Once again, thanks to Nightbloodwolf for leaving a review. Much appreciated!

Chapter 7

"Losing your life is not the worst thing that can happen. The worst thing is to lose your reason for living."
Jo Nesbo

oOoOoOo

October 12th, T.A. 2941

Kíli motioned for Brea to wait while Bofur hurried off beyond the corner before returning with another dwarf. This one was tall and bald, with a massive moustache that curved downward. They were carrying something. As they drew closer, Brea understood that it was in fact someone.

"Fíli…"

She was alarmed to see that he was unconscious. Blood had run from the corners of his mouth and his nose, caking his golden hair and beard. She searched for a pulse, remembering how she'd done the same with Thorin only hours ago. This time she felt a heartbeat. It was slow and erratic, but it was there.

"He's not waking," Kíli whispered urgently. "There's nothing we can do. Please, you must help him!"

Her relief to see them both alive was tainted by Fíli's dismaying state of health. His breathing was irregular and labored, his skin clammy with sweat. Brea understood that he was fighting for his life.

She glanced briefly back into her room. Her aunt was still sleeping, but there was no telling how long it'd take before the noise woke her. The situation required quick thinking, lest a patrol stumble upon the group of dwarves. All that she could come up with was Bard's words from earlier that day. "A reason for murder," he had said. Brea could not allow the dwarves to be discovered, and she'd not stand idly while Fíli was dying.

"Not here," Brea mouthed. "I know a place." She ducked back into the room and retrieved her boots as well as the cloak Fíli had given her. Wrapping it tightly around her body, she hurried back to the window. "Step aside." The chair served as a ladder to climb onto the windowsill. Bofur and Kíli averted their eyes as her shift rode up her legs in the process. She pulled the shutters closed behind her. "Follow me!"

The room had been cold, but the street was colder. Brea shivered violently in a gust of icy wind, her skin covered in goosebumps. Torches flickered here and there along the building walls, and the distant sound of footsteps told her that a patrol was approaching. Her heart rate quickened and she ducked into a dark alley, the dwarves on her tail.

She knew the way by day, but at night Dale seemed a different town. The signs and chimneys cast crooked shadows that moved by torchlight. Guards' voices echoed deceptively in the streets, making her jump for fear of being discovered. Twice she'd thought them lost before recognizing her surroundings. By the time they reached the house, she was tense and sweaty.

"Where is she taking us?" the bald dwarf grumbled to Kíli. "How do we know she won't turn us in?"

Brea suddenly realized that her idea might have been unwise, but it was too late to turn around. She knocked on the door, praying for a quick reply. The door cracked open and Agnessa's anxious face appeared, framed by her untied copper hair.

"Brea?" she whispered, "What is it?"

Brea breathed in relief. "Agnessa, you'll have to forgive my late visit, but I really need your help…" The woman frowned. "And your discretion."

oOoOoOo

Kíli hovered anxiously by the bed where his brother lay, while Dwalin paced behind him. "This is folly," he growled. "The babe wails so loud he'll signal our presence."

"He's a newborn, master dwarf. He's been wailing every hour," Brea snapped. "And will keep wailing for the days to come. No-one's bound to overhear any noise coming from his home."

They'd installed Fíli on a dusty bed, on the second floor of Agnessa's small house. It was more of an attic than a real room, accessible through a staircase that no-one had used for years. The dwarves jumped when Bofur emerged at the top of the stairs, a lit candle in his hand.

In the flickering light, Brea examined Fíli, keenly aware of the eyes that followed her every movement. His breathing remained shallow and raspy, and his skin carried a bluish tinge. A ragged pulse jumped in his veins.

"I need help with his armor," she instructed.

"I'll assist you," Kíli said at once.

His fingers were deft at removing the buckles and straps that held the armor in place. Vambraces, pauldrons and greaves were discarded to the floor. To Brea's horror, they bore deep blade marks that spoke of the violence he'd been through. The breastplate revealed the source of the greatest wound Fíli had suffered. The back had been transpierced, and his blood had pooled and dried on the inside.

"We need to remove the mail," Brea muttered, setting the broken breastplate to the ground.

That proved a trickier task, as she was loath to move Fíli more than necessary until she knew what his injuries were. Inch by inch they rolled the steel-woven shirt up to his chest, the tunic he wore beneath riding up as well.

"Oh Gods." Brea blanched.

Purple and black bruises covered the left side of Fíli's torso, beneath the golden hair that ran down to his navel. The skin was swollen and inflamed, and the whole side of his body seemed distorted, down to the leg that twisted on itself. Kíli swayed and grasped the edge of the bed.

"You can save him, right?" He peered into her eyes. "Right?"

She didn't know how to respond. Truth was, she'd never expected his state to be so critical, and she'd only started her examination.

"We'll bring you whatever you need." Bofur supplied, his voice laced with anguish.

"Help me roll him over," she told them, buying herself some time.

The extent of the disaster soon appeared to her in full. The pierced breastplate was proof of the tremendous strength Fíli's opponent had possessed and the hatred that had driven his arm. The blade had entered Fíli's back, inches from his spine. Blood still trickled out of the gaping wound, filling the room with a metallic stench. The gash was deep, and would require more than a simple suture. It was a wonder he was still alive.

They soon encountered a new complication. As Kíli and Bofur held him on his side Fíli started to wheeze, struggling for breath. His face turned purple.

"Lay him on his back!" Brea cried out at once.

She put her ear to his chest, mindful not to hurt him and noting absently the smell of his skin. Leather and sweat, and a herbal scent she could not recognize. The air hissed softly as it flowed in and out on the left side, despite the swollen flesh. On the right side, however, she heard no movement as the lung remained immobile. Brea had seen such injuries during her work in the hall of Dale. Those who'd suffered from it had died not long after, gasping for breath. The city had no master who could repair the damage the blade had inflicted, no surgeon skilled enough to re-inflate what she suspected to be a collapsed lung.

The dwarves were looking at her, expecting her diagnosis.

"I am sorry," she shook her head. "These wounds are beyond my skill. There is none in Dale who can heal him." She wrung her hands in dismay, a sense of helplessness growing in her stomach. She didn't want to voice her thoughts about Fíli's chances.

Kíli faltered. "No, you're wrong." He wiped his eyes angrily. "I'll find someone."

"I knew we shouldn't have come here." Dwalin drove his fist against the wall. "We should've stayed amongst us, instead of dragging him into this hole."

Bofur protested, and voices rose in anger and sorrow.

Brea brushed her fingers against Fíli's forearm, touched the rough skin of his hand. It was warm, as though he were only sleeping. She knew that he was fighting for his life with all the strength and spirit he had left. And yet it would not be enough.

Fíli was dying before her, and she could not save him.

oOoOoOo

Brea sat by the fire, trying to warm herself up despite the chill that had seeped inside her bones. Her hands trembled, and her throat burned with the tears she refused to shed. In the chair beside her, Agnessa was humming a lullaby for her son as she fed him. The child produced soft, gurgling noises, his small arms twitching as sucked on his mother's breast, oblivious of the sorrow that had visited their home.

"I've been meaning to thank you," Brea said wearily, staring into the flames. "For letting us in at this hour. Especially given the circumstances."

She'd remembered too late that Agnessa's husband had perished in the fires of Laketown, killed by the dragon the dwarves had unwittingly unleashed upon the city. The woman would've had every reason to denounce them to the townsfolk, yet she'd held her tongue, offering them shelter instead.

"I owe you," Agnessa replied softly. Brea watched her cradle her son, a smile on her face. "You don't know how it was," she said. "Life with him. None of you knew. It was a prison from which I couldn't escape." She kissed Maethor's forehead. "Now I am free, and I have a son." She looked Brea in the eye. "My child lives thanks to you. There is nothing I wouldn't give you in payment for his life."

"I didn't mean to overstep that debt," Brea murmured. "I didn't know what to do."

Agnessa raised her eyes towards the ceiling. The dwarves' muted voices could be heard, rising and falling, as they devised new plans to save their comrade. "How bad is he?" she asked.

"Very." Brea rubbed her eyes, reliving the disheartening scene once again. "He's got a punctured lung, and many broken bones. He's barely breathing, and bleeding from a wound in his back."

"Can't you help him?" Agnessa asked.

"I wish I could," Brea whimpered. "These injuries… They are too serious, he's almost gone…"

"I didn't ask if you could heal him," Agnessa interrupted her softly, "but if you could help him. Brea, you stood your ground against an orc who would've killed us, you brought my son into this world in the midst of war. There must be something you can do for that man, if you care for him." She pondered. "There must be something someone can do."

Suddenly, Brea felt the chill release its grip on her heart. "There is someone," she breathed out. "Yes, someone can."

oOoOoOo

The first light of dawn slipped into the streets of Dale, glimmering on the windows and warming up the city with the promise of a beautiful day. Straggling rats scurried down the gutters, turning in after a busy night. They scampered off before Brea as she raced uphill, her skirts flapping around her ankles.

She skidded to a halt in front of the biggest house in town, a former merchant's home where the new king had taken up residence. The guards at the door scowled at her disheveled appearance.

"I must see the king," she panted, doubling over to catch her breath. "It's urgent."

"The king is not up yet," one of the men drawled out. "What's your business with his Highness?"

"It's personal," she snapped, "Go wake him up if need be!"

"Hear that? It's personal!" The men guffawed. "Little lady, this Highness is not that kind of man. Not that you're not comely, eh?" One of them winked at her. "Come find me in an hour, you can take a look at my scepter." They roared with laughter.

"If I only need one hand to hold it I'm not interested," she snarled. "If you're ever wounded, though, and need my help, I'll be sure to remove it, say, by accident. Now go fetch Bard or you'll have to explain to him why his chief healer has gone missing."

"Oi, what's with the ruckus?" A rough voice complained from the balcony. "It's not bloody dawn yet, can't a man have some peace?"

"Bard!" Brea stepped back to see him looking down at her, bare chested and hair tousled from sleep. She swallowed hard. "Uh, that'd be my fault."

His face darkened. "What do you want?"

"To apologize. I'm so sorry, Bard, about yesterday. I regret what I said, that was uncalled for. And untrue." She opened her hands. "I would've brought you flowers, had I known what you liked."

Bard looked at her askance. "What do you want?" he said again, his annoyance tainted with curiosity. "You must be wanting something more than my forgiveness. Else you would've waited for me to wake. Like other people do."

"You know me too well." Brea waited for him to decide. She could see that he was trying to repress a smile, and hoped that he'd still be in such a merry mood by the time she was done talking. "Listen, I'll even make you breakfast," she added, "if you'd just listen to what I have to say."