My thanks to VanyV, cHoCoLaTe-RuM and Alfirineth for their thoughtful reviews.

Chapter 10

"Some people see scars, and it is wounding they remember. To me they are proof of the fact that there is healing."
Linda Hogan

oOoOoOo

October 13th, T.A. 2941

Brea watched Fíli sleep, hovering outside of his field of vision but watching intently how his chest rose and fell beneath the covers. His breathing was easier since the potion, but she could see how hesitant it still was. His eyes were closed, his face serene. The morning light glimmered in his hair, reflecting on the beads braided within. She admired from afar the curves of the muscles on his arms, impressive even at rest. The apparent ruggedness of the dwarves had led her to believe his skin would be rough, not pale and soft as she'd found it to be.

He was very different from what Brea had known or expected. She'd met her husband when she was seventeen. Ivar had been tall, wiry and brown-haired. He was the only man she'd known, the only one she'd been with. It seemed like a lifetime ago, so far that she'd almost forgotten what desire felt like.

Her thoughts were inappropriate and ill-timed, but she found herself wondering what it'd be like to be with Fíli. Were his lips soft, what did he taste like? How would his hands feel on her skin?

"Are you there?" Fíli's voice brought her back abruptly.

She waited a second or two before approaching, pretending she hadn't been waiting for him to wake. "I'm here," she said, sitting down beside him, mindful of his injuries. "How are you feeling?"

"Thirsty." He licked his lips.

Brea scolded herself for not having anticipated his needs, considering the bloodloss he'd suffered. "Of course. I'll get you some water."

She hurried downstairs to borrow a cup from Agnessa, who was cradling her son before the window. Fíli was watching the door when she returned. Was it fear that she wouldn't come back or homesickness she saw on his face?

Brea sat down again and realized he'd need assistance, only this time he'd be awake when she touched him. If she announced her intentions he'd be free to refuse, though Brea hoped he wouldn't. "I'll help you up," she warned before sliding a hand behind his neck. Fíli's eyes narrowed but he didn't jerk away, which reassured her somewhat. He drank in long, hungry gulps.

"More?" she asked once the cup was empty.

The answer came as a slight shake of his head. Some water had trickled down his throat, droplets pooling in the dip at the base of his neck. She felt the urge to wipe them away.

Fíli was watching her intently, his blue eyes fixed on hers. A blush creep up her neck, and she started to move away, hoping he wouldn't see, when she found her hand trapped by his. Somehow he'd moved without her noticing. His fingers closed on her own, gently but firmly.

"I still don't know your name," he said.

"Brea." Her voice faltered and she cleared her throat. "It's Brea."

"Brea." The name rolled off his tongue. He seemed to try it out, deciding whether he liked it. "How long have I been here?"

He was still holding her hand. The room was cold, but Brea was starting to sweat.

"Two days." Since he remained silent, she felt the urge to elaborate. "Kíli and the others brought you to my house two nights ago. But I couldn't let you stay there. Here is safer."

"Where is here?"

"You're still in Dale. In the house of someone who owes me a favor," she replied. "Enough not to betray your presence. You've nothing to fear." She was warmer by the second, her stomach tingling. His touch was stirring sensations she hadn't felt for years. Fíli was the one bedbound, but the balance of power was not in her favor.

He looked at her. "I am not afraid," he said eventually. "Not for me."

"For Kíli?" she guessed. His grip on hers relaxed and she seized the occasion to flee, to escape his touch and regain her composure.

Fíli remained silent. Brea guessed that his thoughts were focused on his brother and his whereabouts. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear to hide her flustered state and headed downstairs to refill the cup, in case he'd get thirsty again.

"Brea," he called her name, halting her stride. Her deepest muscles contracted, reacting to his voice. "Thank you," he said.

She nodded, not trusting her voice to answer, and hurried out of the room.

oOoOoOo

She almost ran back home, driven by the emotions Fíli's touch had evoked and the certainty of their indecency. He was wounded, he was alone, far from his kin and just as condemned as he'd been two days ago. Desiring the man she had promised to take care of was unprofessional to say the least. Brea would've screamed to release the pent-up tension had she not feared to wake the neighborhood.

She slowed down to a brisk pace a few houses away from her own, and then some more until she reached the door. At this hour Alva's family was bound to be awake, and Brea would have to explain why they'd not seen her come out, but it was easier than facing her aunt.

Two days ago Brea had managed to slip back into her bed unnoticed, tossing and turning under her covers until she could decently rise and claim a good night's sleep. It was fortunate that Mildred couldn't see, or she would've spotted the dark circles under her niece's eyes. The others who asked received an answer about nightmares and fatigue. At work she'd pretended to be on a mission for the king, which was not entirely false as she'd been spotted riding off with Bard that same day. But since that morning Brea had only flitted in and out of the house, which was unusual enough for her aunt to notice.

Today she knew she'd have to explain herself.

She pushed the door open with caution, considering the possibility of people still sleeping. Bodil and Gerda met her in the kitchen, yawning but dressed. "Morning," she greeted them, waving at Alva and disappearing into their room before any questions were raised.

"Hello, darling." Mildred was sitting at the table, her knitting needles in hand.

"Morning, Ma." She leaned in for a kiss which her aunt accepted, snaking an arm behind her neck to pull Brea into an embrace. "It's been too long since I had a proper greeting," Mildred complained, but her smile belied her words.

"Sorry, Ma." Brea discarded her soiled clothes, fishing for her other dress inside a basket by the bed.

"You seem in a hurry," her aunt commented as she resumed her knitting.

"I have to get to work." Brea belted her dress and smoothed out the skirts. "The worst is past, but there are still people needing care."

"Is Bard helping you at work?"

She turned on her heels to stare at her aunt. The needles clicked steadily on.

"I helped him with… something."

"Mm-hm." Her aunt smiled knowingly. "He's a good man, Brea. I am happy for you."

"Ma, no." She sighed. "It's not like that."

"Is it not? People say you two have been seen riding together." She paused in her work, staring to the window with a wistful look on her face. "I've never gone riding in my life…"

Brea rubbed her eyes, hoping that talk of riding had not taken another meaning in the townsfolk's mouths. "We have, but…"

"It's only natural, darling! Nothing to be ashamed about. Bard's wife, may she rest in peace, was a good woman but she's been gone for…"

"Ma! Stop!"

Brea regretted shouting at once as Mildred winced and clutched her needles to her breast. "Ma, I'm sorry." She came to sit beside her aunt and lay a hand on her arm. She was relieved when Mildred didn't recoil at her touch. "I shouldn't have yelled."

Her aunt covered her hand with her own. She caressed Brea's skin briefly before asking: "Honey, what's wrong? You're trembling."

Brea's hand shook, as did her whole body when she dissolved into sobs of exhaustion. Her aunt's arms around her she cried, releasing the fear, the pressure and loneliness she'd bottled up for days. Mildred smoothed her hair, murmuring sweet words into her ear like when she was little. "Tell me," she coaxed, "Tell me what's wrong."

So Brea did. She poured her heart out, about Fíli and Bard and the Elvenking, about the dreadful injuries she'd seen and the people she'd lost on that table in the hall. The fear that twisted her stomach at the thought of losing Fíli as well, and the unbidden things she felt for him, she told her aunt everything.

When the tears subsided she sniffed and leaned away from her aunt's embrace. Mildred remained silent as Brea wiped her now puffy face. "I understand now," she said in a soft voice. "And I agree." She reached out to find Brea's hand again. "We will not let him die, darling. I promise you."

Feeling like a child again, Brea nodded. She'd just gained another ally in her battle against death.

oOoOoOo

The palace kitchens had been arranged to accommodate the needs of the healers and those who worked for them. The high-vaulted chambers had been cleared of rubble and rotting furniture to leave space for trestle tables where poultices and potions were prepared. The walls were lined with shelves stocked with equipment destined for the hall. Healers seldom came to the kitchens, relying on children to fetch the supplies they needed. Yet the position offered the advantage of being able to fetch whatever they needed themselves without being questioned.

Brea and Mildred walked in during breakfast time, when the staff was scarce and only one or two women in charge of preparations remained on duty. "Good morning," Brea said cheerfully to the stern-looking matron who supervised the rooms that day. "My aunt is suffering from a headache. I'm here to get something for her pain."

"A headache, you say?" she repeated sullenly but did not chase them out, recognizing Brea as one of those who worked in the hall.

"Yes. It hurts on the left side of my head." Mildred touched her temple.

"Then why are you here?" The woman eyed them with distrust. "You could've stayed at home while your daughter here got you the remedy."

"Walking helps with the pain," Brea intervened, patting her aunt's arm in what she hoped to be a compassionate manner.

"So it does." Mildred nodded.

Brea glanced around quickly, noting where the supplies she needed lay. Poultices she could make herself, and bandages were easy to come by as well. Splints, on the other hand, were stored in the kitchens, together with the flaxen rope that served to bind them together. Brea would need felt as well, to bandage Fíli's leg before she tied it up.

The matron still appeared unconvinced. "There's been folk coming in," she muttered, "Taking potions to soothe their grief. What tells me you're not one of them?" she inquired, her hands on her hips. "What shall we tell them sick folk when we run out because of you?"

"You're right." Mildred disentangled her arm from Brea's and lay a trembling hand on her chest. "I've seen grief enough in my life to drown in potions, to be sure." Her voice was quivering. "I've lost my husband when I was expecting," she added. "He went to work one day, fishing on the lake, never to return."

Brea watched Mildred as she raised a hand to her eyes, wiping off a tear. "I lost the babe, too."

The woman seemed uneasy. She glanced towards Brea, who did her best to appear stricken. She didn't have to try hard, shook by her aunt's story. She hadn't known any of it, she realized, remembering when Mildred took her in at her parents' death. Brea had never questioned why she was unmarried or childless before.

"Then the Gods took my sister," her aunt continued, her voice breaking with emotion. "My Mara and her husband, only their little one survived the fire." She reached out towards Brea who took her hand, not trusting herself to speak lest she cried.

"Ma, enough," Brea whispered. "Let's go." She tried to pull her away.

Her aunt sobbed and gripped her arm, leaning against Brea, unsteady and shaking.

"How dreadful!" The guardian of the kitchen was near panic, casting anxious glances towards the doors. No help came from there, as everyone else was still enjoying breakfast at the old marketplace, a good ten minutes' walk from the palace.

"I worked hard to raise her right, I did." Mildred mourned, tears streaming down her face. She closed her eyes. "And when I lost my eyesight…" With a small cry she crumpled in Brea's arms.

"I'll get help!" The matron darted towards the doors.

As soon as the wooden panes closed on her, Mildred pushed herself up. She produced a handkerchief from her pockets and dabbed at her face. "Take what you need," she commanded. "We don't have much time."

Brea wiped her eyes hastily and headed towards the shelves. She wrestled a dozen splints and a coil of rope beneath Fíli's cloak before pocketing a potion for the pain. "Let's go," she hissed.

They exited the kitchens briskly, surveying the surroundings for the woman's return. But the streets were empty save for those who trickled in to take their post for the day.

"I didn't know," Brea murmured as they walked back home. "For your husband… I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Mildred cackled. "He was a good for nothing lout who left me for some floozy. Nothing there to regret."

Brea paused to look at her. "But you said…"

"Never mind what I said, dear." Her aunt shrugged. "That was a small lie for a greater good. You keep your mind on that fellow, and you save his life. That's all that matters now."