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Chapter 36 - Encouragement

 ~~ Elena ~~

"Could you pass me the butter?"

Elena reached for the plate, then sat back in silent resignation as another hand reached the plate first, pushing it down towards the dwarf who'd asked for it. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes - again - before raising her eyes to meet Fíli's gaze across the table, her exasperated brown eyes matching with his far too amused blue ones. 

"I wasn't even going to use my left arm!" she protested. "It's currently in a sling, my right arm is fine, and it barely uses any muscles to push a small plate down the table."

The prince just shrugged infuriatingly. "You're supposed to rest, and if you're not willing to do that, I'll make sure you do." His eyes darkened. "Your wound was healing incredibly fast for something you received only this morning, and the actions of one idiot may have set it all back." His hand clenched into a fist around the knife he was holding to cut the meat on his plate. "And not only that, he could have caused even more damage."

"Yeah..." Elena dropped her gaze, suddenly feeling glad she hadn't told him about the bruises she'd discovered on her arm when Óin and her sister had 'kidnapped' her to take a look at her arm while they waited for the feast to be prepared. 

There were already dark bruises forming, roughly in the shape of a man's hand, and all centered directly around the cut on her arm. Óin had nearly had a conniption when he'd found out, and Celia had muttered something involving a process that sounded incredibly painful. 

She'd barely managed to keep them from marching out and telling everyone what the guard had done, let alone from telling Fíli, and she'd only just persuaded them by reminding them of their need to reach the mountain soon - and preferably without a murder charge hanging over their heads. 

And by this point, she honestly wasn't sure who it would belong to. 

Maybe her sister, who had the guard flinching every time he looked her way - something that made her proud, if she had to be honest.

Or Bilbo, who'd looked murderous just from seeing the tears on her face, and had managed to hide in the crowd and deliver what sounded like an incredibly painful kick with his powerful hobbit feet (He'd been shaking his feet for a good half hour afterwards). 

The blow had been attributed to a rock kicked up by everyone running around, but the guard was now somehow limping on both feet, and his face crinkled in pain every time he moved. She couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry for him.

There was a chance it could be Thorin, though she doubted he would do anything physical - it seemed beneath his dignity to interfere in a situation where he was not in a position of power to do anything about it - but the mere force of his icy glare seemed strong enough to kill. And a large portion of it was directed at the man quivering in the corner.

Or, you know, maybe it would be her, guilty of murdering all her friends and family if they didn't. Stop. Hovering. It was coming from a good place, but she was more than capable of moving a butter dish, thank you very much. She shifted her glare from the table to Fíli when she heard the blond sniggering, looking like he knew exactly what she was thinking. 

"Come on, Elena," he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice, as if it was needed amongst the rowdy crowd that surrounded them. "You can hardly say that you're surprised. Dwarves are incredibly protective of their females, even more so of their friends and family; you have an overprotective sister and adopted uncle, and you have a knack for getting into insane amounts of trouble without even trying. Or, what's worse, you do try, and it's all for an excellent reason, so we can't even yell at you for being foolish without feeling like we shouldn't be."