Pain. That was all she could feel as the world around her returned to dim focus. Her lungs burned with a pulsing agony, and her legs felt as if they had been branded. She wondered if she was still in the fire, and if so, why weren't they getting her out? Surely the hole was wide enough now. Her ears were still filled with the sounds of crackling flames and the room appeared to shake around her.

It wasn't until she felt a soft pressure on her hand that she realized the room was not shaking, she was. Her whole body trembled uncontrollably as she drifted rapidly between searing heat and the most intense cold. She could feel her chattering teeth jarring her whole face, and the sounds of fire were receding to leave heavy silence. Her vision was still blurred almost to darkness, the drops of water that were being carefully dripped onto her eyes felt like acid. She wanted to cry out, but her voice was a mere whisper, nearly unheard before she began coughing heavily from the effort.

The pressure on her hand increased minutely then, and she heard a deep voice speak. "Mara? Can you hear me? Everything is going to be alright." She knew instinctively that it was Thorin, and she felt soothed despite her pain. If he said it, then it must be true. She just wished she could tell him she heard. She must have moved her hand, because he let out a choked sob. "Thank Mahal, I thought I lost you," the voice cried tearfully. What? Thorin was afraid of losing her? She must be hallucinating, that didn't sound like him at all.

His voice began to fade out again, blissful darkness swamping her addled senses. For a long while she knew no more...

Thorin stared down at the sad figure that lay so very still on the bed. Bandages covered her legs, hiding the ruined flesh that would be scarred for the rest of her life. Her breathing was strained as her tortured lungs fought to expel the smoke she had inhaled. Her eyes, when they were forced open to take the drops of much-needed moisture, were bloodshot and dull. She had shown no sign of responding to his presence past the first time, her stillness only interrupted by the occasional tremble as she raged with fever. Thorin spent every moment by her side, much as she had done for him when first they met. He even had meals brought to him, so that his vigil was not paused for anything. To Balin he had delegated all his duties, the elder dwarf offering him a simple nod of understanding at the request, and needing no explanation.

For a week they stayed thus, Mara unmoving, Thorin gazing at her intently, hoping desperately for a response to his ministrations. On the eighth day of no changes, he began slowly to fall to despair. For all that she still breathed, that she still had a pulse, Oin had cautioned him to hope for no more. She had been in the fire for very long, and even most dwarrow would have succumbed by now.

On the ninth day her fever broke, and natural moisture began to return to her eyes. Oin was left awed by her resilience as she clung stubbornly to life. His cautious words turned hopeful, prompted further by the slight movements of her hands and legs as she drifted in a sort of sleep. Thorin wondered if she was meditating, if perhaps her body had been forced into this state for her own protection.

That evening Thorin was eating a bowl of stew, his movements automatic as he paid no real attention to the food, when the sound he had waited to hear for so long shattered the silence. "That looks tasty," Mara whispered, causing him to nearly drop the bowl in delighted surprise. Her eyes were half open, her voice rough and raw, her expression pained, but by Mahal she was awake, and that was all that mattered.

"Mara," Thorin murmured reverently, clasping one of her hands gently in his. "Oin, she's awake," he called out softly, prompting the healer to bustle over with an ear-splitting grin.

"That she is, and never have I been gladder to see anyone, lass," Oin gushed in a rare show of emotion. He had grown fond of the cheerful healer and her constant presence in the ward, not having realized until she became a part of their lives how very much he had missed company while he worked. He moved around her legs, checking the bandages and nodding approvingly to himself. "New skin is coming along nicely, though we have a way to go still," he cautioned, but the optimism in his voice was prominent. "How do you feel?" he asked her.

Mara considered this, frowning from the ever-present pain, though it was less now. The fire was gone, leaving a rawness that was slightly more endurable. She cataloged every hurt, from the throbbing in her legs, to the rasp of her parched throat, to an ache in her belly. "Thirsty," she rasped. "And hungry," she added, prompting a smile from the two dwarves.

"Good, good, we'll have that sorted in a jiffy," Oin promised, quickly interjecting when Thorin moved to feed her the remains of his supper. "Not that," he admonished the chagrined dwarf. "You'll have her retching in seconds. She needs broth, and cool tea to sooth her throat. I will bring it, and you may assist her." Thorin nodded, suddenly recalling his own experience with soup when he was sick. It appeared Mara had also called it to mind, for she stuck out her tongue at him impudently.

After a tiny meal Mara sighed in content, letting her eyes fall closed as she retreated into the soothing meditative state she had previously been trapped in. It was voluntary now, but it helped greatly with the pain, acting like a balm for her wounds. Thorin's hand remained wrapped around hers, and though she was curious about this new development, for now she simply accepted it, grateful for the comfort it offered.