A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Stifling

Thorin sat upon a rock, downstream a little way from the throng of dwarves carrying about, his gaze trained on the small fire that his company had managed to start.

A sense of pride filled him at their unflappable nature and ingenuity.

More specifically, though, Thorin's gaze was trained on the shivering little creature who was sitting in front of the flames, curled in on herself, head bent low.

Lyla sat unmoving in the same spot Dwalin had guided her to, with her knees pulled close, her chin resting atop them, and her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as she huddled near the warmth of the fire, staring into the rich orange flames that crackled and snapped as they consumed the dried branches.

Thorin noticed when she winced and jerked her head to the side as Oin's fingers danced over the wound hidden beneath her hair. He'd already wrapped the the wound on her hand in a bit of torn cloth. And there was nothing he could really do for the blossoming bruises on her throat.

"Ye'll have to hold still lass," Oin grumbled in mild annoyance, grasping Lyla's head gently to still her. "I can't see anythin' if yer movin' about."

A scowl worked its way onto Thorin's face and the dull roar of fury started to bubble up again.

If Azog were still alive...

Thorin let out a huff of air and cast his gaze upward at the trees. Mahal help him. This stream of thought was getting him nowhere. He would be much more useful putting his energy into taking care of the issues at hand rather than dwelling on the past.

His eyes flicked over to Lyla again.

The first issue to take care of was to stop that insufferable shivering the hobbit was doing. The elf (and Thorin sneered at the thought) had pointed out that Lyla was far more likely than they to suffer some adverse effects from their trip down the river. She was not as hardy or impervious to climate changes as the dwarves or elves were.

'They are easily affected by the cold,' he had remarked quietly, 'And with her open wounds, she could become rather ill if we don't act soon.'

Thorin snorted. He could see it for himself in every shiver and shudder that the little hobbit exhibited. He wasn't blind. He saw how delicate she was.

He saw that she needed to be taken care of.

And so the dwarves had rallied, most willingly, to get a fire going and dispose of...unwanted reminders of what had happened only a short time ago. They wanted to afford every comfort to their hobbit, even if it was so little an offering such as a bit of warmth and friendly guards to watch over her.

But even as the fire crackled merrily, Lyla's shivers only subsided marginally. And they couldn't stay where they were for long. They needed supplies. They had no food and relief from their journey. They needed to head to a settlement and get reorganized, recuperated and ready to head to Erebor.

Right now, though? Right now they just needed warm beds and hot meals in their bellies.

He gazed at the little hunched figure by the fire once more, a strange feeling filling his chest.

They needed to take care of her.

He needed to take care of her.

Make amends. Make things right.

Erebor could wait a little longer.

*****
Oin had finally left her in peace, his mother hen act ceasing for the time being. But, now, to Lyla's befuddlement, she had different company bombarding her with questions and attention. Fili and Kili flanked either side of her, trying to keep her warm.