The Revenge of a Huntress

the one with elvish healing

"But what will the rest of us do here?" Gloin asked, looking mighty peeved at the pretense of their situation. "Ye cannot just expect us to-"

"I offer you food and housing for as long as you need," a melodious voice broke through Gloin's rough one, drawing eyes up to see an elf maid with long dark hair and deep blue eyes standing gracefully at the middle of the steps. She seemed to be the epitome of perfection. "However, the Lady Faradielle needs healing so we must act with haste."

Thorin was in awe at the light that seemed to glow off from her, entranced by the natural beauty that this creature contained. He held no feelings of desire or romance for her but was indeed curious as to who this Lady was to speak so confidently in their presence.

"Milady, we were going to wait-" the elf they had first met started but was cut off as she held up a hand.

"We must help these travelers, Lindir," she spoke. "It is what my father would wish, and it is what I wish."

The dwarves quickly agreed that Fili, Balin, and Oín would go with Thorin to bring Arathelle to the healing halls, and they hurried after the two humans and the elf maiden to get there. On their way, Calad and the man were speaking in hurried elvish, however, the maid remained silent.

Thorin suddenly found himself wishing that he would have paid more attention during his lessons as a dwarfling. One of his grandfather's advisors spoke Sindarin and had tried to teach him, but as a young dwarf, he wanted nothing to do with it.

If only then could he have seen the wisdom to be able to know what they speak of in their halls.

Gandalf had stayed behind to wait for the Lord of the House, who Thorin believed to be named Lord Elrond. He once remembered his grandfather speaking of his trade with the elves of Rivendell, but that was centuries ago.

As soon as they entered the healing chamber, Calad immediately gestured for Thorin to lay Arathelle down on the bed. "Just put her down here—yes, thank you, Master Dwarf."

Thorin held in the sigh that nearly escaped him as he saw he was covered in blood. At this point, it had seeped into his clothes and he could feel its warmth on his skin, which was an odd feeling.

"I will grab the herbs," the man spoke, rushing over to nearby cabinets and grabbing an array of different leaves that Thorin did not recognize. However, Oín seemed to have an idea of what they were doing and nodded to himself slightly.

"Their collection of herbs is impressive," the dwarven healer admitted quietly. "There are things here that come from all over Middle Earth."

"I will ask that you step outside Master Dwarves, to keep Faradielle's modesty," Calad spoke, turning to face those who followed.

"I said I wouldn't leave a member of my company, and I will not do so even now," Thorin said, rooted to his spot.

He could feel someone place a hand on his shoulder, and he quickly shrugged it off. "Uncle, perhaps we-"

"Perhaps the healer can stay and watch over my work for educational purposes," Calad insisted, looking straight at Oín while speaking.

How did she know that he was the healer?

"Will that work for you, Master Dwarf?"

Thorin looked over to where the man and the Elven Lady were hunched over Arathelle and speaking quietly to each other in Sindarin. "Why must he remain?" Thorin asked, looking at the man without any trace of trust.

The man immediately flicked his head up to look Thorin in the eyes, who had to fight the urge to blink at the strength that the grey eyes held. "I am her nephew, Master Dwarf. I hardly believe that as kin and a healer I am any danger to her modesty."