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We had all made it to shore looking quite like a pack of drowned rats, soaked to the bone, but Thorin’s attention was on me, and it had been since he found the collar of my shirt in the river. He all but yanked me onto the shore and more or less into his arms, and suddenly my feet were in the air, and I was being held against the warmth of him that seemed constant even after our little river excursion. He looked over me frantically, checking for any visible wounds or bruises, and I certainly looked weak and pathetic with my hair and clothing plastered to my body.
“Are you alright?” He demanded, his grip tight on my back, seeming to hold me up with no effort.
I coughed up a mouthful of water, not caring that it had splashed onto my already soaked undershirt. “As fine as I can be.”
I looked around, saw that Bilbo was just fine, though I winced as Dwalin clapped him on the back. Everyone seemed to be accounted for…and all looking at us.
“Would you put me down, please?” I bit out, hoping that a blush wouldn’t form, as it would certainly be noticeable on my clammy skin.
He did so, wordlessly, as one of the princes snickered behind us. I was too tired to even shoot them a glare, and pretended that my focus was on putting my hair to rights as Thorin moved to address us all with a clear of the throat, avoiding my gaze.