A Better Place - The Hobbit Fanfiction

Twenty-Eighth Entry - Going Home

Oin and the others carried me to a room that had once been a fine bedroom, if now the sheets and mattress were but rags. The wooden bed frame, headboard and footboard had survived though, so through a combination of resources they made a mattress for me of old coats and sheets and mouse-bitten blankets. They kept me as comfortable as possible. When Oin saw that none of his herbs or expertise would touch the flames of the infection that had clawed its way through my back he went down to Dale himself to request the help of the elves, who had been known, apparently, to bring people back from near-death.

Nesetha came, as well as a man and another woman. Nesetha sat at my head and stroked my hair as she and the other two sang and the warmth of their words fought the fires that were killing me. They were able to alleviate some of the pain I barely felt, I was so distant now, but as I had warned them, no progress could be made. It was as if they had not even tried. Nesetha did not speak a common language with Oin, but the other woman did, and gently explained their failure to the dwarf who had considered them his last hope.

"But there's nothing-nothing you can do?" he desperately asked, hands out in supplication.

She shook her head. "I am sorry. We will help you make her comfortable, but Mabyn was right when she said we would be able to do nothing else."

Their confirmation of my conviction didn't stop Oin from trying, bless his heart. He used far more herbs and salves than I would ever have permitted him to if I had been lucid for long enough to rebuke him for it. As it was I did have my moments where I was able to consciously listen, and fumblingly reply, but oftentimes my replies did not make sense. But the dwarves pretended they did, so I wouldn't worry myself over the way I seemed to be losing my mind last.

There was always someone in my room visiting with me, which was nice. I was for the most part aware of the presence of others, even if I was mostly unable of acknowledging them. They told me old dwarven tales and Bofur and Bifur played for me on their clarinets. My elven guards came and sang me songs that sounded like water sliding along the pale green of fresh pine needles. Even Bard came, once, to ask the dwarves for an explanation of my self.

"We found her in the goblins' dungeons," Balin quietly told him as the two sat on the side of the bed I was facing, so they wouldn't have to look at my ghastly wound and so Balin could see my face and pretend I was asleep. "She demanded that we let her out, and after we all escaped Thorin promised her what protection he could offer her until we reached the next town. We had no idea where we were, or that the next town was yours, and by the time we got to Laketown she was no longer with us."

"You left her behind?"

"She was with us when we were taken by the elves. They separated both Thorin and Mabyn, since both of them stood out. Bilbo escaped their capture entirely. But when Bilbo freed us none of us even knew where to look for her." Balin sniffed, shaking his head as though to clear himself. "At least we knew the elves would be capable of taking care of her." He explained of my curse then, and what bits of my life I had told them. The elves knew more about my world, but no one knew much about my past beyond my father. I had preferred it that way. I didn't want their pity. Sympathy was weightless, but pity was a burden on everyone.

I focused my will on moving, on opening my eyes and forcing my lips to function again. One of my fists on the blankets tightened and I managed to blearily open my eyes. Balin threw himself out of his chair and to my side so he could lay his hand over mine, touching my face.

"Mabyn, can you hear me?"

My eyes met his and my lips did move, but I couldn't find the sound to pass between them. I tried, my throat working, but the struggle was even with trying to drag a boulder up from my stomach.