"Amad," a dragged out voice said while fidgeting sounds suddenly flitted in the air. Náriel opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling above her. White canvas flapped in the breeze. Looking slowly to the side she raised an eyebrow. She was back in her tent that she shared with Bilbo. Bilbo at the moment wasn't here. Not that she blamed him. Who'd want to stay in a tent with an unconscious person? Let alone that person being a friend.
Pushing herself onto her elbows, she gritted her teeth and put a hand on her side. She looked through narrowed eyes at her side. She could feel the bandage which was wrapped around her middle. She slowly sat up and clutched her head. The sudden movement caused blood to suddenly rush to her head and for her to suddenly feel rather ill.
With her legs over the canvas bed she looked herself over. She had been changed. She was wearing a simple dark tunic which was far too big for her, though the trousers fitted fine. This caused her to think that someone had mixed and matched her clothes. Evidently the top was made for a man, specifically it looked typical of the style the Men wore in Lake Town, yet her trousers were her own. Or at least they were Elvish.
Wriggling her bare toes on the ground she heaved herself up. Being in a standing position caused everything to suddenly sway and disorientate her. Holding her hands out she walked slowly forwards. She looked to her leg, she could move it. She surely thought Azog had broken it when he stamped down as she tried to flee. Leaning down she rolled the trouser leg up to see a splint and greenery. It seems that perhaps he had broken or at least fractured, or injured it badly, but because of the herbs which were mixed in with her dressing, it seemed to be healing quickly.
"Amad!" Came the voice again, pushing the tent door out of the way she hobbled out and looked around. The sun was shining and fluffy white clouds rolled lazily along a clear blue sky. She took in a big lungful of air and looked to the side where she heard the voice again.
Shuffling forwards she was thankful no one saw her up and about. If they did she was certain she'd be told to go back to rest. And rest was something she did not want to do. No, she wished to find the owner of the voice. They seemed to be the only person around at the moment. The rest of the camp sat in silence. There were voices, but they were further away.
Reaching another tent she peeked her head through the door. "Amad ikhuzh!" Came another flustered voice.
Náriel smiled, she couldn't help it, she really couldn't. Frowning suddenly she tilted her head to the side. "Amad..." trailing off she looked questionably to the ground.
It seemed someone had noticed her, "amad, amad!" It was Kíli who was trying desperately to bat the worried hands away and direct the attention elsewhere.
"Mother?" Náriel managed to translate at last.
There was a scoff and a snort, "I'm not your mother."
"I'd be worried if you were, Dis." Náriel said plainly while crossing her arms and fully walking into the tent.
The Dwarf woman in question suddenly sat bolt upright. Looking slowly over her shoulder, Dis looked at Náriel, and she in return looked at her.
Náriel smiled. "Look at you..."
"Have you looked at yourself? You're looking worse."
"I didn't mean it like-"
"I know!" Dis burst out laughing. Náriel looked worriedly to Fíli and Kíli who sheepishly smiled. Náriel walked further into the tent the brothers were sharing and sat down on Fili's bed and looked to Dis as she sat on Kíli's.
Náriel meant her earlier words in the sense of: look at how you've grown. For Dis - the Dis before her - was a woman, a mother. She was not the child she knew. Though it seemed she still had the same sense of humour. Which was something which caused her to smile. If anything from growing up, Dis' similarities to Thorin were more evident. Though, her hair wasn't the same dark colour which it used to be from her youth. It seemed to have turned a darker brown. A tone more similar to Kíli's. But her eyes were now more a similar shade to that of her older brother than they were when she was younger.
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Calm The Fire (UNDER EDITING)Fanfiction
It is a little known fact that Thorin had come to dislike the race of elves; but perhaps it hasn't always been this way, maybe, just maybe, once upon a time there wasn't such high disdain held towards them. The dwarf-Prince's heart isn't as nearly a...