mithril

V.

"Léra." I don't register the voice calling to me at first. "Léra." I blink slowly, looking up. Kíli is kneeling over me, holding out a water skin. "Drink," he tells me softly, his dark eyes compassionate. I don't pull away from the hand he lifts to my forehead. The deep frown on his face might've concerned me in another time, but I watch blankly as he moves to Gandalf. The whispered exchange isn't quiet enough in this clearing.

"Gandalf, she's ill."

"Yes, my dear Kíli, I fear you are right."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I do not yet know the full cause, but I suspect she suffered a broken rib in Goblin Town and infection is spreading to her lungs quite rapidly."

"Can't you heal her like you healed Thorin?"

"I can, but that Dúnedan would rather die than admit she is suffering," Gandalf turns to glare at me. I offer him a weak, barely-there smile. "I think I would lose a hand if I tried."

Kíli motions at Thorin. He crosses to his nephew and the wizard without a glance to where I'm sitting.

"Thorin," Kíli implores, "she can't go on like this. Speak to her and convince her to let Gandalf heal her injuries." There's a moment of silent hesitation before Thorin grunts an agreement. A moment later, the Dwarf is kneeling before me.

"Don't be a stubborn human," he scolds me. Rather rudely, too. I snort, pushing myself up. I fight the cough that burns through my lungs as I move.

"I'm fine," I tell him. The same two words I've been echoing to Gandalf and Bilbo for hours now. I finally look at Thorin, and everything I'd been so sure of slips away. His eyes are dark, his face a storm as he stares at me. I think he will carry me to Gandalf himself when the Hobbit stumbles back into the clearing. His reappearance is heralded by the howls of Wargs and the deep, threatening roar of something bigger.

I rise slowly, following Gandalf and the Dwarves yet again as we start to run. The path the wizard takes us on leads across rivers, through wide forests. It ends in a great, wide plain. At the center sits a stout house, embedded in a copse of ancient trees. I'm wheezing as we run, my chest constricting and fighting for each breath. I sprint anyway, never allowing that terrible iron-will of mine to falter.

The world is spinning dangerously before me as we enter the house. The dwarves drive the beast from the doorway. The heavy wooden door slams shut, bolts locking in place and barricading crossbeams falling over the giant double planks.

I close my eyes, sinking onto the straw-covered floor. I hear the faint patter of boots, the swish of Gandalf's robes as he leans over my prone figure. All strength is gone from my limbs, otherwise I'd fight his rough hand that moves over me. I try to swat him away, but I am far too weak. I simply groan at the mutter of Elvish. He's healing me. I can feel it in the warm glow that spreads from my stomach. It washes through my entire body, making the pain disappear at the same time I fall into a deep sleep.

I wake in the utter darkness of the night. I push up, testing my limits as I feel my strength returned. I rise and move quietly through the sleeping Dwarves. I use the silence to compose myself.

In the open area of the house where the floor is clear of straw and animals, I release my hair from its braids. Using the nearby water basin, I rinse the curled strands of the dirt from my travels. Mud, dust, twigs and rocks. And blood, though it is mostly Goblin and Warg rather than my own. I smooth the wet hair away from my face, grateful to feel it loose again.

My shoulders feel free as I peel away the heavy cloak. I relax without its heaviness, my limbs springing upward lightly without the fabric containing me. The leather chestplate is harder to remove, consisting of a great many straps and intricate loops that kept it in place for so long. I sigh as the chain mail follows, joining the pile of discarded items on the nearby table.