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Chapter 13

"We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full."
Marcel Proust

oOoOoOo

October 13th, T.A. 2941

Light footsteps heading up the stairs roused Fíli from his slumber. He opened his eyes, wondering what time it was. The sole window of the room allowed him a view of the sky, and, considering the intensity of the sunlight and its direction, he guessed the day to be half gone.

He watched the door, expecting to see Brea, but it was an unknown woman who entered, carrying a bowl and a goblet. She was tall and thin, with hair as red as Glóin's but none of his beard. She startled to see him awake.

"I brought you something to eat."

Fíli saw her hesitate before coming closer. She set the bowl and goblet beside his bed, avoiding to look at him. He guessed she was the one who lived downstairs, the mother of the infant and the owner of the house.

"Thank you," he said.

His voice was raspy from disuse, and his lips were parched. Fíli reached out for the cup first, gritting his teeth at the pain the movement stirred in his side. The woman watched him struggle, her own conflict written on her face. She seemed afraid to stay with him, but loath to leave before she knew he'd eaten. Fíli suspected that Brea had left her instructions, but he wasn't about to beg for help.

His fingers closed around the goblet. A stabbing pain erupted in the muscles of his back and his arm quivered.

"Let me…"

The woman approached hastily to help him raise the cup to his lips. Fíli wondered whether it was compassion that had driven her to act, or the reluctance of having to fetch another drink. She retreated as he swallowed the water in greedy gulps, uncaring for the spill that ran down his beard. He must look primitive to her anyway, he mused. Good manners would not change her opinion.

He wondered where Brea was. No doubt that she had a family to take care of, perhaps even a man who demanded her time and attention. The thought made him bitter all of a sudden; bitter and jealous.

Fíli struggled to put the cup back onto the stool that served as a bedside before reaching for the bowl, but the woman was quicker. She set the dish onto his chest so that he could use the spoon to feed himself. Steadying the bowl with one hand, Fíli tasted the contents. Simple stew with bits of bread drowned within, a far cry from the victory feast they'd been speaking of but a fortnight ago.

"Do you know where my brother is?" he asked as the woman was about to leave.

Balin would have chewed him out for talking with his mouth full, but Balin wasn't there, and neither was Kíli or Thorin. The bitter taste in his mouth returned, and Fíli set down the spoon. He had to face the truth sooner or later: he'd been left behind, broken and useless.

"I don't." The woman halted before the door. "Brea didn't say much about you or your… friends."

Friends don't leave people amongst strangers, Fíli wanted to say, but didn't. "Then where is she?" he asked instead.

The woman shrugged. "At work, I suppose." He watched her in silence, unblinking, and she felt compelled to continue. "She works as a healer during the day, in the city hall. She should be back in the evening to check on you."

"Is she married?" The words escaped his lips before he'd thought them out, but the look on her face was worth the blunder.

"Not anymore," the woman mumbled. She disappeared into the staircase, leaving Fíli alone with his thoughts.

He swallowed another mouthful of stew, finding that somehow, its taste had improved over the course of the conversation. He was hungry after all.

oOoOoOo

Brea's hands fluttered about, ever busy, never resting. As far as Fíli could tell, she never remained still, always doing one thing or another, be it taking care of him or anything else.

She hadn't struck him as overactive when they'd first met: he remembered a decisive, composed woman who knew what she wanted and what she did not. Her nerves had shown otherwise, and Fíli recalled how it had bothered him to watch her mutilate herself in silence.

The only conclusion that he could draw was that he was the one who made her nervous, but he couldn't fathom why. She'd seen him almost naked, dressed his wounds, and worse… They'd reached a level of intimacy unmatched in many married couples, yet she seemed to be restless every time she was near him.

Fíli wondered whether it was repulsion that made her jittery, or the opposite. He wished for the latter. Not that he'd felt very attractive of late, but you never knew with humans. Fíli himself had never experienced anything beyond respect for any woman of any race; he'd kept busy, training for battle or the throne, studying the strategies of past wars and the history of kings of old. One day he'd ascend to the throne, and be required to marry and produce an heir. He'd never stopped to consider what the producing part really entailed.

From his position in the bed, there was little he could do but observe, so observe he did. He studied his caretaker carefully, noting the little details he liked most. From his experience, Brea was small for a human, but she was still taller than him by a head. Her skin was darker than the other people of Laketown he'd met, maybe a heritage from a Southern ancestor. Black hair and a curvy, strong figure, with muscular arms speaking of a trade that required physical labor. Like all human women she lacked a proper beard, but he'd seen a few darker hairs above her upper lip. Fíli wondered if they were as soft as her locks were bound to be, or coarse like his own beard.

If she caught him staring at her when she turned around, Brea gave no sign of it. She approached the bed, looking preoccupied, her hands full with cloths and bowls. She set everything onto the bedside and glanced at him, her eyebrows drawn together in worry.

"I must set your leg straight," she said, biting her nails again. Fíli felt the urge to reach out and stop her from mangling her skin in such a manner. "It's going to hurt, but it's necessary." She peered into his eyes. "I wouldn't do it otherwise."

Fíli nodded. Discomfort had been a faithful companion ever since his fall. His breath was ragged even at rest, leaving him winded after only a few words. His whole body ached, the intensity of the soreness rising and falling in waves, sometimes rousing him from sleep. Whenever that happened he'd grip the edges of the bed and grit his teeth, waiting for the moment to pass. Kings didn't complain, Thorin had taught him that much.

Brea seemed to search his face for a sign that could've dissuaded her from proceeding, but Fíli liked to think he remained impassible. Brea sighed and pulled the sheets away from his leg. Fíli craned his neck to examine it even though he'd done it before, when no-one was watching. He had wiggled his toes and prodded the bruised skin with his hand, moaning in pain, his suffering covered by the wails of the baby below. He'd even tried to rise, but as soon as he'd contracted the muscles of his thigh he'd screamed, falling back onto the mattress.

No matter how he'd wanted to believe that he'd heal on his own, Fíli had been forced to admit that he needed help. Brea wouldn't treat his leg properly if she was afraid to hurt him, so he was determined to bear the pain without a sound. He wouldn't be known as the first crippled king of Erebor, and if such was the price to pay, he'd pay it gladly.

Brea came back with wooden splints and rope, and lay them on each side of his naked leg. "I'll be careful, I promise," she said, as much for herself as for him. She bit her lip as she soaked the bandages in the bowl, before wrapping them around his leg. Fíli shivered, causing her to look up. "Sorry," she muttered, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes.

Those were lovely eyes, Fíli observed to himself, black as night, with specks of gold that could be seen when you looked close enough. Her long lashes fluttered as she worked, and Fíli chose to focus on their movement.

He was soon distracted from his pleasant pastime. The bandages tightened around his leg as they dried. What started out as an uncomfortable stiffness grew into a pull, and then into a pain that burned from thigh to toe. Fíli clenched his teeth, refusing to show his suffering. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and soaked the pillow.

Brea must've noticed his plight. Her voice was hesitant when she asked: "Would you tell me about your home?" He glanced at her in bewilderment, but she insisted, laying yet another strip of cloth onto his knee. "What's it like?"

Fíli knew that his place was beneath the mountain, in Erebor, yet whenever someone mentioned home, he remembered his life in the Blue Mountains instead. Just as he decided he wouldn't need such a childish way to escape the pain, Brea wiped her hands and reached for the splints.

He swallowed hard. "I grew up in the Blue Mountains," he said hoarsely, eyeing her movements.

Brea seemed curious. "Where is that?"

"In the West of Eriador, above the gulf of Lune."

Fíli remembered the last look he'd taken at the snowy peaks of his homeland, when he and Kíli had left for the Shire. How the wind had howled in the blue pines that grew on the slopes, rich with the scent of resin and smoke. Amongst the pines thrived blackberry bushes, whose fruit he and Kíli used to gorge on as children, until their mouths were blue as well.

"I was born in Gabilgathol. Your people call it Belegost." Fíli closed his eyes and leaned back. He had to catch his breath before he could continue. "There are forests there, older than most human cities of Middle-Earth," he said, "As dark and deep as the realms my forefathers built in those mountains." She was wrapping his leg in something warm. "The city itself is built of marble," Fíli continued as she pushed the splints against his thigh. "The black and white veins of stone adorn the city walls and vaults, as if the halls were built from Mahal's flesh itself."

He wheezed, exhausted by his long tirade. The pressure on his leg increased, and so did the pain. It was as though his bones were breaking all over again, but this time slowly, grinding together under his skin. Through his own panting Fíli heard Brea's breath accelerate as she worked. He clenched his teeth, willing himself to focus on the memories.

"I remember the patterns on the walls of our mother's home…"

Sweat poured down his face and his blood pounded in his ears. Fíli could barely hear himself speak, but fought to continue. He'd reached it - in his mind, he was back home again. He could see the house he was born in, and walk though his city and its pillared halls. He wandered to the marketplace, where their mother used to send them for errands, and the wide terrace that overlooked the forest. From atop the city watchtowers he was able to glimpse the sea, when the winds swept in from the north, announcing the arrival of the first snowfalls.

The memories were strong and pure, but the pain was stronger, engulfing him once again. Fíli held it in as long as he could, and when he could take it no more he arched his back and screamed.

The mattress sank in when Brea sat beside him. He felt a soft hand on the back of his neck and a cold touch on his lips. "Drink," she urged, her voice breaking. He opened his eyes to see her tear-streaked face. "It'll ease the aching."

He swallowed the bitter liquid readily and closed his eyes again.

"Sleep," Brea whispered above him.

As he drifted off, carried away on the wings of a pine-scented wind, he thought he felt the touch of her lips on his forehead.