The Revenge of a Huntress

the one with elvish healing

Thorin didn't know what to do.

The all-powerful Dwarf King would never admit to such a thing, and the Blacksmith would be the one to admit that he knew he was lost. However, while holding the body of the Lady Arathelle in his arms, he discovered that he was neither of those dwarves.

He was Thorin, not the King and not the Blacksmith. He was the Uncle of Fili and Kili, bonded brother to Dwalin and Balin, cousin to Oín and Gloin. And he was currently at a loss as to how he had allowed the woman to place herself in danger to save one of his own kin in the first place.

After reaching the steps of the home of the elves, he was immediately greeted by an elf with long, dark hair who wore concern in his eyes. "Faradielle has returned!" he gaped, looking down at the woman in Thorin's grasp. "What happened to her?"

Who is Faradielle?

Thorin could feel the unease from the rest of his company flowing in waves and steeled himself for his conversation with this untimely elf. Couldn't he see that she needed to be helped? Why were they halted at the entrance? Are elves not supposed to be renowned healers?

Luckily before Thorin could say anything, as it would most likely not be anything diplomatic or polite, Gandalf stepped in and immediately took control of the situation. "The Lady Huntress needs a healer," the wizard spoke, as his eyes peered around the elf to look at the other elves who were watching the group in curiosity. "Where is Lord Elrond?"

"Are we some sort of show for these elves?" Dwalin muttered in his ear. "Why are they looking at us like we're their next entertainment?"

Thorin shook his head. If someone did not bother to help in seconds, he would—

"Oh no! It's true!"

"Calad, wait!"

Everyone looked at the commotion to see two young humans hurrying down the steps toward the dwarves. Dwalin immediately went to grab for an ax, followed by the rest of the company, but Gandalf held up a hand. "Hold, Master Dwarves. They are not a threat."

Thorin was confused as a woman with hair as dark as the one in his arms and skin pale and untainted save for a wicked-looking scar running across her neck. "Estel, I was right! It is her!" the woman, Calad, called as she journeyed closer to them.

As soon as she was near enough to touch Lady Arathelle, she looked down at Thorin with a thankful glance. "Thank you for helping her, Master Dwarf," she spoke, before looking down at Arathelle intently and running a hand across her forehead. "She needs medicine, and we can provide. We must bring her to the healing halls."

Was this woman some sort of healer?

The man quickly came to a stop beside her, towering over Calad easily by a few inches. He had a gypsy look in his eye and looked rugged enough to remind Thorin of the man who stood beside Arathelle in the picture at her lodgings.

"I can bring her there," he spoke while asking Thorin to give him Arathelle.

"I will not so easily hand over a member of my company," Thorin immediately snapped at the two humans, who now wore frowns on their faces.

"Thorin Oakenshield, I do not think you understand-" Gandalf began, only to be cut off by Calad who now had an odd look in her eye.

"I think he understands plenty, Mithrandir," she spoke, before turning back to Thorin in determination. "You must follow me, Master Dwarf, I will show you the way to the healing halls."

"Oi, Lassie, there is no way I'm gonna let you take my king anywhere in this trap alone," Dwalin grunted, holding his ax in hand.

"You must understand we are short on time, Master Dwarf," the man spoke boldly. "Perhaps one of you can come with us to guarantee his safety."