Chapter Text
The tent was quiet now. A rare occurrence. Usually it was filled with healers, or Bard or Thranduil or Dain or any number of emissaries in their names. They were trying to heal the wounds dealt by destruction or start the hard work of rebuilding. But now it was quiet.
And Belladonna Baggins, sitting among the three cots, was the only one awake. She moved between the three beds in equal turn. Here lay each dwarf in the line of succession of Erebor; Fíli, Kíli, and Thorin. Each horribly injured, and each asleep either through pain or sedative. They had been wounded, each of them, to the brink of death. It was commented to be a miracle they lived, and Bella didn’t think about it, couldn’t let herself think about how close she had come to losing them.
Brushing back Fíli’s hair as he twitched in his sleep, Bella shushed him gently, not wanting his distress to wake Kíli. The brothers seemed to know each other’s pain and if one was distressed, the other would inevitably wake. And they got little enough sleep as it was, with people wanting to demand leadership out of them, to know what Erebor would do to make up for this awful battle and the dragon before it.
Fíli settled soon enough under Bella’s ministrations, and she glanced over at Kíli, glad to see him yet asleep. Once she was assured both of them were settled, she moved back to Thorin, and sat the little stool there, taking Thorin’s hand and stroking it, kissing the knuckles intermittently.
She dozed off there, bent over his hand, and woke suddenly, shocked from dreams of war, and found that she had slid from the stool, ended up kneeling beside Thorin’s bed, still bent over his hand. There was talking happening above her, soft voiced, and when she listened it was just a healer talking to Kíli, talking of Fíli’s fever, explaining it wasn’t the killing kind just yet. The “yet” didn’t seem to ease the younger prince at all, not that Bella was surprised. Kíli had the sort of admiration for his brother all younger siblings had, the kind that didn’t know how to exist in the world without their friendly, guiding hand. The thought he could lose his brother wouldn’t ease him at all. She had better go over there and put it in nicer words.
Forcing herself awake, she sat up, rubbing at her neck, wincing when it tightened when she turned to see how the princes were faring. Fíli was still twitching in his sleep, the fever persistent from the infected wound. Kíli, even as infection had been kept at bay from him, seemed to feel his brother’s wounds just as though they were his own.
“Bella,” he said, seeing her sit up. “Bella, you should rest.”
“Oh hush,” she said, even as she thought that was mighty high talk for a dwarf as injured as he was. “If not for my neck, I would feel right as rain. And why are you sitting up?”
The healer was a dwarf, for they allowed no other kinds in the royal tent. He had a beard mostly white, if not for a few streaks of grey that threaded through here and there. He also looked grateful to see Bella making her way to Kíli and just about forcing him down.
“Fíli has a fever,” he said, as though that were answer enough. And to him, it probably was.
“And he’ll work through it on his own,” assured Bella. “Think of when he recovers, do you think he’ll want to have seen you reopening your wounds trying to help him?”
“But…”
“I will tie you down to your bed, don’t think I won’t.” That made him quiet and lay down, but his eyes never left his brother. Bella went there next, and introduced herself to the healer, who chuckled and said,
“Aye, we all know who you are. Litr, son of Vitr at your service.”
“At yours and your family’s,” returned Bella. “What can I do for Fíli?”
“Cold water. We’ll make compresses for him, help combat the fever.”
“Do dwarves use barley water? We hobbits use it for fever.”
“Barley water? Can’t say we do. But at this point, we’ll try it.”
“Please Bella, if it helps, please,” said Kíli, eyes firmly on his twitching brother, even as they were drooping again. Litr must have given him something to make him sleep.
“I’ll see what I can do,” soothed Bella. “Just sleep, Kíli. You need your rest.” She soothed him down to sleep, and sighed. “Well, I’ll bring water, and see if I can find any barley.”
“Best of luck. I’ll send for you if the King wakes again.” With a tired smile, Bella left the quiet of the tent, and into the pearl pale dawn.
The battlefield had yet to be cleared, and the ground was muddied from the blood spilled. It was enough to make her wear shoes, the first time she had looked at her feet and seen the red mud. At least the dark of her boots masked whatever horrible amount of blood was to be found there.
Bella set out, rolling the stiffness out of her neck still, still tired. Nightmares didn’t allow much for rest, but she didn’t expect much, they really weren’t that far out from the battle. So many of the dead still needed burying. She was lucky the Company survived, she could have lost them. Wounded or not, they were each alive. That was more than some had. More than most, really.
Most of the grain that anyone had had already been ground up into flour for bread rather than let rot, but there was some, for the horses and such. When Bella asked for a small amount of barley, she had been stared at, until she explained it was a hobbit cure for fever, and she set about preparing it. She washed the grain before setting it to boil over one of the many fires that were going, and as it did, she took a bucket of water back to the royal tent, letting Litr set to work on compresses, helping settle them on Fíli’s forehead, neck, armpits, and groin. Checking on Kíli (still asleep but restless, not from fever but from bad dreams most like) and Thorin (deeply drugged on milk of poppy still, he had tried to get to his feet last time he had been awake), she hurried back to her boiling grain.
She discarded the water and got a new amount, ready to boil it down. Usually a hobbit would add honey, make it more palatable to take, but honey was a luxury here on the battlefield. Winter was on its way, most things were luxuries here.
That was part of the desperation Bard had – Laketown was so heavily damaged, people were without home and food and the winter was approaching fast. She had promised her share of the gold, but gold would not feed his people nor house them. Gold, without goods to trade for, was nothing more than another sort of metal.
It was what made Bella worry too. They kept Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli in the royal tent out by the battlefield long after they could have been moved for fear of what might happen if they took them within Erebor once more. Thorin had overcome his dragon sickness, but resurgence worried people, and while Fíli and Kíli hadn’t succumbed, there wasn’t assurance they wouldn’t just yet. But come winter, what would they do?
“No use worrying over that just yet,” she told herself, taking the boiled down barley water off the flame and realized she didn’t have a strainer to collect only the water. Looking down at it, she took a breath and just took the earthenware jar (no gold was allowed anywhere near the royal family) and strained the water through her skirt. There was nothing else to be done.
The clump of boiled barley clung to her skirts, even as she gathered it and tossed it aside. It had been boiled too many times, it wasn’t going to sprout, she thought despondently. Battlefields, Desolations from Dragons, and winter was edging closer every day. This wasn’t the ideal position for any hobbit.
The jar was warm in her hands as she made her way back to the royal tent. She’d leave it with Litr for Fíli to drink once it had cooled, she had the rest of the Company to check up on. He was in the process of changing the bandages for Thorin, a necessity if they didn’t want his skin to heal over the gauze and fuse it to his skin. Bella offered to help, taking the soiled bandages to boil to be used on someone else. There was only so many to go around, after all.
The wounds didn’t look at horrifying as when they had been freshly dealt, but they were still ugly. Litr took one look at her, and seemed to see what she was dealing with, and sent her off, not asking her to help reapply the poultice and rebind his wounds. “I’ll give the prince the barley water when time comes.”
The sun was firmly overhead now, as Bella found Bombur, helping spread the food to everyone who needed feeding. Elves, Dwarves, Men alike needed food, and Bombur offered his skills and only a fool would turn him away.
“Morning, Bell,” he greeted, pulling her into his vast embrace. “How fares the King?”
“Still asleep last I saw him. Fíli has a fever still, but I’ve made some barley water, once it cools we’ll give it to him.”
“Is that a hobbit cure?” she nodded.
“How are you, Bombur?”
“Well as can be. You look tired.”
“If Fíli is disturbed by his fever, Kíli wakes and wants to help tend him. If Kíli has a nightmare or his pain is too bad, Fíli wakes and is insensible but needing to be there for him. Thorin, when he wakes, tries to get up and help when he knows what’s going on, half the time the poppy milk that’s keeping him from pain also makes him as delirious as Fíli from fever. And then Bard and Thranduil and Dain all have demands and…it’s not as bad as it could be. Thorin and Kíli both could have died, Fíli’s fever if it gets worse can still kill him and…”
“Have you slept?”
“Yes, I slept, don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you. You hobbits eat seven times a day and we forced you to eat much less than half that.”
She smiled, and let him fuss her into eating something. She had to bring food back to her boys and to Litr, or whoever was taking over for him. But there were so many others she needed to check on first. Bard’s children were here now, Sigrid had taken them under her arms and followed her father once the battle was finished and Bella was not leaving children unattended in a place like this. Still, Bombur could be prevailed upon to speak truly of Bifur and Bofur’s state of being, she’d only need to see them in passing to be sure.
As she ate, he told her about how Bifur was a little battered but generally alright, and Bofur was hale as ever. When she finished eating, she took four portions in her arms, balancing them delicately as she made her way back to the royal tent. Litr was still there, he would be there a few more hours, he told her. Kíli they woke to eat, and he looked helplessly upset to not be able to help his brother who was swallowing almost entirely on instinct.
Bella did take him into her arms as she poured the barley water into his mouth. He choked on the flavor, and she stroked his hair, saying, “I know, I know, but you must drink, it will help your fever.” Finally he swallowed, and only then did she turn to Thorin. He was stirring by Litr’s nudging, waking to eat.
“Bella,” he rasped, and she went to him, taking his hand in hers, kissing his knuckles.
“Thorin,” she said, so glad to see him sensate. “You must eat.”
“Are you alright?”
“Of course I am. It’s your nephew you need to worry about, not me. Fíli has a fever, but it will break.”
“Mistress Baggins has brewed him a hobbit cure for fever,” said Litr. “Your Majesty, you must eat.”
“What did you give him?” asked Thorin even as he took the bowl of porridge.
“Barley water. We use it on our fauntlings all the time. Before the frost really comes, I might see if there is thyme on the mountain.”
“Thyme is an old dwarven cure,” agreed Litr. “For both fever and infection. With the amount wounded, I may require we see if it yet grows.” Thorin ate, looking to his nephews. Kíli was awake, and only when they were finished talking did he greet his uncle, both Bella and Litr’s strict gazes keeping him laying down.
When Thorin faded back to sleep, Bella saw him settled in before checking on Fíli’s fever. It didn’t seem changed, but there was still barley water enough for a long while, and she didn’t expect it to change right away.
Kíli demanded news of the rest of the Company, and Bella offered to check in on everyone for him, she was meaning to do so anyway. With his blessing (and she rolled her eyes to get it), she stepped out of the tent again.
The Company was sorting through and organizing the remains of Erebor, parceling out its gold so as to fulfil Bella’s promise to Bard as well as surveying what shelter survived, but they were outside the mountain that day, discussing what destruction had been brought unto Erebor by Smaug. Whole stretches had been destroyed as the Great Worm settled into the gold, but there was much that yet survived. As such, Bella could see them all.
Dwalin looked tired, and brushed off her concern, saying he had been worse off on the journey, Óin was passed out, having treated Thorin and the princes before Litr came to let him sleep and so she whispered to Glóin about how he and Óin were. Dori and Nori stood like mountains behind Ori as he read from his notes of the state of the mountain to Dain, but they spared a moment to nod to her, before going back to forcing Dain and his men to listen to their little brother. Ori didn’t seem to notice her, but she could see he looked mostly alright, just tired.
Balin was old but determined, speaking with Bard when Bella found them. Bard’s children were nearby and seemed happy enough to see her. She had been checking in on them after all, what with the bloody mud and the piles of bodies still needing burial not that far away. She should really go help with that. They’d need to get below the frost line and fast, once it came if they were any higher than that, they’d get kicked back up again and no one needed that horror. She just wasn’t sure of the frost line here.
“Bella,” greeted Tilda, going and embracing her.
“Oh Tilda, how are you doing?” she asked, releasing the girl.
“Alright.” But there were shadows in her eyes, and in Bain’s as well, though he tried to hide it. Sigrid didn’t try to hide it, she knew what she had pulled her siblings into.
She needed to check on Fíli’s fever, she needed to help dig below the frost line, she needed to help carry dwarves to the mountain to be laid in the stone. She needed to keep these children from drowning in the bloody mud.
“Prince Fíli has a fever, I was going to climb the mountain, see if there isn’t thyme to help break it and help his wounds. You’re welcome to come with me,” said Bella. Bard heard that, and turned his head away from talking with Balin.
“Thyme?” he asked.
“I’ve already made him barley water, but we hobbits use that, I don’t know if it would work on dwarves. And if it does, then we have thyme on hand for festering wounds.”
“Why not just use cold compresses for the fever?”
“We’re using those too. But there must be infections in you Men as well. Thyme must help you as well. We don’t have long before the frost really sets in, and there’s much to do before then.”
Bard looked at her and said, without looking away, “Sigrid, take your siblings to look for thyme with Mistress Baggins.”
“What? Da!” protested Bain.
“You’re too young to be here in the first place, Bain. Go pick thyme with Mistress Baggins, it’ll keep us all alive.”
And so they went, Bella with Sting on her hip at Balin’s insistence and her mithril shirt yet under her dress, above her shift, ending up looking much like a fichu, even if it was metal, not linen. She would put her body between these children and what fiends yet lingered nearby, if any escaped the blades of the four armies below.
“What does thyme look like, Mistress Baggins?” asked Tilda, gasping for the climb as they all were.
“It’s a green plant, there will be no flowers to recognize it this late in the year,” said Bella. “I’ll find some and then you can match it, it’ll be easier than describing. You’ll be like to pluck weeds.”
“Look at that,” said Bain, looking down at the remnants of the battle below. “It doesn’t look like a battle. It looks like…like a fair or something.”
“Would that it was. Bain, come along, I think I see some thyme up here.” He wasn’t happy to be here, but Bella was glad Bard didn’t look at her and see the one who stood faithfully at Thorin’s side but just someone who wanted to get his children away from such horrid ground. Glad he had sent them all up the mountain with her.
Indeed it was thyme, which was a relief. Bella picked it and showed it to the three children, who each took a sprig of it to match against other plants to fill the bucket Bella had brought. Bella, for her part, idly collected the herb, an eye out for dangers. Orcs and Dragons, who knew what else might come?
The bucket (usually used for water and still a little wet, which was good for transporting the thyme down the mountain) filled up soon enough, and Sigrid offered to carry it for Bella.
“That’s very kind, I’ll be fine,” said Bella.
“No, really, I insist,” said Sigrid, and eventually she had to relinquish it to the daughter of Man. They climbed back down the mountain, and it seemed the excursion had tired out Tilda at least, who went to her father’s tent with the intent of resting while Bella took a fistful of thyme and went back to the royal tent.
Litr and Óin were trading off duties then, and Bella was glad to see her dear friend there, even as she thanked Litr for all he did.
“Best not mix treatments,” Óin counselled when Bella offered the thyme. “Litr told me of the barley water. We’ll try that a time, if it doesn’t help, we’ll make some thyme tea. Meantime, I’ll get that made to oil.”
“Alright,” agreed Bella, and went to check on the occupants herself. Fíli looked no worse and no better, Kíli was asleep but due for bandage change soon, as was Thorin, who had apparently woken and had been confused, asking for Bella because hadn’t she been there just a second ago? He had jostled his wounds and though the bleeding had abetted by now, he had still hurt himself.
“Ought I wait for him to wake again, do you think?” asked Bella.
“He’s under by poppy milk, he won’t be up again anytime soon,” dismissed Óin. “Can ye fetch me some new bandages for Kíli and Thorin?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.” And so she ducked out the tent, hurrying to where the healers of Men, Dwarf, and Elf were sharing supplies. Sigrid was there, helping grind down the thyme to be made into oil, a healer from Laketown parceling half the thyme aside for tea. Bandages were fished out of the boiling pot easily enough, and Bella squeezed all the water out of them, before rolling them up. An elf nearby was arguing with a dwarf over treatment methods, but it seemed like it wouldn’t come to blows or destroy the cautious peace, so Bella didn’t interrupt.
As she hurried back to the royal tent, she glanced at the distance where Men were being buried and reminded herself to help them. Still, she first would help changing the dressings on Kíli’s wounds. Those were easier for her to handle.
“Ah, Bella! Welcome back. I see you brought plenty.”
“I thought it best to have some on hand for changing Fíli’s as well.”
“That will be soon enough. Come on, let’s wake the lad.”
Kíli seemed disoriented at first, roused from dreams as he was, but acquiesced to having his bandages changed. Sitting there glumly as Óin unwrapped and rewrapped his wounds, applying tinctures to help the healing, Bella gathered up the old bandages to drop into the boiling pot. As Óin worked, Bella gave him the update on the rest of their Company he had asked for, and when he was laying down again, she sat next to him, talking softly as the strain of sitting upright for so long took its toll on Kíli. Fíli’s compresses needed changing too, and when they started to work, the movements seemed to displease him, making him mutter under his breath before waking suddenly, unsure where he was again. At least his delirium was generally better than Thorin’s, well, less violent, and Bella managed to talk him down as Óin worked.
“Fíli, I need you to drink something before you go back to sleep, just a few sips,” Bella said, offering the barley water again. He took a sip and turned his head away immediately. “I know, I know, it tastes awful, doesn’t it? We add honey, in the Shire, but there’s none of that here. You fight a battle and you won’t drink some barley water? Where’s the brave prince I know you are?”
She cajoled him into drinking a few more sips, mostly waiting out his memory of each sip, and only when he had had enough to satisfy her did she let him lay down and help change the compresses.
Comparatively, Thorin was easy, he didn’t wake at all, Óin just sat him up and Bella took him in her arms, holding him still for Óin, which made it easy for her not to see the horrible wounds that laid him so low.
“Are you heading to hand those back to the rest of the healers?” asked Óin as Bella gathered together the old bandages.
“Yes, we’ll boil them for the next use. I expect we’ll also be making thyme tea to pass around to anyone with fevers.”
“It’s a miracle Thorin doesn’t have a fever, looking at those wounds. Better bring some just in case, have him drink it next time he’s awake.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” said Bella, and ducked out.
Bard was not far outside, and he walked at her side, his pace slow to match hers (curse the long legs of Big Folk). “Thank you for taking my children,” he said. “They said they wouldn’t leave me, but this is a dark place for them.”
“They seem stubborn enough they’d just come back if you sent them away,” offered Bella.
“That’s very true.” He looked down at her and said, “I would, however, like to speak to Thorin soon, or even one of his heirs.”
“You spoke to Balin earlier. He speaks with the King’s voice.”
“Perhaps. But he does not have the authority of the King. I just need a promise or two out of him, just affirming what Balin has said. It has to come from him or a few years down the line any decisions made now could be called into question.”
That was…that was fair. Sighing, she looked down at the bandages in her arms and thought of Fíli and his fever that was persistent but not yet dangerous but could become so if it went on much longer, of how sometimes Thorin was entirely unaware of what was real, what was dream, and what was memory, of how Kíli wore himself out from sitting up but was better off than either his brother or Uncle though not by much, and said, “I’ll collect you when he’s able. He’s still recovering from working so hard with you all yesterday.”
“That’s all I ask. You should rest, Mistress Baggins, you climbed up a mountain today.” With a nod, he parted from her, and Bella looked up to the sun, now just past its zenith, and sighed, before continuing onwards.
They had just changed the water in the boiling pot, so it wasn’t yet boiling but it would be fresh. There was disagreement if they should put any sort of herb in there to infuse into the bandages or to leave the water pure. Setting her load with the other bandages that would be added once the water was boiling, Bella joined the discussion.
Sudri, son of Nordri, was adamant that a tincture should be added, one of yarrow. Friedeswide, of Laketown, was horrified by the suggestion and would not budge that it should be left entirely alone. Irienall, from the Mirkwood, insisted that the shells of a certain type of nut would add some amount of healing of the elves into the bandages, if applied correctly. This interested Friedeswide, but Sudri would not hear of elvish healing used on a dwarf.
“Prince Kíli lives now only because of elvish healing,” pointed out Bella. “Elvish healing on a dwarf has kept one of the line of Durin among us.”
“Mistress, you cannot agree that it be applied so…so entirely!” protested Sudri.
“I agree with you, Sudri. There should not be elvish healing in those bandages. But nor should there be yarrow in the water.”
“Why?” asked Irienall, tilting his head curiously.
“If there is elvish healing in each bandage, then you cannot take each person’s wishes into account. There are dwarves who would rather their wounds go unbound than have the magic of an elf applied to them. You cannot decide for each of them that they have no choice. But they also do not all agree to yarrow in the same way. Leave the water alone, apply yarrow or magic to each person, not try and apply people to tinctures.”
“That’s very wise,” said Friedeswide. They agreed to leave the water alone and apply as they saw fit to each person, and Bella helped boil another bowl for the thyme tea and helped carry around mugs of it to Men who threw their heads about in fever as if to get away from it, letting those closer to their size actually get them to drink it. Elves eschewed the help of thyme, preferring their own methods, but Tauriel, who sat in eyeline of the royal tent and stared at it as though to know how Kíli was doing, accepted a cup if only for something to drink.
“Sit with me a while,” she asked of Bella.
“I’ll fetch us some food, and then I’ll sit,” compromised the hobbit, doing exactly that. But on her way, she put the last of the thyme tea she carried in the royal tent, in case Thorin needed it. All three were quiet now, and Óin looked relieved they should be so, shooing her to fetch food for herself.
It was much the same as breakfast was, as dinner the last night was, as all meals were. Little more than stew, little more than porridge, something that could be stretched to feed so many. But Bella ate next to Tauriel all the same, wishing it was crisped fish with lemon.
“He fares well,” said Bella eventually. “He tires when he sits up, and he tries to sit up far too often, but he has no fever, nor is he like to die from his wounds. He only needs time.”
“But his brother is unwell, and so it weighs on his heart,” said Tauriel. “Mortal grief before grieving is necessary.”
Bella thought about how if one of the princes was in distress the other always seemed to know, and sighed. Tauriel wasn’t wrong. “Once the fever breaks it will be easier,” was all she said.
“And when will that be?”
“Hopefully soon. We are treating him with barley water now, but if it doesn’t work, that thyme tea. Thyme oil is being mixed right now too, we’ll use that to wash the wound.”
“Not both?”
“Óin doesn’t want to mix treatments. I’ve been treated with barley water before, but I don’t know about dwarves.”
“You mixed him a cure?”
“A treatment. Not a cure. Just something to help him along. Hobbits don’t cure, we just help. ”
“Well, you’re doing plenty of helping.” Her eyes did not leave the tent at all. “I know the dwarves do not want an elf in the tent of their king, but I want to see him.”
“Thranduil has been inside before. But that was for political discussion, and he was shuffled out soon enough. Kíli should be healed first, I think. He’ll be out to see you soon enough.”
“But what of his brother?” She was right, he would not leave his brother’s side, not even for the one he loved.
“I’ll…I’ll pass on a message for you in the meantime,” offered Bella.
“Tell him I think of him always, and pass where he lays often as I can. Tell him I would see him, were I allowed. Tell him that he must rest that I may see him again. Tell him I love him.” There was no hesitancy there, no uncertainty to speak of love. It was as though her love for him was simply fact, as if she asked her to tell Kíli of the numbers of the dead, or of the wounded.
“I can tell him all that,” promised Bella, and rose to do exactly that.
Kíli was yet asleep and message or not Óin would not hear of waking him. Tauriel nodded, accepting that, but asked Bella pass it along when she had the chance, before standing and moving to help where her aid may be accepted.
Bella then turned to the burials, remembering her promise to herself and heading to help.
The Men burying their own scoffed at her help, until she said, “I may be a gentlehobbit, but no hobbit worth their breath doesn’t know the basics of working the earth. Or may I remind you that we all live under the hills and know how to keep the frost from bucking our homes out of those hills?”
So they gave her a spade and she set to work, digging deep. The frost line was deeper than in the Shire, but it was familiar work, digging. She might not do all her own gardening, but she did enough, thank you.
When the grave was deep enough, she would simply move on to the next, digging and digging. She got through three, working alongside Men, before a dwarf begged her help in getting some of the dead to the mountain. She thought of the skeletal remains of the poor souls who didn’t escape and thought she’d need help laying them in stone, too, as she helped lay the dead gently on the wagons pulled to the mountains.
She made a pitiful figure by then, covered in dirt, even her mithril shirt dirtied. The Men sent her on her way then, and she made her tired way back to the royal tent, the sky spilling the colors of sunset. Closing her eyes a brief moment and taking a breath, she thought the frost was due any day now. They would have to work double hard to dig graves for Men deep enough. Perhaps she’d come the next day.
Washing her face and hands briefly, she stepped into the royal tent again, collapsing onto the stool first chance she got, her attention on Thorin. He slept, but the tea was gone, so he must have been awake at some point, and coherent enough to drink it.
“I tried to get Fíli to drink some of the barley water,” said Óin, catching her attention. “Wouldn’t do it for me, stubborn lad. Think you could help, lass?”
“Yes, yes of course,” she said, pushing herself to her feet, taking the pot and seeing there was enough for one more day’s treatment before she’d have to make more. Fíli was roused, but he was only barely conscious, and Bella began the fight to make him drink. Without honey it was a foul drink, and he’d take one sip before turning his head away.
Sometime during the process Kíli woke, and watched with sad eyes to see his brother the way he was. When Fíli was finally laid to sleep again, he spoke. “Thank you Bella,” he said. “For fighting him. Stubborn as a rock.”
“If the barley water doesn’t work by tomorrow we’ll try thyme,” said Bella. “It might be more palatable. Oh, and Tauriel has a message for you.”
He lit up at that, and Bella smiled. That smile was so like his uncle’s, and it was a comfort to see it. She recounted the message, and Kíli looked pleased almost beyond words to hear it.
“Yes, yes, we’re all very glad you’re in love,” said Óin. “But she isn’t allowed in here.”
“Not even at my invitation?” argued Kíli.
“You’re the third with any say here. Thorin’s first, then Fíli. When you’re in your own tent or room back in the mountain, then you can see her all you’d like. Thorin won’t let her in, so she won’t come in.”
“I’m to be your intermediary,” offered Bella.
“Tell her I think of her often,” begged Kíli. “That I want so badly to see her. That I love her too.”
“Gladly.”
“Maybe don’t say all that when your Uncle wakes up. It’ll take him some time and a half to come around to you and your lass,” said Óin.
“Why? He’s got Bella.”
She blushed at that as Óin reminded Kíli that she was a hobbit, not an elf. “Excuse me,” she said, face hot. “I must go speak to Balin and Dwalin.” They let her go without argument.
She found them in deep discussion with each other, but they greeted Bella warmly all the same. “What can we do for you?” asked Balin.
“The dead in Erebor, they need to be taken down to the stone too, don’t they?” she asked.
“Aye,” agreed Dwalin. “But not before those who might be eaten by the carrion. They can wait a few days more after so long.”
Bella nodded, and said, “Would I be allowed to help? Or is that something I shouldn’t…?”
“Perhaps not the burials themselves,” said Balin. “But transporting the bones, or telling us all where they are, that you could do. You and Ori, perhaps. He could make note after you find them.”
She nodded, and found that nod became nodding off, jolting herself awake. “Bella, are you not tired?” asked Dwalin.
“Oh, I’m fine,” she dismissed as she had through the whole journey. “I’m fine.” It seemed they didn’t believe her any more than they had on the journey. And just like then, she felt great determination to prove them wrong. “Fíli won’t drink his barley water, it’s a fight every time. Takes more out of you than you’d think.”
“Fever not broken?” asked Balin.
“Óin says if it isn’t broken by tomorrow, we’ll try thyme tea, and if that doesn’t help, that’s when we start worrying for him. Or if he grows any hotter…” Shaking her head to rid herself of dark thoughts, Bella cleared her throat and said, “I really must be off, dinner should be ready now, and they’ll need it in the royal tent.”
“I’ll come with you,” offered Balin. “I have need to talk to Thorin as it is.”
With two people it was easier to carry all the portions of dinner. Óin wrestled the broth of the stew down Fíli’s throat while Kíli ate his with tormented eyes fixed on his brother, doubtlessly wishing he could help. Thorin, when he woke was insensate from the poppy milk, but he settled easily enough when Bella pressed him back down into his bed.
“Bella, Bella, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he moaned, reaching for her.
“I know, Thorin, I’ve long since forgiven you all you’ve done. Of course I forgive you.”
“I treated you abominably, you were frightened in the mountain and I would not see it. I thought us surrounded by those who would do us harm, but all I did was push my kin away and frighten you. And then I tried to kill you! You!”
“Shh, Thorin, shh. I forgive you. You were unwell, I was not frightened of you, I only worried for you. Shh. I worry still for you, you must calm yourself.”
He settled, at least he was not frantically apologizing and reaching for Bella as though he was once more grievously wounded on the battlefield and needed it all out before he would die. After Bella helped him eat, sense did seem to be making its way through his eyes again, until he blinked and glanced at Balin.
“Balin,” he greeted.
“Glad to see you healing, lad,” greeted the old dwarf. “Been talking to Bard.”
“And what does he want?” asked Thorin, sounding absolutely exhausted. Bella bit her lip and set her stool by Thorin’s head, brushing back his hair from his face, sneaking a feel for fever (none, and thank goodness for that) as she did. Thorin seemed soothed by it, and so she continued.
Balin told what he had been speaking to Bard about, much the same as always. Bella’s share of gold was fine and good, but gold could not feed nor house his people. Smaug had done more than burn flat the battlefield, he had destroyed much of Laketown. His people had no home, not enough wood to stay warm, though food was rather assured by Thranduil’s aid. He needed help, and good leader as he was, he wasn’t afraid to beg for it.
“What assurances have you made?”
“Well, we’re still surveying the mountain. Smaug destroyed a lot, on his way to the hoard, but plenty survives. Once Dain’s men are settled, then we’ll see about the Men.”
“He spoke to me earlier,” said Bella. “He just wants you to say you agree in front of witnesses. So that way in the coming years there can be no accusation that it was done without the king’s knowledge or consent. He just wants the safety of the assurance.”
“I will…will need to know…” said Thorin, but he was fading back to sleep.
“Please, Thorin, stay awake just a little longer.” He rallied himself for her, and managed to look at Balin and say,
“Why not make a contract of it?”
“Men don’t usually deal in contracts like that. Value words spoken face to face,” said Balin. “But you look like you won’t last through the whole discussion.”
“Can you blame him?” asked Bella, frustration bubbling up through her tiredness. “Bard and Thranduil and Dain and all the rest come tramping in here whenever they have the chance, he’s barely had time to rest and heal!”
Her voice raised, and it disturbed Fíli, who woke and looked about in incomprehension. Óin moved swiftly to the prince’s side and worked to calm him, and took the opportunity to get him to swallow some more barley water. When the prince was calmed and had slipped back to sleep, he looked over at Bella and said, “We’ll be needing more barley water soon, or else thyme tea.”
“I can brew some more water,” assured Bella. She turned back to Thorin and saw him gazing up at her with eyes a little foggy from either the poppy milk or pain or perhaps simple exhaustion. “We’ll break his fever yet,” she assured him.
“Balin,” he said instead, barely glancing away from her. “Bring Bard and Thranduil. And Dain.”
“Thorin, you can’t expect to handle doing politicking, you’re barely awake as it is,” scolded Bella, even as Balin left the tent.
“I’m not going to,” he said. “I’m naming you regent.”
“You… what? Thorin! You need to tell me that first!”
“I am. They’re not here yet.”
“I…I… Thorin! ” Kíli woke at that, blinking blearily and muttering,
“Bella, ‘s that you?”
“Yes, yes, sorry Kíli, all’s well, go back to sleep,” she assured, moving to stroke his cheek. In moments he was asleep again, and she stomped back to Thorin and hissed, “Thorin, you can’t name me regent!”
“Why not?” he asked simply.
“Well,” she blustered, “well, because you have other kin who are upright!”
“Mmm. You’d be first to speak for me anyway.” He was fading again, even as he clearly was trying to rouse himself.
“And why is that?”
“’m going to marry you.” And with that he was asleep and Bella was frozen at his side, staring down at him.
“Óin?” she whispered, at last.
“Yes, lass?” returned the healer.
“That mithril wasn’t just to keep me safe, was it?”
“No, lass. That was a courting gift of kingly quality. Even in the depth of madness, he loved you, and meant for you to stay at his side.”
“He said he would not part with a single coin, but he gave me the mithril so easily. He never thought I would leave him, he wouldn’t be parting with it, not really.”
“Exactly so.” Bella sat down by Thorin and stroked at his beard and thumbed at his lips a moment, studying his face. Hobbits don’t cure, they help. That was what she had told Tauriel. And she would gladly help Thorin. It was hardly a bouquet of flowers displayed proudly in a window, but she supposed that’s what she got, loving a dwarf.
When she heard Balin, leading Bard, Thranduil, and Dain, she shook Thorin awake, remaining seated at his head. “Do you remember what you said about calling Bard and Thranduil?” she asked softly, urgently. If he didn’t remember, she could probably come up with something to keep them happy.
“Yes I do,” he said, blinking sleep from his eyes. “I’m to name you regent.”
“You might have thought of a better time to tell me that!” she hissed, but turned when the Big Folk entered, stooping a bit for the tent built to dwarven standards while Dain stood comfortably beside them.
“Mistress Baggins, I thought you promised to collect me yourself,” said Bard, trying for some sort of friendliness.
“I’m afraid Balin was already gone by the time I recalled that promise,” she said instead.
“At last the dwarf king awakes,” said Thranduil in his careless way. “Does he deign speak to us now?”
“His Majesty was grievously injured and has been healing,” said Óin, voice a little too sharp to be called polite. But he was in the process of refreshing Fíli’s compresses, so interruption while working could be claimed. “You talked to him enough yesterday as was.”
“Not for very long at any time.”
“Aye, and for that I have called you,” said Thorin, his voice stronger than it had been before. Perhaps speaking to Thranduil forced him to be stronger than he was. “I am laid low by my wounds and cannot do as a king ought.” His hand took Bella’s then, and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. Bard and Thranduil both started to straighten in understanding before their heads hit the roof of tent and they lowered them again. Dain silently raised his brows. “I name Belladonna Baggins as my regent. She will speak with all my authority.”
“Until such a time as she speaks with a Queen’s voice, I suppose,” said Thranduil.
“Aye,” agreed Thorin simply.
“She’s a fine choice,” decided Dain, nodding to her. Bella liked him, he was warm in the way the Company had been with her, and he loved his cousin. Out of the three before her, she liked him the most.
“It does make things easier,” offered Bard. “Rather than having to wake you at all times.”
“And speaking of that, we should let them sleep,” said Bella. Óin was glad of the opportunity to shoo the elf king from the tent, and as he did, Bella turned to Thorin and said in an undertone, “Next time you name me regent I want at least an hour’s notice.”
“I’ll try and remember,” said Thorin, smiling at her. That smile of his, it always made him seem years younger, as if joy was a frost heave, kicking the sorrow of exile out of the way to reveal the prince that had been buried below. It melted her heart each time, and she loved to see it.
“See that you do,” was all she said before leaving the tent. The three kings were standing just outside, who all looked expectantly at her. She took a breath and said, “It’s nearly night and the work is hard. Let us meet tomorrow morning.”
It was agreed, after a few token protests, and Bella set out to brew more barley water. She yet had no sieve, and so again she filtered through her skirts, careful in her pouring to be close enough to the fire to see but not that she might set her skirts aflame.
When the barley water was delivered to Óin and the royal family was settled as possible, Bella took her place as she had so far at Thorin’s side, kneeling beside his bed, hand pressed against her lips in an unending kiss as sleep took her under.
She puttered around Bag End, making sure all was in order. She was expecting guests, after all. Her doilies were washed and fresh and white, both her own work and that of her relations. The kitchen was warm with a ready dinner, and what was she forgetting? There was something she was forgetting, something she had to get ready before her guests arrived.
Oh! Of course! Flowers! What sort of gentlehobbit would she be if she didn’t have a vase of flowers on the table? A basket went over her elbow to collect the flowers in, and she had exactly the right arrangement in mind. Stepping out, she took a deep breath of the fine Shire air, raised a hand in greeting to those who passed by, and stepped out to collect the flowers.
Stepped out into
mud
Raise her foot, it’s red red r e d
dirt becomes mud by water, a good watering makes mud
mud mud blood made the mud
battlefield mud is blood
you never left the field bella
“thorin! thorin, stay awake, please”
The king is dead! Long live the king!
so much blood t h e
What a good watering! praised mr gamgee A fine crop this year! k i n g
blood on her feet blood all over her feet i s
blood blood blood d e a d
Bella awoke with a choked gasp, shuddering, and looked up. A dim tent, just one candle lit. Just enough to see the outlines of those nearby. A hand was clutched in hers, and Bella pulled herself from the horrid fog of sleep, too frightened to try and rest again, and instead fetched the candle.
Fíli she found a little easier, still golden haired and still pale and still no worse than she remembered. His fever was still burning like coals beneath his skin, she thought once touching his brow. The candle sat beside his bed, illuminating her work as she replaced the cold compresses, humming and shushing him when he jerked at the coolness on his hot skin. She found the jar of barley water and lifted his head, coaxing him to drink some if only on instinct. A sip or two made it down his throat, but it was more than would have if she hadn’t tried.
Kíli looked gaunt as ever, his wounds weren’t infected and he didn’t need to be sedated as much as his uncle did, but the pain kept him under and what pain didn’t do healing did, keeping him exhausted. Bella tucked a few unruly locks of hair back into place, her thumb on the side of his throat to feel the pulse thrumming there.
Only then did she brace herself and turn to Thorin.
He looked as he ever did, pale and harrowed but still himself, none of that dark veil of the dragon sickness over his face. She’d call him well, if not for every wound writ large across his body. He was better than he could be, she told herself, he could have died, and it seemed danger was mostly behind him. He couldn’t rule, that was why he had passed it to her, but he wasn’t going to die if she didn’t keep count of his breaths.
Still, she counted breaths as she sat on the stool by him again, shivering a little. The nights were getting colder, any day she expected to see the frost last, no longer melting away under the sun.
“I can’t be your regent,” breathed Bella, counting the breaths that rose and fell in that powerful chest. “I don’t know the first thing about leading anyone.”
Silence answered her, and she didn’t even know what he might say to have the silent argument with him. No one had heard of a hobbit queen, they had their Thain and that was all, it was hardly a position that presided over a mountain with such wealth as Erebor. Suddenly Bella wanted to scream, wanted to wake Thorin and shake him, demanding why he would have put this all on her, why she should fix what he had broken. This wasn’t in the contract! she wanted to scream. I did not agree to this!
Instead, she got to her feet in a rush, leaving the candle to illuminate Thorin’s handsome face, and hurried outside. The moon wasn’t in the sky. A late rise, she thought. Perhaps that was an omen of some sort to one of the races camped here, good or ill. Were Dwarves reading the moonrise and divining whether or not they would allow her to be their king’s regent? Were Elves idly watching the stars and thinking Bella would crumble beneath the weight of a mountain? Were Men calling this a doomed venture and preparing to force her to capitulate, calling her Doomed Queen by virtue that the moon did not rise the night the king named her regent?
What bleak thoughts, she caught herself thinking, taking a deep breath of the night air. She had best go back to sleep, perhaps even take up the empty bed next to Glóin as Óin had offered, he would not be using it that night, staying by his charges’ sides, and she really should lie down properly, not simply kneel by a king’s bed.
But the candle by Thorin’s bed. What if he woke confused again, or a nightmare struck? He might knock over the candle and the whole tent would burn and she would lose all four of them and she couldn’t have that, she could not stomach even one more death, not after seeing the battlefield strewn with it and digging four graves that day.
She ended up putting the candle back near Óin, knowing he stayed still in his sleep, and with one more round of the three, she went to find Glóin and rest laying flat for once. She would need it come true morning to face Bard and Thranduil and hold her own against them.
Glóin didn’t so much as stir when she slipped into the tent he was staying in. Dori, Nori, and Ori were sharing it, and all three of them were sound asleep too. It was a comfort, to look over them and see them all hale and whole, and Bella simply stood there a long moment, listening to them snore and breathe, watching their shapes as they shifted in their sleep. It was as good as a lullaby at this point, and it soothed her down to sleep again nearly moments after she lay down.
She didn’t dream of the bloody ground again, which was a relief. She had to face that enough when she was awake.
And awake she did, when the dwarves around her started to stir. Opening her eyes and watching Ori pull on his boots, talking softly with Nori of making note of where all the dead of Erebor were that day, she remembered she had her own responsibilities, new ones now.
Forcing herself upright, Glóin greeted her first. “Morning, Bella. How much work are you taking on today?” It was a common prod among her dwarves, asking how much she’d force herself to do. They all thought she was doing too much.
“All of Thorin’s,” she said only, pulling her hair into some amount of order (honestly, if only the dwarves could handle her cutting it. At least a single braid was simple enough). “He named me regent last night.”
The tent was quiet at that, but no one seemed that surprised. Which, fair, Thorin had placed her next to his throne in the depths of his sickness, and if Óin knew the mithril was a courting gift, surely they all knew it as well.
“That’s quite a lot,” offered Ori eventually.
“We’ll help you where we can,” promised Dori.
Bella smiled at them all, genuinely touched that they would offer that for her, and pulled on her uncomfortable boots once more.
“Since when do you wear shoes?” asked Nori. Bella stilled then, and took a moment before continuing to tie them, saying softly,
“I don’t relish the mud.” He nodded slowly at that. It was a horrible thing, that bloody ground. A hobbit wearing shoes paled in comparison to that, and she was glad they all understood that. “I have to meet with the other leaders, wish me luck with Thranduil.” It was a weak laugh that passed around the tent at that.
The morning was brisk and her lungs barely pricked when she breathed deep. Not winter yet, but soon. Soon.
It was in Bard’s tent that Bella met with the other leaders, each eating as they talked for there was much to do, and dignity be damned they needed food and they needed to talk. Bard explained his people’s need for aid, Thranduil spoke of broken oaths and the loss of life of his people, Dain of his own dead. Bella already knew most of this, but they told her all the same. She ate silently, listening and nodding along, and when the three were finished, Bella said,
“I have never been a ruler. The most leadership I have ever held is the judging of the Best Garden competition in Hobbiton. Hardly a matter of life and death, that. But the dead need burying before the frost sets into the ground. I helped dig graves yesterday, and there were still plenty more to do.”
“Why before frost?” asked Dain.
“Frost heave,” said Bard. “If they aren’t below the frost line, the dug soil can have them pushed up. Trying to dig that deep when the frost is already here makes it easier to heave.”
“Exactly,” agreed Bella. “Dain, I know your people are being laid in the mountain still, do you need aid in that?”
“We’ve enough hands to get them inside,” said the Dwarf Lord.
“Thranduil?”
“Our dead are being honored as they must,” said the elf king.
“Good. Can you have your people help the Men dig their graves? We need as many hands as possible to get them in the earth.” Thranduil made no move to agree or disagree, merely watched her. Well, no answer was to be found there. “Alright, so that’s the dead taken care of. Oh, Dain, the dead in Erebor.”
“We are finding their remains, and when all those of battle are laid in stone, then we will collect those killed by Smaug.”
“Good. Right. The injured. I picked thyme with your children yesterday, Bard, I think we have enough yet for tea for fevers and thyme oil was being made yesterday, it should be ready to wash festering wounds today. If we need more, we need to pick it now. It grows not that far up the mountain, we can send people up to find it.”
“What of when winter comes? There is more to fear than lack of thyme and frost heave,” pointed out Bard.
“Erebor was built for dwarves, not for Men or Elves,” said Bella. “But it is large enough in places. We will move everyone inside the mountain for winter. The forges were lit by Smaug when we fought him below, Ori tells me they yet burn, so we will all have to live down there, the rest of the mountain will be cold is my understanding. At least until some repairs can be made.”
“Do we have fuel enough to keep them lit?”
Dain laughed aloud, a single bark and said, “The forges of Erebor never went out. We’ll be warm all winter long.”
“What of food?” asked Bella. “Nothing survived that long.”
“My people were untouched by the dragon,” said Thranduil calmly. “We have food.”
“And I suppose you want what I promised you if you would give us that food?” asked Bella. He inclined his head. Starvation was his bargaining chip, and no king would let that go so easily. Dwarves were hardy, but not so hardy as that.
“We brought food as well,” said Dain, looking at the elven king. “More than enough to keep us fed.”
“Do you mean all of us? Dwarf and Man and Elf?” asked Bella. “Or only Dwarf? If we are to survive this winter, we need each other. Your Majesty,” she said, turning to Thranduil, “I have made my promise to you to give you what you demand. You can return to your forest, when spring comes you will have your reparations.”
“I will have it overseen,” said Thranduil. “The promises of dwarves have been too often broken.”
“Be that as it may, I hardly imagine you want to be barricaded in the mountain the whole of winter.”
The discussion dragged on, but it was not interrupted by Thorin fading or Fíli’s fever making him cry out or Kíli’s nightmares of battle, and so much more was decided. Some of it was only formality, some of it was earnest debate. They eventually broke off, to see to their people, and Bella rushed back to the royal tent.
Litr was there, applying thyme oil to Fíli’s festering wound with two other healers tending to Kíli and to Thorin. Word had to have spread of her new status, for they each bowed to her, called her “my lady” and informed her what was being done.
“I’m not so busy I can’t help,” she said, and reached for Fíli’s brow. It seemed a little cooler. “Are we yet giving him barley water?”
“It has helped so far,” said Litr. “But he does drink a lot of it.”
“You can’t already need more.”
“No, but it might be best to set aside some barley for water, keep it from being eaten by horses and rams.”
“I’ll have it done.” She had the power to now. “He seems easier.”
“That he is. The fever is receding, we think.”
“Good. Good. And how is Kíli?”
“Healing. It will be a long road before he is upright again, it took that elf maid to assure he would live at all, but live he will. Thorin has yet to wake today.”
Bella went to him then, and sat beside his head a moment, stroking his hair. He named her regent and slept long into the next day. It was hard, ruling in his name, but if her doing so allowed him such rest, she’d keep doing it. He needed his rest.
It settled her, reassured her, gave her strength to keep going, and in a moment of such bravery she didn't care of those who might see, Bella bent, kissing his brow a long moment, breathing there. When she pulled away, she turned to the healers and asked, “Do you need anything from me?”
“Send around more cold water, we need to refresh the compresses,” said Litr. “And…have someone bring in something gold. Something small.”
“Are we already testing for Dragon Sickness?”
“Winter is coming, my lady. We’ll need to bring them inside soon enough.” Bella nodded, there was indeed wisdom in that. Better know the risks before exposing them to the hoard.
“I’ll see it done.”
She found one of Dain’s men, and he looked at her for a bare second before he realized who she was and offered a polite, “My lady.”
“Run into the mountain,” she ordered. Or said firmly, because that would have to do for ordering, she had never been very good with doing that. “Find a member of Thorin’s Company, tell them bring to me a gold chain. No pendants, no jewels, just gold.”
“Yes, my lady,” he agreed, and turned to do just that. The advantages of being regent, she reflected, watching him run. She didn’t need to give a single justification why. Oh, he’d gossip, more likely than not, but that couldn’t be helped.
Turning her feet, she walked to the tent of healers, checking on the thyme amounts. The oil was, at the moment, plentiful, but they all agreed they’d need to gather far more from the mountain before winter set in. Bella offered to lead them to where she and Bard’s children had found them. They agreed, and soon enough plenty of healers of each race was ready to head up the mountain. Dain caught her as they made their way, and declared he’d go with her, wanting to talk to her about dwarven affairs.
“I thought you kept secrets from outsiders,” she remarked.
“You’re effectively Queen Under the Mountain right now,” he reminded her as they began the climb.
That was true, she supposed.
It was when they reached where the thyme was growing that Dain spoke to her, following her as she picked thyme. “The dead of Erebor are honored dead,” he said. “They need much ceremony. The presence of the ruler of Erebor Reclaimed, for instance.”
“You need me there,” she surmised. “Must I do something beyond simply be there?”
“Speak to their memories, you faced Smaug, speak to his evil to have stolen their home and lives, promise you will ever honor their memories. And that can all be done in Westron.”
“You won’t teach me Khuzdul.”
“Ah, if you are to be Queen, and Thorin was very explicit that he plans to marry you and give you Queen’s voice eventually, you will need to know our language. I don’t expect you’ll know it by then, is all.”
“But I am a hobbit, not a dwarf.”
“A hobbit who reigns over dwarves. Exceptions have to be made. Especially given everything that’s happened to Erebor.”
“You are…remarkably welcoming of the idea of me being Queen.”
“I saw Thorin from time to time during his exile. Losing Erebor, and then losing his grandfather, his father, his brother…it broke him. I’ve seen him at his lowest. He nearly died not a week ago, and he’s already in a better place. I know we can’t attribute all of that to Erebor being reclaimed.”
Bella turned red, and hurried along to the next bit of thyme, wanting to attribute it to exertion.
“It’s hardly me alone,” she demurred.
“Well, you aren’t a small part. Forgive me being so plain with you, but we are to be cousins after all.”
“I have had sorry luck with my own cousins,” said Bella under her breath, thinking of Lobelia. Woman wouldn’t keep her silver so neatly polished. Oh goodness, she realized. The gold of Erebor was shining and fine because gold never tarnished, but the silver of Erebor must be nothing but black hunks of metal at this point. Someone had better have a fine polish, that task would keep her busy for years. Or she could put people to it, constant work would keep people from chafing at close quarters. Then again, the areas around the forges were plenty big, there might be no disagreements of that sort at all.
“Mistress Baggins?” asked Dain, sounding equally amused and concerned.
“Oh! Oh, excuse me,” she said, blushing again. “I was merely thinking of what needs to be done.”
“Plenty, but you don’t need to do it all.”
“I do want to oversee the laying of the dead. The Men need help digging enough graves, and every hobbit worth their breath knows how to dig. I would be of help.”
“Aye, but you are regent for the dwarves, not Men. We had Thorin’s permission to bury our dead in his mountain, and you can’t deny that, being regent doesn’t go that far, but it would do well for you to appear where they are being laid and give your permission and blessing.”
“Does that blessing need to be in Khuzdul?”
“Not at all.” Well, that was a relief.
“I’ll head down today.” The healers were gathering again, and Bella led the way back to them. Everyone had plucked vast amounts, enough to last until every festering wound was cleansed and perhaps even beyond it. That eased Bella, and they all made their way back down the mountain.
“I must check on Thorin,” she said when they reached the camp once more.
“Of course,” said Dain. “You are quite fierce in keeping his rest undisturbed, I’ll not trouble you with my presence. But allow me to see my cousin soon enough?”
“Of course. Thank you.” The thyme could be prepared to oil or dried for tea by the healers, but she needed to be there when the gold was brought. This could only be done by Bella. If the sickness was not gone, she alone would not be harmed by Thorin. She knew this.
When she entered the royal tent, Fíli was awake, and he was not so insensible from fever. He still had one, still had cold compresses about him, but he didn’t have the look of incomprehension about him. And it was relief enough to pull a sob from Bella, rushing to his side.
“Bell,” he rasped.
“Oh, oh Fíli, ” she said, eyes welling. He was awake and sensible, what a triumph that was! His fever had yet to break, but it didn’t seem dangerous anymore. Litr, who stood nearby, seemed to share that opinion. Bending over him, Bella stroked at his hair, memorizing his face, so glad to see him well. Fíli smiled up at her the same. “Your fever, it – we worried if it didn’t break or lessen, we didn’t know – oh Fíli. ”
He reached up with weak hands and once he held her face simply let them fall, holding on still to bring her forehead against his own, eyes closed in contentment. Bella had seen him do this with his brother and his uncle many times, and didn’t miss the importance of the action. Only when he released her did she see her tears had dropped onto his face, and she let loose a wet laugh, wiping them away.
“Why does my mouth taste absolutely foul?” he finally asked, making her smile.
“I’ve been brewing you barley water, it’s a hobbit cure for fever. No honey to add to it, though.”
“It tastes like feet, ” he complained, and Bella couldn’t help but laugh at that.
“There’s a sound I thought I would never hear again,” said a familiar voice, and Bella turned to see Bofur there, smiling.
“Bofur,” she greeted.
“Bard and Thranduil are wanting to see you,” he said. “Dain’s holding them off, but best if you come soon as you can.”
“Yes, yes of course.”
“Why do they want to see you?” asked Fíli.
She looked at him and said, “Your uncle named me his regent last night. As none of you are in any state to do any leading.”
Fíli nodded slowly, and then asked, “Kíli?”
“He might not have had a fever like you, but he’s not getting on his feet any time soon.” Turning back to Bofur, Bella said, “I’ll be there soon.”
“Take your time. Serves them right, making them wait,” said Bofur, shrugging. And then he lifted his hand from which a rich necklace of gold hung, “Thought we weren’t having gold in here.”
“If we are to move into the mountain come winter, we need to know what to expect,” said Litr. “And the first real snows are any day now.”
“Gold?” asked Fíli. The fever was less, but it wasn’t entirely gone, and Bella supposed that he wasn’t entirely following what was going on was to be expected.
“Leave it with me,” said Litr. “I’ll watch them.”
“Thorin didn’t trust anyone when the gold held him,” said Bella. “He trusted only me and even that...I can’t – if he falls prey again…”
“He’s drunk enough poppy milk a cat could defeat him by now. We’ll keep the necklace here, between the three of them, and keep an eye on all of them. If the kings are calling you, best make sure we all survive the winter.”
“The Queen Under the Mountain doesn’t come when called by Man and Elf,” said Bofur, voice exaggeratedly offended. “She comes at her own leisure.”
“I am not Queen,” dismissed Bella. “Where are we meeting, Bofur?”
He walked with her to Thranduil’s tent, where she was pulled back into discussions that she swore had been repeated a thousand times by now with no variation at all.
Autumn and winter bled into each other liberally here, and there was ice enough before true winter that it made Bella edgy about when it did arrive. They needed shelter, they needed food, they needed reparations, they needed plans to rebuild, on and on. Bella felt exhausted by the time she promised Thranduil that yes, by order of the regent of Erebor she would allow a handful of elves to oversee the process of dividing Erebor’s wealth to what she had promised to him. She swore she had probably promised that already, but political talks, especially these that were so tinged with desperation, seemed to infinitely loop into themselves.
She wanted to see how digging the graves was going, she needed to go into Erebor and see the dwarves being laid to rest. So, with a deep breath, she turned to the mountain and headed forward, noticing Balin and Dwalin falling into step with her. She smiled to see them, glad.
“Dain’s man mentioned you’d be going down to see them being laid in stone,” said Balin. “A sound move, as regent Queen.”
“Well, I’m glad you approve,” said Bella, and it wasn’t even a lie.
The further they got from the battlefield, the less blood there was, and by the time they stepped onto the bare rock of Erebor, they didn’t leave red footprints like Bella had worried they would. She wouldn’t have been able to stand it if they did.
“There’s some things you should say,” Dwalin warned her. “Phrases.”
She felt braver with Balin and Dwalin at her sides as they made their way deep into Erebor. She hadn’t been in here since the battle, and it still felt like that hopeless dead place where Thorin slowly lost his mind, and where she had been powerless to do anything about it. Maybe soon that could change.
Down through the mountain they wound, until they found where dwarves were being lain in stone. And it was truly so, their bodies placed in niches carved out of the stone. As she approached, the activity stopped and all turned to her.
She knew, all at once, how underwhelming she was. A hobbit in a dirty dress, not the least of it the two stains from where she had strained the barley water through her skirts and dirt from digging graves. Her knees were filthy from two nights sleeping kneeling at Thorin’s side, her hair was a horror, she hadn’t washed her face in far too long. Hardly a Queen wearing the gems and gold that Thorin had once whispered that she deserved (she had felt unworthy and overwhelmed then too). But her mithril shirt gleamed under torchlight, a fichu of unimaginable worth. That would have to do to give her the confidence she supposed a Queen ought have.
“Through my voice, my Lord Thorin, Son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, blesses you all,” she said, consciously lifting her chin and trying to speak the way Tauriel did – with absolute confidence. As if everything she said was simply fact. “And by my own, I the same. We heartily mourn every death, and wish each fallen all the glory we can afford. They will be honored in Erebor, for it was by their aid this mountain will be restored. The highest honors we will give, and their memories shall be passed to all who live within these halls.”
She had whispered that to herself dozens on times on the way down, and her voice only shook a little bit. Really, she thought, Smaug ought to be more frightening than speaking to dwarves who were burying their dead. But Smaug at least would kill her and have done with it, these dwarves could do a lot worse than simply eat her.
They nodded to her, and turned back to the grim business of laying their dead in the stone. As they did, Bella nodded to herself and turned and walked away, feeling jittery and weak. “That went poorly, didn’t it?” she whispered to Dwalin, who smirked at her.
“Went fine, I think. You said all the words,” he said.
“Said all the words, as if that’s all I needed to do!”
“You’d be surprised how much of a ruler’s duties are simply saying the words.” Bella thought of Thorin and threw Dwalin a disbelieving look. His smirk didn’t go away.
“I’m glad you have such high esteem of our king,” said Balin. “You did fine, Bella. Not perfect, but no one expected you to, you are a hobbit acting as regent for a dwarf, no one expects you to know all the customs.”
“I’m glad I underwhelm,” said Bella caustically, finding it easy to do such a thing now, with members of the Company and knowing somewhere above Fíli’s fever had broken. Climbing from the depths of the mountain and talking, it felt like any other day on the journey over, and it was only when they emerged blinking in the late afternoon sun that Bella remembered where she was and what she was doing.
She’d have to walk back into the bloody mud and for a long moment, she thought I can’t do it. I can’t go back. I can’t.
“Bella?” asked Dwalin in that gently gruff way he had, and Bella closed her eyes a long moment before saying,
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Just…I’m fine.”
Neither of them believed her. Bella didn’t even believe herself.