Repressed traumas are an absolute joy
TW: Repressed traumas, mentions of pain/injuries, extremely unhygienic soldiers, mentions of blood, Fili is a darling, Gandalf makes questionable decisions.
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This gif was too cool for wattpad
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Fili and Kili didn't see Raewyn after she had woken up. Kili was transported to his own medical tent for further treatment of his hands, whereas Fili had taken it upon himself to help other surviving fighters clear out the bodies from the field. Raewyn had woken up for short periods of time, only to fall back unconscious seconds later. Even the elvish healers did not know what to make of it, so they ultimately decided to leave her in the hands of the persistent dwarven medics. Days had passed since the last time anyone really saw her, but since her first difficult awakening, Gandalf himself had insisted she'd heal in her own time, without the crowds. No one dared to fight with the wizard, not even the tired prince himself. He was simply glad Raewyn was still breathing - asleep or not.
She had no realistic grasp of time. When she woke, it felt as if she had slept for weeks, but after only seconds of adjusting to the surroundings of the growingly familiar tent, she thought she had simply woken up multiple times in one night. Sometimes, Oín would be beside her to change the bandages. It was awkward for her the first time, even after the old dwarf had insisted he'd seen a lot of naked upperhalfs (and underhalfs) in his years. After only two changes, Raewyn had simply given up on trying to cover herself with a blanket. She was too exhausted to preserve her dignity any way.
When she woke now, she wasn't alone. Directly at the foot of her bed, she could see someone staring at her. She knew it wasn't Oín. He would have announced his presence the second a tired grunt left her lips. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake," the old voice spoke, it's figure now moving groggily to the side of her bed. The fatigue in Raewyn's eyes slowly began to fade, and she found herself staring into the dull grey eyes of an elder dwarrowdam. Her face had been sunken in, her eyes nearly covered from the bags that hung below and above them. A scruffy, untamed grey beard adorned her face as her rope-like hair was tied into one single braid. She had never seen her before.
"My name is Zahrad," she spoke sternly, though her blinded eyes showed some kindness. "I have come at the request of Gandalf." That seemed to put Raewyn's mind at ease. The wizard had only visited her thrice since she awakened, and he would always be gone after she fell back asleep. Not much was spoken between them, but then again - she never felt the need to say much to him. He knew her as well as she did. They didn't need words. They'd be too difficult now.
"I already have a healer that tends to me." Raewyn tried to dismiss politely, her voice aching and scratchy. She winced at the sound of it, then looked back at the dwarrowdam, feeling almost guilty for rejecting her. "Medic." The elder corrected rudely, almost as if she was insulted. When she tried to reach out to the ranger, Raewyn flinched back, wincing as pain shot through her back, making its way into her head. A disapproving sound came from the dwarf as she shook her head: "You Ashas are so stubborn."
Confusion seeped into her bones as she tried to force the pain down, her fingers clenching the blankets on her legs. Squinting her eyes together in agony, Raewyn turned her head to look back at the dwarf. "You knew my family?" "I would hope so," Zharad returned. "I was married into it."
Almost as if her heart had stopped, Raewyn's body froze. For a blind woman, Zharad's eyes were sincere, and her face looked almost content - at peace. As if reminiscing a beautiful memory. "That's not possible." "My husband died in the raid." "You didn't visit his grave."
Raewyn had buried all the bodies properly, giving them a formal Khuzdul ceremony, before leaving the site. She counted all the bodies - she had held all of them. If she had been missing someone, she would have known, and she would have spent her entire life looking for them. She didn't know whether to believe Zharad or not.
"I didn't know he had any," The dwarrowdam returned. "Didn't know you survived either. Gandalf failed to mention that until his letter arrived."
Zharad could almost feel the confusion and confliction filling the room. Raewyn was silent all of the sudden, but the dwarf couldn't figure out whether it was because of acceptance or distrust. Thus, she decided to continue: "His name was Roghud. He was your uncle."
The name was familiar. It was so familiar, but Raewyn couldn't place it. She had heard it before, a long time ago. But she would have remembered the names of her family members. She wouldn't forget any of them. There was her mother: Zura, and her father: Raegar. Then, her grandmother. Her grandmother's name. She was a specialist in jewellery and gems. She had a beautiful name. Beautiful indeed.
Her breath hitched. She couldn't place her grandmother's name. Did she even have an uncle to begin with? She must have had. There were six, which means there are still three left. Her mother, father, grandmother.... Maybe a grandfather? She had an aunt - her father's sister. What was her name? Did her father have a brother?
"You poor soul," Zharad spoke up, noticing the rising terror in the room. Gently, her hand rose. Feeling almost guilty for lashing out at the dwarrowdam, Raewyn grabbed her hand, her eyes set in panic and grief. Yet, she wanted to help the old lady. "The times have not been fortunate to you."
Rokal. It was a name so familiar to Roghud. But she couldn't place where she'd heard it. They were with six, but it suddenly felt as if there were way more. She had been there. Was she part of the clan of six? Or was she the spare seven? She couldn't even remember how many bodies she buried. Too many for a 41-year-old dwarfling. She didn't keep count. Or maybe she had, and she simply forgot. Maybe she had buried ten bodies, and not five or six. She never asked Gandalf. She was convinced she knew. She looked back on the event so feverishly, but only now she realised how little she actually remembered.
A gentle squeeze was send to Raewyn's hand, ripping her out of her thoughts and placing her back to the tent she was in. This was the first time she had gone this long without sleeping since the battle. Her mind was too anxious and stressed to shut back down now.
"Why are you here?" "I must apologise for announcing this all so sudden," Zharad apologised, sounding genuinely remorseful. "You are still healing. That is why I am here." The dwarf's hand left Raewyn's. Watching the dwarrowdam in pain and interest, she now noticed the bag she was carrying, and the amount of bottles held within it. "I was a herbalist before your family took me in. I took back my job after the raid. My skills lie far beyond your common medic."
Then, she grabbed a very specific jar. Raewyn didn't dare question how she knew she picked the right one. "This will help you more than the cheap medic's paste."
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Gandalf had his hands full on dwarves and men. It seemed difficult for them to grasp the fact his spells would only get the soldiers so far. There were not limitless, nor were they miracles. Thus, they eventually left the wizard alone. Now, he was left with the complaining of Thranduil, the brooding of Bard, and the rough words of the new king of Erebor. All of them wanted the best for their soldiers and people, but none of them were completely willing to cooperate. Not even after surviving a grand army of orcs and goblins. It became even worse when Thorin decided Raewyn fell under jurisdiction of the dwarves and refused to let any elves enter her tent after Kili told him about the medic she had been left with earlier.
Tiredly, the old wizard sat on a low dwarven chair, his legs uncomfortably pushed together. This was the first time in days he had finally been owned some rest. Zharad had arrived only hours prior, but was still in Raewyn's tent. He figured they deserved the long talk. And the wounded words that would be followed towards him. He was aware that there was no worse time to introduce them than now, but against his hopes, the chances of Raewyn's recovery going well, were slim to none, and he knew Zharad's knowledge would help her more than any elven medicine would. And it wasn't worth the fight with Thorin. Be that as it may, he was surprised she even showed up after his letter. She might not have been an Asha at birth, but she was as stubborn and pig-headed all the same. She wouldn't have helped him lest she would have been the last resort.
When she finally emerged from the tent, her face was set in that same stern gaze she always held, even though her shoulders seemed more relaxed. Gandalf rose from his seat when he saw her, no longer surprised when the blind dwarrow walked up to him without issue.
"Next time you decide to introduce me to distant family, do it over tea." And with that, she was gone again.
In the tent, Raewyn was still sitting upright, courtesy of Zharad. Regretfully, the old dwarf had helped her sit up, not lay back down. And now, with new bandages expertly applied around her and a stinging feeling in her back due to the new ointment, she was achingly left to lay back down on her own. It would be wisest for her to stay seated, adjusting to finally using her muscles. Laying back down was no option for her if she wished not to injure her back any further, but sitting up for the next few hours would be even worse to her. And thus, she finally decided it was time for her to get up. No one had told her she was not allowed to, so she saw no point in dwelling on the cot any longer, especially since fatigue had ultimately left her.
As her feet slowly touched the floor, she felt the bruises on her skin moving with her muscles. A dragged out hiss escaped her lips as she forced herself off of the bed. She stumbled lightly when she fully stood, her entire weight resting back on her legs. Holding onto cabinets tightly, she grabbed a cloak from a chair, clumsily throwing it over her shoulders to at least preserve the little bit of dignity she had left.
After days, she could now feel the grease and knots gathering in her hair, the entire thing seemingly untouched. She did not know whether to appreciate this or feel disgusted by it. As she tried to adjust to stumbling across the tent, she began to feel disgusting the longer she became aware of the state of her body. The only thing that seemed to be cleaned was her back, and a light portion of her torso. Her hands were still stained with dirt, blood, and little cuts, she could almost feel the layers of sand on her legs and feet, and her neck felt stiffer than it had ever been. She was grateful there was no mirror in her tent - never had she been vain, nor had she cared about the way she looked, but she began to grow self-conscious all of the sudden. She was not only feeling dirty; she felt deeply and utterly humiliated.
She halted in front of the entrance, the state of her appearance hitting her harder than the sharp ache in her back. Her hand was holding back a small piece of the tent: not enough to let others know she was there, but enough to risk a look outside.
A small crowd of elves, men, and dwarves walked past her tent, all seemingly focused on their jobs. Two dwarven soldiers marched past, their armour seemingly not have been taken off since the battle. She did not know how long it has been, but she had counted at least four days. The braids in their hair and beards were beginning to fall out and the beads no longer appeared to be shiny as all Khuzdul beads appeared to be. A man walked past with mud and dirt covering his entire face and arms, but he seemed to care little for it, much too focused on the bag of herbs he was carrying as he followed the two dwarves. But what shocked her the most was the tiny group of elves in the distance bending over to help their injured archer. Their hair was tied back roughly, and their clothes were torn. Their fair skin seemed to have dulled as their faces showed nothing but worry and stress. It was when she saw them, that she realised no one had cared much for hygiene since the fight. And though she felt uncomfortable at the thought that her pants - darkened and hardened under the amount of blood from her and her enemies - had been on her since Ravenhill, she was relieved to see she had not been the only one.
Finally stepping out, she noticed Gandalf, lost in conversation with Bard. She would have walked up to them, had she not been conflicted about meeting Zharad moments earlier. Without announcing herself, she quietly tried to blend in with the crowds, which proved easier than she thought. Thin slivers of light glowed through creaks in the walls, letting her know she was not entirely inside the mountain yet. Thus, with new-found determination, she walked the halls best she could, trying to remember where she had walked earlier, and which roads let outside. And for once, her memory had proven her right: only second later, she stood in front of the big entrance of Erebor, overlooking a sea of bodies, red fields, and working men and dwarves. Fallen soldiers were carried onto carts and piles, lost weapons were dragged against the walls of the mountain, and deserted transports were torn apart. A silent gasp tore from her upon the sight: she had no idea who had survived the battle and who had lost their lives. She had only seen a small amount of people, but nowhere near enough to be relieved of any stress.
Trudging through the field aimlessly, she ignored all protests in her legs and back, staring down at the fighters, bowing her head at every single one of them, before ultimately giving up at the amount. Little boys and young dwarflings lie beneath the fallen, fathers and mothers dragging them off in cries and pleas. She had no grasp of time, and could have stood there for hours. The sun told her that likely wasn't the case, but it certainly felt like it.
"Raewyn?" A voice called out, closer than she anticipated. Startled, she turned around, her face apparently giving away the pain, because the figure neared her quicker than she could. Beneath all the damage, it was still a clear mop of blonde hair moving towards her rapidly. He halted just before her, looking at her up and down in surprise: "They did not tell me you were allowed to get up yet." Observing him silently, she noted he did not look much better as she did, and if he did, she was thankful he did not mention it.
"I'm not sure I am." She replied hesitantly, coughing after she spoke, trying to swallow the scratching in her throat down. "You sound awful," Fili was quick to butt in, his heavy set face allowing a tiny boyish grin. She formed her lips in a thin line at his statement: "Haven't spoken in days." "What a relief it was." Finally, a small laugh escaped her, a moment of peace amid a bloody battlefield. Fili's smile grew at the sound, regardless of the roughness of it. If there was only one thing in the world the brothers shares, it was their ability to make anyone laugh in any circumstances, and Raewyn's heart warmed at the familiar feeling.
Despite the slight happiness, her mood changed quickly as everything suddenly came crashing down. Picking up on the shift, Fili came closer to the Asha, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her walk back towards the gates. They weren't even there yet when she decided to speak up: "I met my aunt."
Frowning at the words, Fili's steps faltered slightly, but he was swift to pick them both up and help her sit on one of the smaller boulders. "I thought you were the last one." He stated through a hushed voice. "So did I." Neither of them was entirely sure what to say next. Raewyn didn't even know why she had shared that with him - she simply felt the need to say it out loud in order to believe it. "Gandalf sent for her." She eventually spoke up, realisation slowly making its way into her mind. She was no longer talking to Fili specifically; she was trying to help herself actualise what she had just learned. "Gandalf knew of her existence and never told me. He never told her about me either."
Fili's face fell upon her words, a comforting hand squeezing her shoulder gently, almost as if it hadn't been there. "Raewyn, I'm sorry." "Why would he do that?" She rattled off, her sadness slowly merging into futile anger. "I have waited fruitlessly for my family my entire life - he knew." Her breath hitched as she looked at the dwarf beside her, desperation in her eyes. "Why would he not have told me?"
He wanted to help his friend. He wanted to, but he could not imagine how. He had spend days comforting grieving families and friends, but for once, he did not know how to aid her. He tried to remember all she had told him on their journey together, to see if maybe he could help her relate somehow, but the only thing that came up was "do you not remember burying her?".
A beat of silence passed between both of them, before she shook her head, wiping away a furious tear that had escaped halfway. "I do not remember any of them. I don't know if I ever have." She could not even retreat her hand before a second tear began to fall, taking the dirt and grime on her face with it. "Oh, Raewyn," Fili spoke in remorse, carefully wrapping one arm around her in a side hug, extremely careful not to put too much pressure on her back. Leaning into his embrace, she slowly began to sob, all confusion hitting her harder than it ever had: "I know I buried my father. I buried my mother, my grandmother. She told me I have an uncle: Roghud, but it seems familiar to Rokal. I do not know who he is, but his name is so..." A chocked sob escaped her before she could finish her sentence, and she squeezed her hands together in agony. "Why can I not remember?"
"You just woke up," Fili tried to soothe. "You should not exhaust yourself with thoughts. They will come back." "No." Raewyn protested nearly immediately. "No, I don't think I ever knew. I had this dream..." As she trailed off, she shook her head wildly before resting it in the palm of her hands. Gently, Fili's arm retreated, and he patted her knee in reassurance. "You need your rest." "I need to talk to Gandalf." "Raewyn, listen to me: this will fade. You will remember." She raised her head at this, looking up at him with a heartbroken expression the dwarf had seen too often this week. "No," She answered. "I never did. He must know."
"Raewyn-" "Fili, please." The Asha interrupted, offering a look so crestfallen, Fili found himself breaking just as easily. And so, with a sigh, his shoulders fell and he stood up, offering his hand to her in assistance. "If he turns me into something, I will take you with me."
Smiling sadly at him, she nodded, accepting his help as she got back up, unable to repress the wince crossing her features as she stretched her legs. Though he noticed, Fili did not mention it. He had seen many other injuries, but was wise enough to conclude Raewyn would be too stubborn to pretend to be bothered by it. Instead, he led her back inside the mountain. Making his way through the halls decorated with medical tents and loose cots, both of them eventually rounded the corner.
"Fi, other side." Raewyn mumbled, referring to the location of her tent, but her comment seemed to fall on deaf ears. Before she could give him another reminder, they waltzed into another tent. "This isn't my tent." Again, she was ignored. Instead, Fili grabbed a comfortable looking chair and gestured for Raewyn to sit in it. Assuming he was going to find Gandalf, she obeyed his silent order. As she sat down with some difficulty, she found Fili pacing the tent.
"He got out again," She heard him mutter under his breath. "I thought people were keeping an eye on him." "Fili, Gandalf is-" "Yes, I am aware." She was interrupted this time. "I'll find him." And just like that, the dwarf had disappeared. Sighing at her futile attempts to help him, she remained seated. Smart of Fili to use an empty medical tent. That way others won't see her lashing out at the wizard.
She discarded the thought. She had no energy left to be angry. She was just confused now.
The longer she looked around the tent, a nagging feeling in the back of her head told her this was not yet unoccupied. The sheets on the cot were haphazardly strewn over the floor, a thick coat dangled over another chair, a candle was still halfway lit, and in a corner she noticed a pair of shoes. What idiot would walk out of the tent without boots? Then, she looked at her own feet. She quickly silenced her thoughts.
It wasn't long until Fili reappeared, this time dragging someone in tow. Raewyn didn't have to be fully awake in order to recognize that this was not an old man with a grey beard and a large top hat. Be that as it may, he recognized her before she did.
"Rae?" Disheveled as he looked, Raewyn could not suppress the tiny step in her heart when she heard him say her name again. Two arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her in closely, though his hands remained on her shoulders and not her back. He too, was covered in muck, sweat, and blood, but he smelled just as she had fondly remembered, and she found herself melting into his embrace quickly. Her hands loosely grabbed his upper arms to return the hug, whilst her shoulders sagged significantly. A brief flash of white skies and biting cold gnawed through her as the embrace began to grow familiar, but it was gone as soon as it came.
"Thank Mahal, you're up." The words were muttered in the crook of her neck, but she heard them all to well. Slowly parting from her, Raewyn dared risk a happy smile. "Not according to Oín." Kili followed with a scoff, that same mischievous grin forming on his face as it had always held. "Me neither."
"She needs to talk with Gandalf," Fili announced. "But I promised to tell you when she would be stable." Kili nodded gratefully, though his eyes remained on Raewyn, watching her every movement. "Why must you talk with Gandalf?" He asked carefully, immediately noticing the shift in Raewyn's posture. Though she appeared hesitant, she confided in him nonetheless. "It's about my family," She told him, then pointed to her back. "Apparently, I have an aunt who works magic with herbs."
She did not smile as she spoke those words, yet Kili gently lowered a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "That is wonderful, Raewyn." After moments of confusion and pain, his words seemed to alter her mind completely. She had an aunt, of whom she did not even know existed. And though Gandalf should have told her, the fact still stands: she is not alone. Maybe not heriditary and bound by blood, but Zharad had certainly shared the Asha name. Her face relaxed at the words. It was wonderful.
"I will go with you." "Ki," His brother dismissed. "Oín did not allow you to leave yet." "He did not allow me to use my hands," The youngest Durin corrected. "There is no need for hands whilst talking." Unable to suppress a second grin, Raewyn's hand shot up to meet Kili's, which was still on her shoulder. Gaining his attention successfully, she spoke to him: "Thank you, Kili. But this is a conversation between me and Gandalf."
Reluctantly, he nodded at her words. His hand intertwined with hers as he lowered them both, now suggesting she'd use it to get back up. "At least let me walk with you?"