Chapter Three

"Let me look at your foot while we wait," Oin said, watching as Thorin paced, or more accurately limped, back and forth in front of the cots that held Fili and Kili.

"You can look at it once my nephews are awake," Thorin grumbled. He looked at them, frowned. Neither of them had stirred for as long as he'd been there. He had not left the room in more than half a day, he thought. Far too long. If they had to wait for the elf much longer, he feared it would be too late for any of them.

"It has been almost a full day," Oin said. "If you do not let me see to your wounds, they could fester."

"I know how long it has been. You may see to my wounds when she sees to theirs," Thorin insisted. "But not before. I will not see to my comfort at the expense of their lives."

Oin subsided, knowing there would be no reasoning with Thorin in his current mood. It was not dragon sickness that had him now, but worry and grief, which were their own powerful force. And he knew that even with the baskets of kingsfoil Nori had brought back several hours ago, his skills were not enough to heal the lads. They needed Tauriel. So he worried, and he grieved as well.

Back at the gates, where dawn had lightened the sky, a murmur started amongst the dwarves who had set to work clearing and repairing the damage that had been done not only in battle, but by Smaug as well. To a man they stopped what they were doing and stared down into the valley where two horses galloped closer. The smaller of the two held Dwalin and Bofur. In the lead was a majestic brown horse, on its back an elf woman with streaming red hair.

Tauriel reigned her horse in and jumped down, grabbing her bow and waiting impatiently for the two dwarves to catch up. She was a riot of emotions, her heart beating so fast she felt faintly ill, but outwardly she was calm. There were a couple dozen dwarves about, and she would not lose control of herself in front of them the way she had at Bard's home in Lake-town. She would hold herself together, find Kili, and see what she saw.

"If we need to hurry, why aren't you hurrying?" she asked when the two dwarves joined her.

Dwalin only grunted.

"We'll take you to them now," Bofur said, indeed hurrying now, only slowing when several dwarves blocked them from passing through the gates. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Let us pass. We have no time to waste."

"You want us to let an elf pass through these gates?" someone asked. "And one of Thranduil's, no doubt." He sneered at Tauriel. "Thorin would have you skinned for this."

"We brought her here at Thorin's insistence," Dwalin said.

"Thorin would never allow an elf through his gates."

Tauriel had waited long enough, and had no patience for this man's ignorance. She stepped forward, took his coat in her fist, and hauled him up onto his toes. "Do you want Kili to die?" she asked. "His brother as well? If not, then I suggest you move out of the way."

She settled the matter by shoving him aside and striding through the gates.

"You cannot enter Erebor with weapons," the dwarf stated plaintively, doing what he could to save face.

"Try and stop me," Tauriel muttered. There was no chance she was going to enter these hostile halls without weapons.

Her strides were long, and while Dwalin peeled off to go about other business, Bofur had to hurry to catch up to her. He took her through long corridors and huge halls, past clusters of dwarves who stopped and stared as she went past. And what a sight she made. The tall elf warrior, clearly comfortable with the weapons she carried, still streaked and splattered with dirt and blood from a battle a day past. They mistook the look in her eyes as coldness and disdain. They did not know her well enough to know that the remoteness of her gaze masked a deep lingering fear with panic licking at the edges. Not fear of the dwarves, but rather fear for a particular dwarf.

They traversed long staircases and halls before coming to a stop at a large pair of doors. "They're inside," Bofur said. "Oin has been treating all of the injured here."

"Then why are we waiting?" She pushed the doors open and went inside. Her heart thudding, she frantically scanned the large room, and when she spotted him at the far end she nearly fell to her knees. Her bow fell from numb fingers and she found herself moving forward, past a dozen or more dwarves who had gone silent at her entrance. She saw only Kili, was intent only on reaching him. But her path was blocked again, and this time she could not simply grab his coat and move him aside. For this was no ordinary dwarf.

This was Thorin Oakenshield.

Thorin stared at Tauriel, waited for her to tear her gaze from Kili and look at him. He wondered if she even realized that a solitary tear had fallen down her already streaked and dirty cheek. When she finally looked down at him, he had decided what he wanted to say.

"I don't like having elves in my halls. I have never had reason to trust an elf. But if you can save their lives, there is nothing in this world that I will not give you in return."

"I don't want your gold, I don't want your thanks," she murmured, her eyes tracking back to Kili. "I only want him to live."

Oin stepped up beside Thorin. "We have kingsfoil. All of it you could need." He gestured to several baskets of the plant sitting on a table between Fili and Kili. "We have water, and bowls for mixing. We have clean cloths for binding wounds. Anything else you need, we will find."

Tauriel took a moment to steady herself and looked back at Thorin. "I can make no promises," she forced herself to say. "But if it is in my power, I will bring him back. I will not stop trying." Until my own final breath, she added silently.

"They are my own blood," Thorin said. "They are my sister's sons."

"And he is…" She didn't know what to call him, she realized. She didn't know how to define what she felt to him, not out loud to Thorin at least. She had spilled it out to Thranduil amidst tears and ruin, but to say it now…the words stuck in her throat, blocked by fear and a terrible hope. "If the Valar give me strength, he will wake again."

She took a slow, deep breath, and prepared herself. "Everyone who is able needs to leave," she said to Thorin.

"These men are injured."

"And Elvish medicine is not a magical spectacle," she replied. "I did not come here as fodder for entertainment and gossip. I came here, knowing that most if not all of those gathered here despise me for what I am, but that doesn't matter if I can save Kili's life. Nothing else matters. But I am asking you to send everyone else away while I try to save him."

After a long moment, Thorin apparently satisfied himself with what he saw in her eyes. He nodded to Oin, who along with Bofur coaxed the other injured dwarves from their cots and took them out of the room. The doors closed behind them, leaving a resounding quiet in their wake. Tauriel closed her eyes briefly, prayed to the Valar for strength.

She took a bundle of athelas and began stripping its branches, letting the tiny leaves fall into a bowl. "Show me the wound in his belly," she said without looking up at Thorin, who she had never expected to follow the rest of the dwarves out of the room.

While she added a little water to the bowl and crushed the leaves with her fingers, Thorin opened Kili's tunic and removed the bandages and kingsfoil poultice that Oin had placed there. Tauriel stared down at the vicious, ugly wound while Thorin moved to the other side of the cot to give her room. The wound should have killed him, she thought. She shuddered, remembering the way Bolg had waited until she was watching to plunge his blade in deep. She met Thorin's eyes. "I have not known him long," she said quietly, "but he means a great deal to me. Whatever has happened since I met him, he has given me something that I have never had in six hundred years. I do not regret that."

Thorin only nodded, any reply he might have made stuck in his throat. He looked down at Kili, who had not stirred. His impetuous, sometimes foolish, but always brave young nephew. He watched for a blink, a sign that he was coming back to life, but found his eyes drawn back to Tauriel. She had packed the wound in Kili's belly with the paste of kingsfoil she had made and placed her hands over it. Now she chanted in her Elvish tongue, words he did not understand but that nonetheless drew him in and held him in thrall. She seemed to have forgotten he was there. At first her eyes were closed, her voice quiet. But shortly the tone lifted higher, and her eyes opened again to gaze down at Kili's still face. The rhythm of her words never faltered, looping and spiraling around him as a soft glow appeared around her. It brightened in seconds, enveloping them. It seemed to come from inside her, and he couldn't explain it, but he was mesmerized.

When the light began to fade, she dropped down to a knee and began murmuring near Kili's ear, the words still Elvish, but now her voice almost too quiet for Thorin to hear. She gently brushed her fingers across his forehead and Thorin looked away. This moment was not for him.

How could this be happening? he wondered. How could he be sympathizing with an elf? He had spent a lifetime hating elves and all they stood for. Hating their coldness, hating their disregard for anyone but themselves. Now he'd invited an elf into his home, the home elves had once refused to help him reclaim, and was feeling sympathy for her as she attempted to heal his nephews' grievous wounds. His own wounds ached. His foot, mangled by Azog's sword, burned like icy fire, but he would not ask her to help him when she was done. He could not. His pride would not allow it.

He pressed a hand against his chest and winced. The wound in his foot was not his only wound. Azog's blade had penetrated his armor, and it was coming to the point where he could no longer hide it. He felt cold, and he thought it had started bleeding again. He flexed his fingers. They were shaking now. He would not be able to stay on his feet much longer. But he had to hold on until Fili and Kili were safe. He had to know his nephews would survive.

Tauriel stood up, bracing a hand on the edge of Kili's cot. Exhaustion was beginning to creep in, but she was not done yet. She should rest first, she knew that. But she couldn't. She had to help Fili before she could rest. It was what Kili would want. She had witnessed the loyalty between them. It had struck a chord in her. She had felt loyalty before, to Legolas, to her people, but what she had witnessed between the dwarf brothers was different. It was pure, natural, and she craved it for herself.

She stepped over to Fili's cot and looked down at him. She saw a quick rise of his chest, but she sensed something else in him. She sensed that he was close to fading. He had rallied, but his energy was almost spent.

"Where are his wounds?" she asked Thorin, reaching for the bowl of athelas she had prepared. When she received no answer, she turned and saw Thorin with a hand clutched to his chest. She frowned. "Where are his wounds?" she repeated.

Thorin shook his head, tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind, and turned to see Tauriel poised over Fili. "That Orc scum Azog stabbed him in the back."

"Help me turn him." Together they shifted Fili onto his side, revealing a hideous, ragged wound in his back. Tauriel's breath left her in a rush. "I don't know if I can…" she whispered. She closed her eyes. She had the gift of healing, but she had always spent more time fighting, more time in battle. She was a warrior, not a healer. She wondered if she had the strength for this, if saving two men so near death was even possible for one healer.

Possible or not, she had to try. She took a deep breath as she opened her eyes. And, taking more of the athelas in her hands, she went to work.

When it was done Tauriel staggered back, exhausted. She did not know if she had done enough. She did not know if Fili would live. But there was nothing more she could do now.

Thorin leaned heavily against the edge of Fili's cot. He did not look good, and Tauriel was worried. "Are you…"

"I am fine," Thorin grumbled before she could finish. "I do not need your help."

"You do not look fine," she pushed, for Kili's sake. If—when—he woke, she did not want it to be to a world where Thorin was dead.

"I do not want your help!" Thorin turned and glared at her. His face was pale and sheened with sweat. Even in her exhaustion Tauriel could see something was wrong. "I did not have you brought here to stand over me like a nursemaid. You are here for Fili and Kili. That is all."

"I was not brought here," she said, irritation punching a hole through her fatigue. "I came here of my own choice. Kili tried to help me on Ravenhill, and suffered for it. I owe him. I…" She looked back at him, and the magnitude of her feelings for him rolled through her. "I wanted to come," she finished.

She looked at Thorin again. "I was not here before, when Smaug came and took this place from you. I had no part in Thranduil's decision to refuse your people aid. You can hate me if that is your choice, but you should know that I am not like him. And I owe him no allegiance now."

"And who do you owe allegiance to? His son, Legolas?"

"I choose my own allegiances now. And I don't intend to give my loyalty to anyone who does not deserve it."

"Just like an elf," Thorin said, and had to tighten his grip on the cot so he didn't fall. Blackness was starting to cloud his vision. It made him angry, and a small part of him was frightened that if he closed his eyes he might not open them again. And so he lashed out at the only convenient target in the room. He ignored the fact that she had come here and used skills none of his people possessed, for the sole purpose of saving the lives of his nephews. He ignored the fact that he had intended to give her a chance without judgment. He let himself forget that she could have ignored their pain and turned her back, as so many had before. Azog and Bolg were dead, but the suffering they had wrought lived on, and he had no one else to blame.

"Is it the gems you want?" he asked. "Can your loyalty be purchased with jewels and gold? Thranduil seems to have an affinity for white gems."

"I am not Thranduil, and I will not say it again. I do not want your gold, and I do not want your jewels. I want Kili safe. I want him well. I want to see him smile again. I want…" She looked down at Kili. "I want to again hear him say the words he said to me before he rowed away from the wreckage of Esgaroth."

"But you would take it, wouldn't you?" Thorin asked, his voice wavering. "You would take the gold and gems if offered."

"I do not want—"

There was a crash behind her. She whirled, and saw Thorin on the ground between the two cots. She crouched beside him, could not tell if he was breathing. "Oin, Bofur!" she called, one by one releasing the fastenings of Thorin's coat.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and rapid footsteps brought the two dwarves to her side. "What happened?" Oin demanded.

"He fell. I think he has been concealing injuries." She opened his coat, and the two dwarves gasped. Much of the front of his shirt was red, sodden bandages placed haphazardly not stopping the flow of blood. She eased them away, and they all saw the angry gash in his chest. Bad, she thought. Worse than the others. He had not used any of the athelas. He had done almost nothing to staunch the flow of blood.

"I need more athelas," she said, and stumbled when she got up to get it herself. She shook her head to clear it.

"You are exhausted," Bofur said. "Perhaps you should wait…"

"We can pack the wound with kingsfoil," Oin said. "It will buy him time."

Tauriel shook her head. "He is out of time. He has spent an entire day neglecting to treat a wound that should have been fatal. If I do not help him now, he will die for certain."

She took the bowl and sprig of athelas herself, stripping the leaves as fast as her shaking fingers would allow her. She should not do this. There were a dozen reasons she should tell the dwarves there was nothing she could do for their leader. His wounds were too severe. She was already exhausted from attempting to heal not one, but two of his kin. She had never known a healer to attempt to heal three men near death at once. She did not know what might happen to her if she tried. But how could she not? The fear and devastation on the faces of the dwarves was clear. They were not prepared to lose their leader. The same could be said for Kili and Fili, when they woke up, as she had to believe they would.

And for all his flaws, Thorin did not deserve to die.

"We'll need fresh cloth, fresh bandages," she said as she crushed the leaves. "Water for cleansing when I'm finished. He will need fresh clothing." When she was ready, and as much of the blood as possible had been wiped away, she pressed athelas into the wound and laid her hands over it.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Oin asked from beside her.

For long seconds she stared at him in silence. But when she began to speak, it was not in reply. Her words were the Sindarin healing words, and she spoke them for Thorin. Spoke them for the man who loved his nephews enough to invite one of his sworn enemies into his home to help them. And in a way, she spoke them for Kili as well. She wanted him to have his uncle. She wanted him to have his family.

Her light began to glow, but it was fainter, weaker than before. She did not have much left. But she fought through her exhaustion, kept going. She swayed, and felt one of the dwarves place a hand on her shoulder to steady her. Her vision faded, and she blinked rapidly to bring it back. She tried to keep going. She spoke to Thorin in Sindarin and pleaded with him to hold on for Kili and Fili. She pleaded with the Valar to help her save a good man.

Her vision faded again, and she could not bring it back this time. Dizziness overwhelmed her and she slumped to the side, collapsing onto the ground near Thorin. She heard Bofur and Oin calling her name, but she could not reply. Her eyes closed, her light diminished. Her energy was utterly spent, and with a final sigh she faded and knew no more that day.

And Kili opened his eyes.