Don't own, don't profit
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She made the crossing look like a simple enough business; it was not. The planks she used - boards, as she called them - were lighter than he could have imagined. Even so, he could barely move them around.
That she was fretting on the other bank and looked at him with worry and pity served to only make him feel more wretched. He would have liked nothing better than to tell her to go somewhere else and leave him to his own devices, but he could not. He was already in her debt for helping him without even asking what the payment might be, although that talk was surely coming, and by the look of things, he would still need a place to rest for at least a day, if not more.
At last, he reached the other bank! A sword would have a sturdier handle.
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Never again! The man - Thorin, she chided herself, she should start thinking about him as Thorin. It would be unforgivably rude to forget his name when there were just the two of them. He was barely breathing by the time he was close enough for her to help him.
"You made it, Thorin!"
"Aye," he said and she tried to contain herself. He was probably dehydrated and famished, not to mention in pain.
"Can you get up on your feet and walk? I'll help you."
"Do you have wood for a fire?"
"What? I mean, yes, of course I do. So you want a moment to yourself? You should have just said so. I'll be back in 5." Then she turned back to go inside.
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"You have to get out of these clothes. You just have to."
He did not think he had ever met a more brazen woman and were it not for her diminutive size - she was short for a human woman and looked rather scrawny - he would have been somewhat apprehensive spending the night alone with her in the same house.
"Can you or can you not undress by yourself? Come on, we are not kids. I was married, for fuck's sake! You've got nothing I haven't seen before."
"I am not in the habit of letting unknown women undress me."
"And I'm not in the habit of offering unknown men an undressing job! How do you propose we proceed? Come up with an idea and if it's reasonable, I'll agree."
That was the crux of it, was it not? He did not have a better idea. His right hip was painful, he could not breathe properly because his ribs were bruised, if not cracked - and they were paining him - he could barely even move his left hand, he must've wrenched his shoulder anew crossing the mud, and his right wrist was tender and somewhat swollen.
He doubted he would be able to unlace his breeches should he need to relieve himself.
She said that his clothes were wet and muddy, but after more than a day spent without lowering his trousers, he knew he stank.
"Very well, we'll do it your way."
"I hope you don't mind that I brought my brother's clothes, including underwear. You can choose whatever you like and leave out the rest. Okay?"
He nodded, wondering what the underwear was and considering if he should refuse on principle.
"We'll start at the top. I'll put your hair in a towel and tie it tightly, okay? And then I'll help you take out everything from the waist up. My brother is one ninety and on the heavy side. His tshirt and sweatshirt will cover you to your knees. Then we'll see about the pants."
"I understand."
"I'm sorry you cannot take a bath now, but I promise to fix something for tomorrow. Worst case I'll have a chair for you outside and you can take a shower sitting down. There will be hot water or as hot as I can get it."
"Do not trouble yourself."
The sensation of having someone so wholly unconnected to him - a woman so wholly unconnected to him - touching his hair was… unnerving. Mahal, what did he do to deserve this kind of punishment?
"I don't believe I'll comb your hair this evening," came her voice from somewhere behind him and he forced himself to pay attention to her. Comb his hair?!
"There is no need."
"That's not exactly true, is it now? Anyway, we'll leave the towel tied to draw as much moisture as possible and then I'll change it with another and then another. You just let me know when it feels too damp, k?"
"I will, yes." He had no intention of doing so.
"This really is a metal armour, isn't it?"
He did not think she was expecting an answer so he offered none. What kind of a question was that anyway?
She was working carefully around him and managed to take it out almost without jostling his shoulder. All he was required to do was to let her move his limbs this way and that. She undoubtedly knew what she was doing and he wondered if she was maybe a healer.
"The tunic is ripped and your shoulder is… I would have said it feels hot, but the truth is you feel hot to the touch. I don't know for sure, but I don't believe the fever is indicative of an infection. Sometimes a lung infection would present with low-grade fever, but again, I don't know if that's the case here."
He chuckled a little, although it sounded strained. "You didn't see too many dwarves, did you?"
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"Dwarves?"
"Aye. You are a healer of sorts, are you not?" He didn't wait for her to answer. "We are hotter than humans to the touch. It is how Mahal forged us."
"Healer? Forged? What the hell are you talking about? Are you concussed? Did you by chance suffer a blow, or more, to the head and lose consciousness?"
"Aye, forged. My head did not suffer unduly, you need not worry. I do not think I lost consciousness, but I was sore and tired, and I drifted in and out of sleep several times."
"Right. And you are a dwarf," he noticed she stumbled a little when she said the word. "What is Mahal?"
"He is known as Aulë, but it's Mahal for us. Our Maker," he said simply, reverently.
"You know what? It doesn't matter. I'll just go ahead and cut your shirt, it's already ripped in quite a few places."
The man was blessedly silent. Yeva concentrated on peeling the shirt away, careful not to put further strain on his left shoulder. Then came his undershirt, which also had to be cut some. She could do nothing if he was indeed concussed, but his other injuries needed to be checked and tended to.
He was naked from the waist up now and she took a moment to just look at him. He was well-muscled and hairy. Maybe hairy should come first and then well-muscled.
The proportions of his body were all wrong: his chest was too wide, his hips too narrow. As he said, he was a dwarf. That was not what struck her most, however.
Once you were paying attention it was impossible not to notice - and cringe - at the scale of abuse his body had withstood. There were scars everywhere. Long, short, some must have been made with the tip of a blade too, by the way they looked.
She circled him and even though she could see he didn't like the way she looked at him, she just couldn't help herself.
"Your hands," she said in a shaky voice. "Show me your hands."
He did it with only a small huff and it was like the last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Ding, ding!
His hands looked even worse than his body. They were large, thick and callused and rather than cuts they bore the mark of healed burns; lots and lots of burns.
"You are Thorin the dwarf," she said, carefully pronouncing every word. "Thorin Oakenshield from Middle Earth who wants to go on a quest with the hobbit Bilbo Baggins; and the wizard Gandalf." Yeva let out a short laugh, hardly believing what she was saying. "And your dwarven companions, of course."
She saw him stare at her, then at the door, then he tried to stand up, but he was too weak.
"What sorcery is this? How do you know of our purpose?"
"I need a drink. You need a drink too, come to think of it. I can't - Putain! Or maybe I don't need a drink. Maybe I'm already drunk and hallucinating?"
She was still in front of him, still looking at him when he moved a lot faster than she would have thought him able to do and caught her wrist.
"I demand answers," he growled through clenched teeth.
"Mon pote, I don't have any."
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He had been wary of her from the start, but now he had to admit he was scared. The woman had knowledge nobody should possess, far as he knew, except Tharkûn. Was she a sorceress as well?
He had caught her wrist and he would have expected her to protest and try to escape, but she didn't. She laughed, then she started to cry, then sank to the floor, her wrist still in his hand.
She cried for some time and he didn't know if he should offer comfort or demand answers. She came back to her senses after a few minutes and made to wipe her face.
"You are not in Middle Earth anymore. This world is called just Earth. The year is 2022. There are no dwarfs, no wizards, no dragons, elves, trolls and whatever. The only sentient species are humans."
That could not be. Could it?
"How do I know you speak the truth?"
"Let go of me, will you? To be honest," she said and looked at him frowning, "I still don't believe all this is true. Maybe I'll go to sleep and everything will go back to normal in the morning. I'm sure you understand the sentiment."
He nodded because he did. He fervently hoped this was just a fever dream and he would be back to his senses as soon as it let up.
"However," the woman in front of him continued, "on the off chance this is not a dream, I should still bind your shoulder and your wrist. You have abrasions on your arms that should be cleaned."
"Very well." He wished to say more, wished to either understand or make this madness go away, but there would be little gain in pressing her. She said she did not know. Thorin had lived enough in the world to spot a liar.
She applied an ointment on his cuts and after a bit of struggle, his shoulder was taped. He had never seen such a thing in his life and this, more than anything else, made him start to believe that maybe she was right and he was not in his world anymore. She went on to tape his wrist. The pain was almost instantly made better.
She then helped him into a short-sleeved body shirt, which was too large and too long for him and then a second thicker garment.
"My brother - half brother - is nothing like me, as you see. He must take after his mother's family."
He was sure she was right. The man must have been a giant, even by menfolk standards.
"I have pills for the pain, but I don't know how they would work for you. Aspirin? Paracetamol?"
He was not sure what she was offering. Less pain would be very welcome, but it depended on the method, did it not?
"Aspirin is willow bark extract. Paracetamol I don't believe you have in Middle Earth, so aspirin if you wish. Have you ever taken willow bark?"
"Aye."
"And do you want some now?"
He could not decide so he said nothing and she did not push.
"Now you will have to stand and I'll help you take off your pants. Can you stand?"
She sounded tired and dull. Her brow was creased, her mouth set into a frown. He very much wanted to protest, but she looked so weary he did not want to add to it. So he tried to stand and almost toppled forward. She guided him to lean against a wall.
"Look, I know you don't want me to undress you and, believe me, I don't want to undress you either, but we have to."
"Aye," was all he could say and focused on staying upright.
"What hurts?"
"Hip."
"Hip, eh? Mon pote, I'll have to strip you down, you understand that, right? And then I'll look at you, ok?"
He nodded and wished she would just get to it. He didn't know how much time he had until he completely collapsed.
Luckily for him, she did get to it. She decided against taping and only applied yet another ointment. She said there was too much bruising and he had no problem believing her, so taping was out of the question. She would apply the cream a few times a day and decide what to do after a few days. If he was still around, that is.
She then put him into a pair of very soft pants, which were also too big for him, and finally led him back to the chair.
He didn't know how much he spent on the chair, but at some point, she bade him stand. She asked him if he needed to relieve himself and when he said that he did not, she took him to a cot in front of the fire.
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"Thorin?"
"Aye."
"I didn't give you anything to eat."
"I do not think I could stand up again right now."
"Of course not, but I can bring something to you. I'll prop your pillow up and you won't need to do anything at all - other than chew. But if you are too tired and just want to sleep, that's alright too."
"Then I shall sleep."
In a matter of minutes, he was already snoring. She couldn't stand snoring, but it gave her something to focus on - something other than the fact that she had a storybook character in her home.
