An Even Fifteen (Fili x reader)

(22) Lionheart

You came to yourself slowly, feeling familiar hands pressed to your temples. You gasped in a lungful of air only to choke on it, your throat swollen and rough. You coughed, your body jerking upwards and your eyes flying open. Pain rioted through your body at the movement, and every muscle clenched.

"Easy, Y/N," Gandalf murmured, pushing you down gently so your head rested on a pillow and your back met the ease of a mattress.

You tried to speak, to ask Gandalf where you were, to speak his name, but no sound left your damaged throat. Panic welled up beneath your breastbone, quickening your breaths until you were lightheaded. Gandalf's fingers found your throat with touch soft as butterfly wings while he spoke in the language of magic. The panic eased, and your throat relaxed.

When Gandalf's hand left your throat, you began to take in your surroundings. It was a room lit solely by a roaring fire in the large fireplace past the foot of the bed on which you lay and by the torches in the sconces that lined the wall. The flickering light traced a few familiar figures. Oin, his ear trumpet clasped in front of him; Thorin Oakenshield, his eyes clear and free of dragon sickness. And Fili, his hair aglow in the firelight, standing next to Thorin with his weight forward, as if he would rush toward you any moment.

You looked at Gandalf in confusion, breathing slowly as you tried to make sound come from your abused throat. "What h-happened?"

Gandalf smiled gently at you. "The battle is over, the orcs are defeated. Azog is dead." The gruesome memory of Fili's sword in the pale orc's neck made you clench your eyes shut for an instant. Gandalf squeezed your hand gently and continued. "You were badly injured on your right shoulder and left leg, and sustained significant bruising on your left side. But you are alive, and that is the most important." You filled your lungs with air, as if to test his statement, and found it to be true.

Gandalf looked to Thorin, who studied you with an unreadable expression. Perhaps Fili learned that expression from him. "Miss Y/N," Thorin addressed you formally, his stance stiff and regal, "I owe you sincerest apologies for my treatment of you. You have been nothing but kind and helpful, and your actions a few days ago likely enabled us to claim victory. For that, I thank you, and offer you lodging in Erebor as long as you wish it, with complete access to anything you might need."

You stopped listening halfway through. "Days!?" You choked, your voice raspy.

Gandalf patted your hand and nodded. "You were severely injured, and needed time to recover. You still need rest, but I felt it was time you woke." The wizard looked pointedly at Thorin, then back at you.

You watched the king in silence, unsure how to react to his offer. In the end, you forced a "thank you" from your aching throat and nodded to him as best you could. You bore him no ill will, but that did not mean you were yet willing (or able) to have a genial conversation with him. He seemed to take the hint and led Oin out of the room. Fili stayed, shifting his weight from foot to foot, studying you earnestly.

Suddenly a black blur of feathers shot through the door that Thorin had left open and landed on squarely on your chest. You smiled as you recognized Roäc. "Wizard-friend wakes, and the king does not see fit to tell Roäc!" The bird cawed, shuffling his wings in irritation.

Gandalf rolled his eyes and moved toward the door. "I'll leave you to catch up with bird-brain, here," he said.

You held up a hand weakly to stop him. "The Rhosgobels?" You rasped, too tired and afraid to ask the question truly burning in the back of your mind.

"All are well," Gandalf said gently. "I shall bring one or two to visit after you have rested a bit."

You sighed in relief and nodded your thanks. Gandalf closed the door behind him, leaving you and Fili alone with the tattered old raven in the firelight. Fili came forward and lowered himself gingerly to sit on the mattress next to you.