Chapter 1: Healing Hands
"Maer aes hen," she pronounces slowly. Kili mouths the words silently with her, following the way her mouth changes with each letter. The campfire burns softly next to them, complementing the silver light of the moon and stars.
"Maer…aes hen," he repeats. "Maer aes hen!" Fili smiles softly at his brother's excitement who cheers to himself as the words come clear through his tongue. "Bombur! Maer aes hen!" Bombur pauses mid-way through eating his stew as the young prince Dwarf speaks a random string of letters – well, to his ears.
As promised, Gailien has been teaching Kili simple Sindarin phrases. Things like greetings, farewells, compliments and what Kili is very impatient to use: insults. She is sure the other Dwarves are somewhat tired of hearing Elvish phrases being randomly used by the Dwarf, but Gailien finds amusement in the efforts.
"I think that is enough for tonight, dilthen er," she softly laughs, uncrossing her legs.
"What does dilthen er mean?" he presses. It has been her nickname for him ever since the Goblin mountain, yet she has yet to teach him their meaning. Gailien shakes her head teasingly, taking amusement from his desperation to know. In all honesty, she isn't sure he will still like it once he knows that it means 'little one,' but she uses it fondly. She has taken to calling Fili, Malthen emel, meaning 'Golden heart.' He also does not know its meaning but she speaks it with a honey sweetness that the older brother is content with the second name.
What she also doesn't inform Kili of, is that it used to be her own name amongst her family. It was used with such love and affection, until after her unfortunate event where strange Elves in the corridors began to call her by it and the words became thorns to her ears. By calling Kili by the same name, it is her attempt to preserve the good memories that it once held.
"You will find out the day I die," she answers. Kili narrows his eyes accusingly.
"But you're an Elf! You're going to live much longer than I will," he protests. The truth he speaks pinches her heart, but at the same time – it may not be true. She may only have a few years left with her choice of mortal life. There is nobody that knows but Eru who does not answer her questions.
"Then I will tell you on your deathbed when you have a long grey beard," she retorts, not letting her thoughts be portrayed on her face. Kili huffs but a few nearby Dwarves laugh softly at their conversation.
Weeks have passed since the Goblin's and they have been on the constant run from Azog and the Orcs. After the events, Gailien and Bilbo's place amongst the company solidified and even Dori came forth to apologise for his words, admitting what he had said behind her back but she brushed it off, not admitting that she had heard them already. If Fili and Kili ignored it, then so will she. Gloin brought up the fact that she had lied, not once, but twice but Thorin quickly ended his argument, stating that it had been for his own sake and took full responsibility for the trolls.
After she had awoken from her pain-induced faint – after two days, - she had indeed, hugged Thorin with such tight arms that he felt the blood being trapped in his face. There is no more arguing, no more pleading to be listened to.
Gailien ruffles Kili's hair as she walks past him, earning a grunt of annoyance. Her bedroll is set up on the other side of the fire, in front of a log so she can lean against it until her eyes wish to close. And doing just that, she pulls to cover off her roll over her legs, sitting back against the bark.
Not long after she settles down, watching the rest talk amongst themselves does Thorin join her, leaning back against the log as she does. It is not unusual for the two to be seen together now as she has become a sort of confidant, her visions acting as guidance where they can.
"How's your arm?" he asks, pulling one knee up to hook his hands around. Gailien stretches out her left arm, not feeling any sort of pain. The bandages have been removed now that new skin has replaced the burnt layer, but it is still open to infection.
"Perfectly fine," she answers, giving the man a kind smile. Thorin nods, giving his own smile.
"And your leg?"
"It is fine, also." Her leg was never wounded from the mountain, just old issues arising. This meant that there is nothing exactly to heal, only rest for it to recover. It made her feel useless, barely able to walk for the first couple of days but to the company's credit, no one complained or berated her. They just helped her along, offering their assistance where they could. "I'm sorry again. I promised that it wouldn't be a burden, but I never expected to Dwarves to be hanging off it." Still, even now it twinges slightly at the end of long days, but the pain is more in her lower back from her other marred tissue, caused by her favouring of her feet.
"Nonsense," Thorin dismisses. "Our company would not still be complete if you had not done what you did." Words of praise that she holds onto with invisible closed fists.
"And how is your shoulder?" she questions, motion with her eyes to the back shoulder where the warg's bite was most brutal. Gandalf is not a healer, but his magic did help the wound mend itself better though even now she can see twinges of pain on his face. "Has Oin looked at it today?"
"It is better," he answers. Gailien narrows his eyes as his tell-tale for lying – a twitch in his eye – is ever so obvious even in the low light. "Oin fell asleep before I could ask, but it will be fine until tomorrow."
Gailien holds back a roll of her eyes at his stubborn nature. "Well if Oin has not, then let me see it. I can treat wounds." She begins to rise onto her shins but Thorin holds his hand out.
"It can wait, you are tired," he tries to protest. This time Gailien does roll her eyes.
"I was going to meditate anyways," she counters. It is her usual nightly routine, meditating to call forth her foresight and see the days ahead. With the constant practise since the beginning of the quest, she has been able to find enough concentration to now see beyond her own path willingly. Her focus is pointed on Azog's future decisions – where he will pick up their tracks, what path they will take. It has allowed the Dwarves to stay one step ahead for the past month or so since the mountain.
"It is late-"
"And you can go to sleep being content that it is healing," she interrupts with a pointed look. "I will admit, I am not as skilled as our famed healer, but I know how to check for infection and make a salve."
"You are more stubborn than Dwalin," he growls softly but she takes it as a resignation to her request. Dwalin, who is still awake, talking with his brother huffs slightly but does not say anything.
"I have to be around you," she snorts. "I'll go retrieve the wraps."
As Gailien wanders over to Oin's pack where all their medical supplies are stored, Thorin reluctantly removes his coat and tunic. Fili and Kili share a look, sitting on opposite logs, adjacent to the uncle. Gailien searches through, pulling out fresh bandage wraps and the ingredients to make the salve that will ward off infection. She gathers it in her arms and walks back to her bed space which Thorin is waiting for her at.
As she kneels down, Thorin turns his bare back to her. Knowing that Dwarves have much better senses than humans, she becomes overly aware to control her breathing pattern. Her fingers reach out, untying the knotted bandage that has been on there for long enough. Ashamedly, it takes a strong concentration to not let her fingers drift across his skin as she unwinds it around his shoulder. Thorin's hair is long – long enough to be in the way of seeing it properly.
Knowing how culturally important their hair and beards are, she hesitantly reaches out, watching the side of his face for any negative reaction as her fingers begin to brush it away. Thorin doesn't move, and she decides that either hair from their head is not as important as their braids or beards, or that Thorin does not care. Relaxing slightly, she bravely moves it to the side, over his neck.
The wound itself is healing fine, the mark from the teeth closing over and the new flesh is still a mix of red and pink. No signs of infection but it will leave a scar. Her hands drop to the bowl at her side, placing the ingredients into it with a drop of water from her waterskin.
Desperate to end the silence and giver her something else to think about, she speaks about the first topic that comes to mind. "Kili is learning Elvish quickly. You may have a future translator in the boy."
Thorin readjusts his seat. "I am glad. We won't always have you around. Though you don't exactly provide translations yourself." Won't always have you around. Her hands pause without consent and she has to force them to keep working.
"Won't always have me around?" she questions, trying to keep her tone smooth. "Are you planning on dumping me somewhere?" She tries to laugh but it comes out pathetically.
"Of course not," he says. "I mean after the mountain is reclaimed and you go back to travelling as you like to."
Gailien hasn't thought about what is going to happen after the quest. She supposes that that is what will happen if she survives. Say her farewells then leave to go back to whatever abode welcomes her. Perhaps Bilbo will be kind enough to allow her to stay with him for a while. Hobbiton is a peaceful, secluded part of Middle Earth that she would be more than happy to settle down in but…but it won't be the same.
All her life, her travelling has been to try and find somewhere where she belongs. Where her company is accepted. And it has all be in vain until now. She counts her spot among the Dwarves around her and the thought of having to willingly say goodbye and walk away from them all physically hurts her. She has to savour it will she can.
"Oh, of course." Her fingers dip into the thin paste, coating them in it. She raises them to Thorin's back, muttering an apology at the cool sting on tender skin. "Sorry."
His back tense at the moment their skin meets but relaxes after a second and she smothers the paste around the wound. Once it is fully covered, she holds a sigh. She still has to do the front. Collecting the bowl in her clean hand, she moves around to his front. Thorin drops his bent knees, crossing them instead. There are two wounds on his front that need tending. One on his chest, the same spot at his back, and one on his lower side.
Thorin watches her silently as her fingers dip back into the paste. Her eyes stay trained on the wound but her tensed cheeks drop at one of his two long braids lies over it. She hesitantly gestures to it. "Uh, sorry, but your braid…"
Thorin glances down at it, nodding slightly. "You may move it." Gailien opens her mouth to protest but she doesn't know what to say. Would it be insulting to refuse to touch them? She thought that only close kin ever did – or at least, that is what Kili implied in one of their conversations. She had meant for him to move it himself. Slowly, her clean hand moves up and before she can scare herself out of it, her fingers catch the braid between them, and she pushes it back and over his shoulder, being sure not to touch the intricate bead.
"Genogan!"
The Khazadul word is foreign to her ears and sends a shock of fear through her. Not fear of Thorin, but that she has done something wrong. Is she not supposed to move them behind his shoulder? But as her eyes snap upwards, his own are flickering dangerously between two others. Her head turns over her shoulder, finding Kili and Fili looking down bashfully, their hands clasped in their laps.
A sharp sigh leaves her throat in relief. Knowing better, she doesn't ask what the word meant but Thorin's snap and the brothers' reactions tell her that it was a scold of some type. Even a few other Dwarves had looked up. Maybe she could ask one of the brothers what they were doing to earn such a sharp scolding.
Setting her jaw tight, she focuses on the work in front of her, pretending that it some pretentious Elf rather than their leader in front of her. Fortunately, the fire provides a beautiful cover for the warmth on her cheeks.