was a lo' o' fuss for nothin'."

Senga's spine went rigid. Fury boiled past the need to care about her injuries as she started towards Dwalin. She was done with this. Balin raised a hand, but neither paid it attention.

"Yeah, 'cos I'm sure YOU'VE 'ad HUNDREDS of wargs jump on your fuckin' chest! Knoin' YOU, they could've danced on your twatte' HEAD an' you wouldn' have bloody felt it!" She didn't give him a chance to respond before she was an inch from his face. "You're a fuckin' bastard, you kno' tha'? You treat me like I'm an unfortunate you dragged ou' of a fuckin' ditch – only, I wish you'd make up your mind whether I'm a prostitute or jus' a SPOIL' CHILD determined to EMBARASS you! SO FUCK YOU!"

The last words she spat, at the same time shoving him in the hard in the diaphragm with the heel of her hand and all the forgers' muscles in her shoulder. It hurt – good fucking god it hurt – but Dwalin's surprised grunt made it absolutely worth it. And with that, she turned on her heel and strode down the path without a backwards glance.

"Well, I vote we go that way." Bofur's calm irony contrasted supremely with his expression. Balin shook his head, pointedly ignoring his stunned, red faced brother. To be honest, the image left him wondering what Dwalin had been expecting. He turned to the lads, both of whom looked furious.

"Wha' happened?"

"She got jumped." Fili snapped. "If she 'adn't been so quick with the knife…"

"She nearly got her throat torn out after standing and defending you lot!" Kili yelled accusingly. Balin felt bile rise in his throat.

She could've been killed, right there, by an anonymous warg of all things.

Bofur's expression grew grim. The rest stood around in various states of shock, Ori looking as if he wanted to dash off after her. Dwalin had the decency to look ashamed, if not apologetic. Kili would've rounded on him had Thorin not intervened.

Balin ran a hand over his eyes.

"We should probably follow before she decides to leave us behind." He sighed. "No' tha' I would blame her – brother, I have no sympathy." He added harshly as Dwalin let loose a wince. "We have a duty to her, one way an' another!"

"I will have…no duty…to a little bit –"

"Dwalin, this is hardly the time to express your protests about the validity of our efforts and even less a time to trade insults!" Gandalf said suddenly, seeming to appear behind Fili and Kili. "And perhaps it would be wiser to continue through the passageway, as Bofur so blithely suggested." He added pointedly. Dwalin growled dangerously before stomping in the endorsed direction, not looking at anyone.

One by one they followed, no one wanting too badly to catch up with the two ahead. Thorin glanced just once back at Balin. The lads were plodding despondently along behind him, and Bofur was more or less leading them all. They walked for hours in this way, the passageway open to the sunlight high above them. The fissure above them seemed like a river of gold set amidst the muted limestone, filling the air with sparkling dust. It was so quiet – almost shamefully so for a group of dwarves. But the weariness of heavy hearts hung in the air, holding them in its grasp. Suddenly, Kili appeared at his side with a frown.

"Why does Dwalin think Senga's sleeping with me?"

No preamble, just straight to the point. Balin stumbled on one of the rocks loose on the sandy floor. He took a moment to choose his words carefully.

"Because…he likes to think the worst of her. An' her affections for you."

"But it's not like that, I swear by Aulё!"

"I kno', laddie, I kno'! Bu' Dwalin doesn' want to see her as more than a human who has no righ' to be here an' who is, by extension, after our gold."

"But…Senga's never been in it for the gold."

Balin shook his head desolately.

"I kno'."

"Bilbo Baggins, if there is one thing I've learnt not to do it is to get between two dwarves when they are ready to fight. Especially if one is a woman and especially if both believe they are justified. 'Tis better to abandon such a fire and retreat until it has passed, hoping that it has not done irreparable damage."

"But Senga isn't a dwarf…"

"Well…no," the wizard conceded, a little evasively. "But it would be hard to deny her the heart of one, especially after weeks with their men."

"I just hope she doesn't start closing herself off again. It was so hard to get her to talk about anything when we first started this, and Dwalin's done nothing but treat her with distain and suspicion!"

Gandalf had no answer to that, but instead sighed wearily. He could only share the sentiment that they had not lost the little progress they had managed to make.

Senga simply stood. The effort of ceasing her march – given that it was only bitterness left to suppress the agony of each step – was great indeed. But for the sight that greeted her it was worth it all. Never had she dared imagine seeing it with her own eyes, the late afternoon sun spilling spectacularly down the falls and alighting on the rooftops and bridges, turning them softly golden as the light split subtly over the tumbling water. The added colour seemed to purposefully make visible the layer of magic surrounding the place, but it was not needed from her view high on the valley wall. The whole image seemed to hum.

A breeze stirred from below, fluttering over the grime on her skin and lifting the lank strands of her hair; cool and soothing. It isolated her there on the cliff top before the Hidden Valley. High, and wild, and free.

She would've shut her eyes, had that not meant divesting herself of the sight.

Somewhere behind her, heavy footsteps halted, announcing themselves with a low growl.

"Bollocks." Dwalin muttered harshly. Senga didn't turn, but on a whim (and possibly because the wind was softening the pain) she spoke, plainly and evenly.

"'s no' my desire to take from you, you kno'. From any o' you. Protection, gold…sex," she tried not to shudder at that last one. "'s no' wha' I wan'."

The dwarf seemed to consider her.

"Wha' do you wan'?"

She turned back then and looked – really looked – to see the unconvinced expression. The suspicion. Behind which was the disappointment. Who the fuck was he to be disappointed?

Before she could question it further, the rest were stepping out onto the ledge, all ranging from stunned to grave and a few staring between Senga and Dwalin. She was sure she felt Thorin staring, but as soon as she looked, his eyes were elsewhere. The clank of an axe shaft hitting rock punctured the heavy silence.

"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf seemed in between relief and resignation, voice bold with the sudden promise of civility. "In the Common Tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell." Bilbo said softly.

"Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea."

Thorin spun around, face hard.

"This was your plan all along – to seek refuge with our enemy."

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!"

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us!"

"Of course they will! But we have questions that need to be answered."

Senga, despite herself, smirked. Cheeky bastard.

"If we are to be successful," the wizard seemed to straighten. "This will need to be handled with tact. And respect. And no small degree of charm." He took a heartbeat to survey the bedraggled group before him. "Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Senga felt the snort in her throat at that, but it stuttered as she made to move again. Pain lacerated her right leg, threatening to crumple it from beneath her. She snapped her mouth shut to contain the hiss and disgustingly pathetic whimper that followed, instead putting her energy into forcing her strides to be even. It worked well enough as they descended the path, though the consequence of her concentration was a lack of attention to spare for anything else. Just the ground immediately in front of her feet. One foot after the other. Repeat. Repeat.

"Aye, lass, we're nearly there." Bofur appeared sympathetically at her elbow, knowing better than to offer an arm, but rather keeping company as best he could. Senga couldn't help but tense. Why couldn't she accept his comfort? Her head came up and she stared resolutely ahead, face betraying nothing.

She would not be weak.

Even for Bofur? The third thoughts questioned uncertainly. A sidelong look revealed his slight look of hurt, and his more prominent frown of concern. Guilt edged into her fuzzed brain, but she didn't know what to do. She'd never had to know what to do, other than to move on. But Bofur cared about her, clearly, and she couldn't just walk away from him and Balin and Bilbo...and Fili and Kili.

And Thorin.

Why the fuck not? Why was so hard to go back to being alone?

Sleep. She needed sleep.

Bifur joined his cousin and muttered something Senga wouldn't have been able to decipher had she known the language, his perceptive eyes catching hers. She looked away. The question in them was almost unbearable, especially since she had no idea how to answer it.

Fortunately, it was becoming more and more difficult not to be distracted by their surroundings. The path they were on grew steadily less ragged, the stone itself seeming to grow the patterns appearing on its surface. The swirling vines grew more frequent and more distinct, as if beckoning them, and the wind Senga had felt on the cliff whispered through their party. Almost as if it were scanning them. Checking them. When they reached the bridge it appeared all the dwarves had been put into a state of unease, glancing from innocent tree to elegant bush with mounting suspicion.

Then again, even these appeared to be more than what their eyes automatically processed. As if everything they were seeing held something of hidden in the common shroud of magic permeating the area. In the bloom of summer, the foliage was lush and soft, the earth rich, and the steady rush of water met her ears far below them as they crossed, the noise in tandem with the whispering breeze. Nevertheless, even given the childhood spun associations of peace and astonishing beauty being confirmed as the elvish city loomed before her eyes, she had to admit it was all a bit creepy. The sentinel statues either side of the end of the bridge seemed to watch as they passed between, clad as they were in the garb of their carvers. Peaceful…except they were in full battle gear.

Despite the grim battle she still fought with the pain, another smirk tugged the corners of her mouth. Yes, elves were beautiful, glamorous even.

No one ever said they had to be nice.

She was about to pass between the sentinels when it happened. For a split second, her world flashed with the force of a thunderclap and she was met with a pair of deep, almond-shaped eyes the colour of the sky at dawn. The look was fathomless, beyond, searching silently.

Then it was gone. She blinked.

"Senga?" Bilbo was staring at her, alarm creeping up his features, and she realised she was stood stone-still before the gap.

Did I imagine that?

"Lassie?"

Half the company were looking now and the thought snapped her out of her the daze. Jesus. She raised her foot…and did not imagine the fireball of agony that twisted up her right leg, released at last from her concentrated ignorance of it. It trembled violently before finally refusing to take her weight, almost pitching her off her feet had she not balanced quickly on her other leg with a strangled, closed-mouth howl.

"I was wonderin' when tha' was goin' to break." Oin said dryly.

"Aye, tha' knee's lasted longer than any of us would o' though'." Gloin looked between natural concern and the sort of look you gave a teenager in a strop.

Breathing hard and flushing with shame, Senga clamped her jaw in place and reigned in her composure to take one, two (not looking at anyone) three –

"Miss Senga, you'll do yourself a real injury if you keep doing that!" Dori pointed out exasperatedly. Senga rocked to a halt on her good leg, about to bite out an insult when movement caught her eye at the top of the flight of stone steps leading away into the city proper. She tensed automatically, and swept her eyes over –

Okay. She'd probably never trust tall men. At least they were right about them being fair.

The elf met her eyes fluidly as she looked him over, cocking his head a little to the side as if curious to see what she was. He continued down the steps, unphased by her gaze, feet utterly silent until he chose to announce his presence. Everything from the way he moved to the way he seemed to have all the time in the world reminded her of a sleek cat, moving languidly along a wall. She felt grubby in comparison.

Far from being embarrassed, she raised an eyebrow at him. The elf seemed surprised – more surprised than he already was at the sudden appearance of a group of dwarves – and appeared to file this away before flicking his gaze abruptly from her to the wizard and calling a greeting.

"Mithrandir!"

"Ah, Lindir!"

Senga felt something at her shoulder. She turned and was shocked to find Thorin suddenly behind her, glaring at the elf to whom she was actually the closest.

"We heard you had crossed into the Valley," Lindir continued in seamless Elvish, the lilting words struggling to resolve themselves as Senga dredged up her slightly rusted knowledge. Still, it eventually came naturally as she recalled teaching it to herself in the lighter moments of her youth. As a child, she'd wanted to sound graceful – detached – and magical; afterwards she'd learned Klingon.

But she never forgot.

"My lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here? Where is he?"

The sound of trumpets behind them made them turn, Thorin inexplicably taking the opportunity to put himself between her and Lindir. Senga scowled at him, awkwardly stumbling back like the gawkiest damsel in the world. She realised suddenly that this was all she was to them; a burden to be protected because of the word of an old dwarf and a wizard. At that moment, she couldn't decide what made her more annoyed: the dwarves' irrational over-reaction to the elves, or the fact that, in the end, she'd proved to be just as much a useless, get-in-the-way, bollockless maiden as she'd feared back at the trollshaws.

It might have made it better if she'd even been excessively pretty or innocent. But she wasn't. Just no. She'd been trying. And she'd failed.

Elrond's horsemen weren't slowing as they cantered across the bridge. The fact seemed to dawn on the dwarves and she and Bilbo were launched mercilessly into the centre of a protective circle, but Senga was long past caring what the rest were doing. As the horsemen circled, sat proud and fair in the high stirrups, she threw her head back, arms crossed, and sought out Elrond. The elf lord was resplendent in an interlocking red plate that offset the winding patters of his circlet, an orc sword in his hand. Clearly returned from the hunt. He dismounted, oblivious to her stare, and greeted Gandalf fondly.

Her third thoughts watched for a moment, observing the touch and open affection he offered the wizard.

She shoved curiosity away in favour of a closed glare. As if on cue, the elf's eyes swivelled round in mild surprise (as if he'd seen her from the start but chosen to do things in respectable order). Senga held the eyes that had seen the turning of the world for over four millennia and opened her mouth.

Always a bad sign.

PISS OFF!

"That was discourteous."

The effect was instant. Whether it was because she'd just accused Elrond of being discourteous whilst being herself covered from head to foot in blood, sweat, ash and mud (not even considering what she probably smelled like) or whether it was because she'd said it in flawless Sindarin, but she was suddenly the centre of riveted attention.

For the dwarves, she considered it was probably the latter as they practically leapt away from her.

To her surprise – and the surprise of the assembled elves – Elrond's mouth twitched.

"It seemed the appropriate precaution to the presence of so many heavily armed dwarves at our gates, though in hindsight you are correct and I do apologise for my lack of manners."

"What are they sayin'?" Dwalin hissed venomously as Elrond dipped his head, a disarming juxtaposition of humbled politeness and barely suppressed amusement. The result made her want to punch him – which would've been counterproductive with how much he was helping her disturb the dwarves. The dilemma was unexpectedly frustrating, and her leg ached, though the pain seemed less important than before.

"Might I inquire as to your purpose in Imladris, my lady?"

"I'm no' a lady." Senga snapped suddenly, reverting back to English with bitterness welling in every word. "As to why I'm here, I suggest you ask them." She glared at Gandalf and jerked her head back at the dwarves, refusing to look at any of them as she strode away, feeling as if the air were congealing in her lungs. "Fucked if I kno'."

She found a low stone bench to fall onto and shut her eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness.

"Senga?"

Her eyes opened to find Balin's soft blue staring into them and an uncertain hobbit close at her elbow.

"You needn't take on so." The latter said firmly, putting a hand on her arm. Senga stared at it; could feel how uncertain it was. The dwarf on the other hand, was disquietingly sure. Pointedly ignoring the elephant in the room, Balin got straight to the point.

"Now…look a' me, lassie…how bad is tha' leg?"

"Jus' a scratch." Senga shook her head, mumbling tiredly. Balin didn't accept it for a moment. With a grim frown, he knelt and moved her overcoat aside. Even this change in weight was enough to shoot spears into her bone, but it was only when he touched his fingers to the rents in her trousers that the scream ripped itself through her jugular, stopped by her clamped lips.

"Jus' a scratch, my beard!"

Bilbo inhaled sharply, looking as if he might faint. She didn't think it was that bad…

"Lassie, these are deep! Knoin' those foul things, it's probably already infected, though I'll have to ge' Oin's opinion. You'd better stay off it for the time bein', an' for Mahal's sake why didn' you say anythin'?"

Senga bleakly tried to summon defiance, but it didn't come out right while faced with Balin's consternation. Instead she stayed silent, looking away to see the rest of the dwarves – and behind them, the elves – watching uncertainly from several paces back. It sent a pang through her to see Fili and Kili hanging back, wary and silent of her, but hadn't she meant to shock them?

The point was lost to her. All she wanted was sleep and…and…

How had she gone from acknowledging her desire to do nothing else with her life to wanting out?

Coward.

She hadn't the strength left to counter the venomous voice and tried to stay from cracking apart. She'd left herself vulnerable, clearly. She'd taken down some of the weaker walls, but she hadn't counted on how weakened that would make the rest. Fool. She'd been careless. She'd –

"No, she's ours an' we'll take care o' her!"

"My dear Oin, Lord Elrond is one of the finest healers in Middle Earth! It would be folly not to accept his help in this matter!"

"I'm no' lettin' some tree-shagger anywhere near her until I'm satisfied she's okay!"

"You may accompany me to the healing chambers, Master Oin, but I assure you she will receive the best of care. As our guests, any less would be highly untoward of us."

There was a low grumble, and several more in agreement. Then,

"Mister Oin!"

The chiding remark made Senga open her eyes. She hadn't realised they'd been shut. Kili was giving Oin a look of deepest exasperation as he broke away from the loitering dwarves and went about pulling her to her feet. Balin protested and Senga swore violently, no longer bothering to conceal it, but eventually Kili managed to get her weight across his side so that he was practically carrying her before turning to face the rest of the company. Thorin was caught between different levels of fury; Oin looked torn, while Gloin looked as if he was having trouble comprehending the situation. Dwalin's face had gone white with anger; Bofur, Dori, Ori, Bombur and Bifur were transitioning between shock and horrified ferocity. Nori was…impressed? At what?

Fili was nowhere to be seen – because he was round her other side, letting her use his shoulder as leverage to hoist her good foot off the ground. Any other of the dwarves and she would've felt the same bitterness, but with a bizarre rush of relief she found it absent for the brothers. Craving for their warmth and safety selfishly overpowered the other voices, drowning them out until it was all she could feel.

She shut her eyes; didn't want to see the rest of them. But when she felt those storm eyes searching ruthlessly for hers, she couldn't keep them closed. She looked into those that were full of anger: fury at her stupidity, annoyance at her invalidity, resignation at her continued burden, and white hot rage at her betrayal. There was also a war going on, but Senga didn't give time for it as her head bowed, taking her away from how wretched that look made her feel.

"Master Oin, if you would attend with me. But before such things, I will not be further accused of discourtesy. Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

This had the effect of distracting the Company who each looked back to the elf lord.

"I do not believe we have met." Thorin voice was gravelly with repressed anger.

"You have your grandfather's bearing."

Courtesy was offered, and the dwarf returned it with an insult. No surprises there. The speech in Sindarin Elrond offered next – in actuality directed at his men – had Senga raising her eyebrows, however, as did the tone in which it was delivered. Yes, the elf was slighted. The dwarves shifted uneasily.

"What is he sayin'?" Gloin began murderously, at the end of his tether. "Does he offer us insult?"

"He's bein' sardonic, bu' I wouldn' call i' insul'." Elrond's eyes flicked back to hers as she rolled them tiredly. "'e's called for food."

Nori seemed to look even more impressed, turning and whispering animatedly to his elder brother. The whole Company seemed to regard her for a moment, before rapidly discussing it and finally turning back to Elrond.

"Ah well, in tha' case, lead on."

"The way to a dwarf's heart." Fili muttered in her ear. And, despite everything, she let loose the shadow of a grin.

The healing chambers were light and airy and looked for all the world as if they'd been grown for their purpose. Everything was coloured gold or pale straw or the sort of white that comes from lightly coloured wood – except the flowers and greenery that appeared everywhere unexpected. Whorls and weaving patterns formed integral parts of the walls and floor and the very air seemed infused with the freshness that fell from the waterfall. The buildings themselves were all wood lattices and delicate domes with sweeping archways connecting the various rooms.

Next to her, the dwarves muttered about it all being 'flimsy' and 'dainty', and to an extent she could see their point. There was none of the reassuring weight of stone or the commanding surety of dwarven architecture. Still, they were guests and griping about it was getting on her nerves. Causing Kili some pain as she hopped unsubtly onto his foot.

The younger brother let out a huff, but deferred further speech as they steered her to a bed. Oin – and Balin and Bilbo and Bofur, who had insisted on joining them – tried to help, making them look like a travelling circus. In the end, she ripped her arms out of their grip and launched herself at the mattress with a scowl. Unwittingly, she ended up sprawled over it and unable to move, so she curled to the side, miserably beginning to catalogue the mess she'd caused.

She was a burden. She'd failed them.

"Drink this. It will make you feel better." Elrond offered out of nowhere, his continued use of elvish disturbing the rest there.

"Migh' I suggest you use words we can all understand?" Balin snapped irritably. Ignoring him, Elrond gently coaxed her into a sitting position and offered her a vial.

"Miruvor." Senga muttered tonelessly.

"Correct. A restorative," he confirmed for Oin as the old dwarf cast the liquid a look of deepest suspicion. "It will also dull the pain for a time. Drink."

Senga grimaced. She'd always loathed mineral water. The miruvor however…the taste was slightly sweet, slightly bitter with an edge to it like mint. The effect was incredibly refreshing and she could feel her brain being re-started. Disconcertingly, she thought of ecstasy – something she'd only had once or twice – but something told her it was magic that was waking her up this time rather than mind-altering drugs. The pain also faded considerably.

Elrond took the vial from her once she'd drained it completely and she nodded dully. Now Oin was eyeing her leg.

"Righ', trousers off."

What?

"Excuse me for bein' dubious abou' sittin' round in my nickers in fron' o' you lo'!"

"Lassie, it's goin' to have to be cleaned!" Oin retorted exasperatedly, oblivious to the exasperated look Elrond gave him. Senga met his eyes with an immovable glare.

"No fuckin' way!"

"Senga, please!" Kili begged, sitting next to her now on the bed. "You 'ave to let us help you!"

"We can go away and come back if you like." Bilbo added hastily.

"You'll still see me in my underwear!" And see the scars, she thought with rising panic.

"Lass, it's not like there's any one of us here that'd take advantage." Bofur pointed out reasonably.

"Senga?" Fili sat gently down on her other side, not quite touching her, but close enough that she could reach out if she wanted. Or needed. Not that she willingly would.

"Fine." She said eventually, voice so quiet it was hard to hear it herself. There was no avoiding it. Any anger she had left scurried away and died, leaving a pit of fear and resignation in its wake. She'd never felt more exposed – or more alone.

"Do you – do you want us to leave?" Bilbo asked uncertainly. Senga shook her head harshly. She still had bitterness, apparently. And what was the point if they would see anyway? Better to get it done.

Surprising everyone, she reached down to her belt and removed the short sword before pulling the leather away with a shnik. Without taking off her overcoat (it felt ridiculously protective for some reason) she unlaced the leather pants and shoved them down her legs, glad the disgusting feeling of open air against her skin was drowned by the pain. She screwed her eyes shut, not wanting to see anymore, and kicked the pants off her ankles.

She heard, though, the array of sharp breaths.

"Oh, lass…"

Senga shut it all out, focussing on nothing as a water bowl and stitches were provided, along with a salve that stung when Oin applied it gently to the cleaned wound. Now out in the open, she could feel the way it was swollen, it wasn't too advanced yet and once the salve got to work it would go down quickly enough. No one said a word as the work was finished, Senga staying silent with the worst of the pain dampened by the miruvor. When it was done and a bandage wrapped tightly around the rents, she just sat there, waiting for what was going to happen next.

It was like being in hospital again.

"We'll have to ge' these cleaned," Balin sighed unexpectedly. "The linin's soaked through."

Senga opened her eyes in confusion to find seven pairs trained on the movement and flinched. That moment might have been it. Seriously. Except that she was suddenly being squeezed half to death by Kili. The dwarf was refusing to let her go, mumbling something that sounded like "don't ever do that again" into her shoulder. Fili was scrambling to fetch a sheet and returned in an instant to help wrap it around her midriff, hugging her from round the back. The effect was bizarre, but it pulled her from the wreckage of her thoughts like giving an oxygen tank to a drowning man. It soothed her; even comforted her as the others chuckled.

"Are you feeling quite well enough for dinner?" Elrond inquired politely, light tones adding to the improved mood. "If so, I will have my attendants prepare you clothing and water to bathe."

Senga raised her eyebrows, but sandwiched between the brothers and still filthy and wearing a sheet, she could hardly argue the point. Instead she nodded and murmured a thank you, giving the brothers their cue to let her go. Reluctantly, the dwarves and Bilbo allowed themselves to be led away to be shown where they would be staying, Kili finally breaking contact with a squeeze of her hand, and she was left alone in the airy room.

What just happened? She wondered. Her woken mind was whirring strangely – fucking elvish hippy drugs – but she did feel better, somehow, for the boys' undemanding presence.

"Am I to assume you are the dwarf maiden?"

Senga felt her neck crick as she wheeled round to see a fair elf woman standing in the archway.

"Yes, but I'm not a dwarf or a maiden, so you might as well know my name now: it's Senga." The elf looked taken aback by her native tongue and more so by the words themselves, but she bowed nonetheless and smiled warmly.

"Very well lady Senga –"

"Just Senga."

Disquietingly, the elf smiled even more.

"Just Senga. Follow me, if you will whilst I lend you my arm."

Senga dearly wanted to get up and stride right past her, but she didn't want to rip the stitches and it did still hurt to buggery. She begrudgingly accepted and allowed the woman to guide her away from the healing chambers, a smile playing the elf's lips.

Senga just hoped that she still had the strength to face the company.

A.N: This took ages to edit. Mostly I decided this: that I was taking far to long to get things moving along. That I needed to save some things for later. So I took buggerloads out of the first couple of sequences. Also I cut down the warg encounter so as to maintain the pace of the scene. I originally had Senga being introspective, but it came out as slowing everything down.

So, references...Oh yeah, I looked up what to do if someone's winded. Crouching apparently relaxes the diaphragm. And it works even with her leg injuries a) because of adrenaline and b) because of Kili supporting her weight. The line "No one ever said they had to be nice" is adapted from Terry Pratchett's opinion on elves and how their traditional descriptions can be twisted round. The quote is a long one and goes something like this "Elves are wonderful; they provoke wonder. Elves are fantastic; they create fantasies. Elves are glamorous; they project glamour. Elves are enchanting; they weave enchantment. Elves are terrific; they beget terror. No one ever said elves are nice."

Senga knowing Elvish was a given. The point about Elvish and Klingon was meant to be heavily symbolic of her character and her changed outlook on life (from predominantly escapist to predominantly fighting). But it also gives direct evidence to the point that Senga is far more clever than she thinks she is. That it is a given stems from the fact that a Tolkien fanatic with a flare for languages would know elvish since it is readily learnable.

Ahha... psychic flashes...more on that later...

Review to let me know it's still good? (I always worry about keeping the quality consistent, specially now I'm distractedly being forced to do real work. And playing Skyrim - I apologise profusely for this, but the game is fucking addictive)