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Mending the Broken Pieces	By : LadyLaran Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 13613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own "the Hobbit" nor do I make money from this story. Tolkien and Jackson are the ones who own the characters and world.

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Author’s Note – Here’s the next installment; it’s short but concluded naturally, and I am not one to push it too far and wreck pacing. Again, I am not a medical professional so I’m using what information I know from my readings over the years. I apologize for any mistakes made.

I am so glad I have a surplus to post while I work on Nanowrimo this year! Please wish me luck and enjoy the chapter.

Disclaimer - I do not own “the Hobbit” nor do I make any money from this story.

Chapter Twenty-four – Tending to Hawthorn

The sickness that Oin had warned them to watch for came several hours after Thorin had completed his watch and had been replaced by Ori, who had settled in the chair with some yarn and his knitting needles to keep himself occupied while he waited. The yarn and needles were items he’d kept on his person and had been overjoyed to find that he hadn’t lost them during their time in the goblin’s realm.

The king-in-exile had carried through with his promise, seeing his cousin for an exam, and both of them had been pleased to find that Gloin’s diagnosis and treatment had been spot on. An ointment was applied to ease the bruising, and Oin had mixed a pain syrup into milk before having him drink it to help relieve Thorin’s pain. Once he had complied with the healer’s request, Oin let him go rest and checked on the other members of the company that needed him for treatment.

Ori came into the room where all of them were quietly talking and relaxing, and the eyes of the entire company settled on him. He didn’t seem to notice, looking directly at Oin.

“It looks like a fever is starting,” he told him, hands signing along with his words. “Not too high yet but her cheeks are showing signs of it.”

Oin rose, grabbing a small basket he had set up with everything he would need to take care of the hobbit, and he went into his daughter’s room to examine her. The wound, when he checked it first, looked clear; he was grateful to see that as it meant no infection had settled in yet. Calling out, he asked Dori to boil some water and pour it into a teapot if their host had one. While he waited for that, the semi-deaf dwarf went and got a basin of cool water. He mixed a few herbs into it and began slowly wiping down her skin to help her cool off.

Dori brought the teapot, and Oin steeped a tea that would help reduce the fever. Once it was ready, the tailor held her head up while the healer slowly trickled the tea down her throat. It was a slow process, but they finally got the contents of a single cup into her.

“We’ll have to repeat this tea every hour,” he told Dori, who nodded.

“I’ll make sure to keep hot water on hand,” he promised. “Is there anything else we can do?”

“Have Bombur get together with our host and see what can be done about making a broth that won’t be too heavy for her stomach but will keep her nourished. With a fever and healing this wound, her body will be needing fluids and the broth to help strengthen it as well as replenish the energy it’s using.”

Dori nodded, going to find the company’s cook. He told the rotund dwarf what was needed and moments later, Bombur was talking to their host about what would be required to help Hawthorn fight through the illness and healing.

It didn’t take long before the cook was escorted to the kitchen and given ingredients for a broth that would help the patient. He worked for a long while to create the soup and took Oin a cup of the broth to give to Hawthorn.

“Until she’s better, I’ll keep a pot simmering at all times. I’ll set one of the lads to ensure she has water too so you can keep her hydrated; I’ll teach them how to sweeten it with honey for more energy for her,” Bombur told him, handing the cup to the healer. “If there’s anything else I can do, let me know.”

“Thank you, Bombur,” Oin replied, grateful for the company’s help. “I hope she’ll fight through this quickly, and we’ll need to make sure she has everything she’ll need to do so.”

“I’ll send Bifur in once your time in here is done,” the heavy-set Broadbeam informed him. “He’s quiet but knows what to watch for since he usually takes night duties whenever one of my bairns are ill. He’s the one they usually feel happiest with during those hours.”

“I’ll take all the help I can get,” the older dwarf replied, grateful when Bombur aided him in giving the broth to the patient.

Oin stayed with her for hours, monitoring her temperature and breathing. Despite his best efforts, her fever climbed and his worries rose along with it. Eventually, he rose and found their host, asking if he had a source for ice or a cold stream or pond.

Beorn was silent for a moment, then nodded.

“There is a stream not far from here that is cold enough for what you need and moves swiftly enough so that the water stays clean,” he told the dwarf. “I will carry her there so you can tend to her in the water. Give me a moment to make arrangements.”

Oin returned to his daughter’s side, waiting until the shape-shifter returned with towels and a fresh shirt. He took those from him as well as what was needed to change her bandages and then followed him when their host carried the feverish hobbit out.

Apparently, Beorn had told the others about their plans because Gandalf was waiting to accompany them while the company watched them head to the door with worried faces. Noone questioned them as the trio exited the house and went to the stream.

Once they arrived, the dwarf and wizard stripped the hobbit of the shirt and bandages, leaving her in her small-clothes to protect her modesty. When she was ready, Beorn carried her into the stream and knelt so she was fully immersed.

Oin and Gandalf worked alongside him, cleaning her and waiting until her fever dropped before gesturing for him to take her out of the water. She whimpered at the touch of the cold liquid but didn’t thrash, and she stayed quiet and asleep while she was dried, bandages reapplied, and dressed.

“The fever has lowered for now,” the dwarf told the pair. “We’ll have to do this again if it rises once more. I am hopeful it’ll stay down, but there is no way of telling since this illness could be due to some contagion left upon the metal.”

“I will search for some herbs for a special potion that might help,” the Istar commented while they headed back into the large man’s home. “This is something I learned long ago, and it tends to be rather efficacious in regards to combating things like this. If Beorn does not have what I need in his garden, then I should be able to find it not far from here. This area is one of the areas where the herbs are known to grow.”

They parted near the front door, and Oin opened the door for the shape changer. The company quieted as they entered, all eyes on the frail looking form of their burglar.

“Oin?”

“We were able to get her fever down for now,” the healer told Thorin. “Tharkûn is looking for herbs to make a potion that might be able to help get rid of whatever is making her sick. Fortunately, her wound isn’t showing signs of infection so it must be some form of contamination that was on the metal the damned orc was using in place of an arm.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Find out what Tharkûn needs that we already have so we can have everything ready for him when he finds the herbs he needs,” Oin replied. “It’ll save time, which makes it better for Hawthorn.”

Thorin didn’t even have to ask; Bifur and Ori hurried out the door to find the Istar in hopes of helping him get things done quicker. The future King Under the Mountain sank back into a chair, watching as Beorn and Oin headed back to the bedroom where Hawthorn would be recuperating.

“She’s a strong one,” Dwalin commented, cleaning his axes. “The lass will fight through this. Before too long, once we’re all hale again, you’ll be dragging your betrothed and company through the damned forest of the elves.”

“Provided she agrees,” his shield brother murmured. “She still has the right to say no since she had no idea what her actions and words mean when spoken during courtship. I will not force her into this if she’s not ready.”

“Hawthorn will say yes, uncle,” Fili chimed, working on sharpening his own blades. “Soulmates are special, no matter the race, and this is a chance for her to be happy. You two get along well, and we’ve all seen her try to ensure to speak to you every day since we left Rivendell. If that isn’t a sign that she wants things to go well between the two of you, then I don’t know what is.”

Thorin nodded, taking out his pipe and filling it. He knew they were right, but he wasn’t one to make too many assumptions about people. Truth was, he’d been in a leadership position long enough to know that assumptions were the wrong thing to make because people never followed the paths that most would expect them to take. Hawthorn was a prime example of that since it was a well-known fact that hobbits were not the kind of people to leave their green land.

Ori and Bifur came back in with greenery and flowers in hand, focused on the tasks the wizard had set them on. No one questioned them, knowing that this would save time and enable the medicine getting to Hawthorn quicker. Once they had everything arranged, the pair rejoined the company.

“Gandalf had to leave to find the final two herbs he needs,” Ori told the group. “He said he’d make the potion once he returned.”

“Did he say how long he would be gone,” the dwarf lord asked.

“He didn’t; he said that he was hopeful he’d be able to find what he needed in the first location. The way he spoke, I don’t think it’s too far from here. Hopefully, he’ll be back soon.”

The group nodded, agreeing with the scribe’s hopes in regards to the wizard returning swiftly. They all knew just how a high fever could affect a person, and none of them wanted to see the hobbit stay ill or become damaged because of the temperature she kept spiking into.

Thorin smoked his pipe, praying to Mahal that his One would heal and come through this ordeal without any lingering effects. She was too important to him, and the idea of losing her was one that terrified him. So he kept praying silently, hoping that their creator would hear his words and grant his wish regarding Hawthorn.

Author’s End Note – I hope everyone enjoyed the chapter; again, sorry it’s so short but necessary since it reached its natural conclusion. Now that this is up, I need to go back to my Nano project. Let me know what you think of the chapter, and thank you for reading! See you next time. ~ Laran
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Mending the Broken Pieces