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cattle-and-chaos · 3 years

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The Day the Wind Screamed (3/?)

MASTERLIST

[1] [2]

Character Relationship(s): Thorin x dwarrowdame!OC (Estel)

Word Count: 1,742

Warning(s): Graphic depictions of injuries

Translation(s): Kharkhul: Hurts

Zerlarê: My supreme desire

~~~

“Slowly, slowly!” Eberen scolded the ellyn shifting Thorin from the make-shift stretcher to one of the cots within the halls of Erebor. “His dressings will come undone!”

I hovered around the edges of the swarm of healers; wavering on the edge of wanting to be by Thorin’s side and wanting to give the healers space to do their best to pry his life from death’s beckoning arms.

“Someone fetch the athelas infusion!” Saelind called out, and the note of panic in her voice sent my heart plummeting.

I wrung my hands, biting my lip nervously as I shifted, trying to see through the elves around Thorin.

“Here,” I watched as an elleth hurried up with a large bowl cradled in her arms. It was placed at Thorin’s bedside and I caught a glimpse of his booted feet through the parted crowd, elevated slightly with a bolster.

“I will need clean water, needle and thread, and bandages, Laphada. Eberen, prepare a poultice of turmeric and chamomile.” Saelind commanded, and the elves split off from the group, hurrying their separate ways.

Raising her head, Saelind caught my eye as I lingered on the outskirts. “You,” she nodded to me, “come. It’s alright.” She encouraged and I needed no further prompting.

I hurried to Thorin’s side, hesitating for a minute before reaching out and grabbing his hand. It had a definite chill to it that wasn’t deathly cold, but not warm either. “He’s so cold…” I whispered, and Saelind nodded as she began to cut Thorin’s tunic into pieces so she could pull it off.

“Ai, it is because of his blood loss. And he is in shock. Once we get him sewn up, he needs to be kept warm. If you would not mind..?” She motioned to Thorin’s body with her shears.

“Oh, of course, yes!” I helped pull the bloodied tunic off Thorin’s chest. But the moment the cloth fell away onto the bed, I let out a gasp. “By the Valar,” I breathed as a gigantic red mark came into view on Thorin’s upper chest.

Saelind tsked. “That will bruise, I’m sure.” She murmured as she gently probed the area. “I do not think any ribs are broken… Do you know how it happened?” She raised her eyes.

“No, I was not there,” I whispered. My gaze had been drawn to Thorin’s abdomen and the site of the injury that held him on the precipice of this world. “Mahal.”

“It looks bad, I know…” Saelind murmured as she set about gently bathing the area with a cloth dipped into the athelas infusion. Her movements were hurried, but gentle.

I nodded, staring wide-eyed at the blood-encrusted hole in Thorin’s side; the edges already black and blue. She was right about it not being pretty. The very sight of it sent chills down my spine.

“It is good that the blood stopped though,” she paused, looking up at me with a curious gaze. “Forgive me, I have never asked your name, but you know mine.”

“My name is Estel,” Saelind raised an eyebrow. “Yes, it is an Elvish name. It is a long story.” I resisted the urge to avoid her curious gaze. I had nothing to hide; to be ashamed of.

“Best saved for another time then.” She smiled, placing the cloth into the now pink-tinged athelas infusion. “Laphada!” She called out, “where are the things I asked you to fetch?”

A blond elleth appeared, a bowl and bandages cradled in her arms. “My apologies, Saelind. I had to wait for supplies to be brought from Dale.” She gasped, and Saelind nodded.

“Nothing to forgive. I only need the needle and thread and then you will help me stitch this wound up.”

Laphada bobbed her head before hurrying off again.

Saelind pulled a clean cloth from the table beside Thorin’s bed and dipped it in the fresh water. Wringing it out, she handed it to me. “Here, you can wipe that blood off his face, Estel. Then I can decide if I need to stitch that gash up after I finish with the sword-wound.”

Gently, I began cleaning the black and red spatters off Thorin’s face. I took care around the angry red line that slashed across his forehead, studying it curiously.

The blood had even made its way into his hair and beard, and as much as I wanted to clean it off—for I knew Thorin would be horrified—it would have to wait until his condition was stable. I refused to think in ‘what ifs’. Thorin would pull through this.

Soft murmurs came from the other end of the cot, and I glanced over to see that Laphada had returned with a needle and thread. Saelind was preparing to stitch Thorin up, pulling the waistband of Thorin’s trousers further down his hips so she had more room to work.

I turned my gaze away, unable to watch the needle flash in and out of Thorin’s skin. I could do my own share of stitching up, but not when it was on someone I loved or knew closely. Things were just, different.

I slipped my hand into Thorin’s again, clasping his thick, calloused fingers tightly. I knew it was silly since he couldn’t feel anything, but it allowed me some small measure of comfort to have his hand in mine.

The illusion of comfort shattered suddenly as a roar of pain shattered my eardrums. Thorin’s hand was no longer limp in mine; quite the contrary. My hand was now being crushed into miniscule pieces.

“Thorin!” I gasped, trying desperately to pull my hand away from his iron-grip before he broke my fingers. “Thorin!” The urge to scream was quite strong given the amount of pain I was feeling.

“Kharkhul!” Thorin bellowed, writhing on the cot. “MAHAL!” He screamed, the sound spearing my heart.

“Thorin, amrâlimê, lie still, please.” I begged, finally jerking my hand away from him as he grasped at the edges of the cot.

“Eberen! Kesel!” Saelind yelled, bringing two ellyn running. “Hold him down so I can finish stitching him up. Laphada, you hold his legs.” She ordered, struggling to keep Thorin from breaking the thread in his throes of agony.

The ellyn came up to hold Thorin’s shoulders down, and I moved to allow them to hold Thorin still. He continued to scream as Saelind resumed her work.

“Can’t you give him something?” I begged, hands covering my ears in a futile attempt to drown out Thorin’s cries.

Saelind only shook her head. “It is too late now. By the time anything took effect, I would be finished.” She explained even as she continued to guide the needle through Thorin’s trembling skin.,

Swallowing hard, I turned away, clenching my hands into fists. But that side of Thorin was no better. I watched as he strained against the ellyn holding him down, his cheeks wet as he bellowed.

It was heart wrenching to stand there and watch him and not be able to do anything. This was a Thorin I’d never seen before. The Thorin I had gotten to know took injuries in stride, not letting the pain show.

Thorin let out another roar, his body taut as he fought against the pain of the needle. My nails dug into my palms as I clenched my fists tighter. After another heartbeat, I couldn’t bear it any longer and hurried to lean over him, grabbing one of his flailing hands in both of mine.

“Thorin,” I called over his bellows, “Thorin, it’s me, Estel!”

He squeezed my hand tightly, staring up at me with wide blue eyes. “Estel,” he gasped through tightly clenched teeth. “Tell them,” he groaned, his body shuddering, “tell them to stop. Please, Estel.”

“They’re trying to help you, Thorin. I know it hurts, but it’ll be over in a moment, I promise.” I tried to reassure him; tried to reassure myself. But Thorin was no longer listening to me. He had drifted back to that unknowing state where he fought fiercely against the ellyn, deaf to anybody’s voice.

His hand tightened around mine, exerting a grip that topped his previous. I had been so wrong to assume that he’d been squeezing my hand tightly. This felt like he was grinding my hand into pieces.

“Thorin!” I called again, “Thorin, zerlarê. Listen to me, my love. Listen to my voice, Thorin.” His grip on my hand eased. “Thorin, I love you.”

“Estel,” Thorin breathed, his eyes still closed.

“You can do it, Thorin. Just a little longer…”

“Finished!” Saelind exclaimed, “Laphada, the poultice, if you would.”

Thorin relaxed against the cot, his chest heaving as he sucked in deep gasps. His face was pale and shiny with sweat. “Estel…” His voice slurred before falling silent, his head lolling to the side.

“Saelind?” I panicked, thinking that Thorin’s body had had all it could take and was giving up.

The elleth hurried up, laying a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. “He’s only unconscious, Estel. I expect that it was the pain of the stitches. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.” She reassured me before going back to her task of applying an orange paste to the puckered wound on Thorin’s abdomen.

Some of the adrenaline that had blazed through me dissipated. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding, I relaxed my grip on Thorin’s hand.

“Now, for those bandages…” I heard Saelind mutter, and I turned to watch as she instructed Laphada on how to lift up Thorin’s hips so she could wind a snowy bandage around his wound.

Suddenly, I found an odd feeling sinking its claws into me.

Jealousy.

I blinked, trying to figure out why I was—oh. The realization was sudden and I tried not to glare at Laphada as she removed her hands from my husband’s waist. She was touching a part of his body I’d never gotten to before. Thorin’s hands were well acquainted with my hips, but it wasn’t the same the other way around.

And well, if things weren’t so perilous, I’d be admiring those wide hips that Thorin possessed. As was my right as Thorin’s wife.

“Now,” Saelind sighed, wiping at the sweat beading on her forehead. “That gash…”

“FILI, NO!” A wild yell had my head snapping up to look around the crowded room. I’d been so caught up in Thorin’s fight for life that I’d forgotten about Fili and Kili.

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#thorin x oc #thorin x estel #thorin #erebor #the hobbit #fanfic #fanfiction #angst #graphic wounds #elves #healing #an attempt to save Thorin's life #the day the wind screamed

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