Welcome !

Race Against Time is a Hobbit fanfiction written by Stephanie Hunt, a.k.a. Italian Hobbit. 

The story is illustrated by Lili Canal. 

Summary : Pre-Quest, in Ered Luin.  Kíli has decided that Fíli needs to learn archery, but a mishap puts Kíli's life in grave danger.

Rating : T

Language : English

Genre : Family/Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Main characters : Fíli, Kíli, Thorin Oakenshield, Dís, Óin

Number of chapters : 23
Slash : No

To start reading, click on "Next chapter" on the bottom of the page, or access each chapter directly using the table of contents. Enjoy!

Chapter 1 : A crisp morning

The cool, crisp air of autumn swirled and danced around Fíli and Kíli, carrying with it bright red and orange leaves that clung to their bodies. The young dwarves joked and laughed together, every once in a while shoving each other playfully. They were alone, enjoying brotherly time together away from disapproving eyes and strict uncles. No one understood their mischief; but to them, that was all right. They understood each other.

It was early in the morning. The sun still hid behind the mountains and everything held a pale blue hue. Mist rose from the ground, forming a fog before the sun would burn it away. It was one of those rare mornings where every intake of breath seems to bring in joy and wonderment; this feeling was not lost on Fíli and Kíli. They lay down in the cold, blue grass, closing their eyes and breathing in the crisp air, their noses and cheeks pink with cold.

"How long until Thorin discovers we're gone?" said Kíli.

"I'd give him an hour, maybe two," Fíli replied. "It's early yet, and we both know he had too much ale last night."

Kíli chuckled. "I don't think I've ever seen him dance in such a lively fashion." They both laughed at the memory. "You had a bit much yourself, Fíli. How is your head?"

Fíli groaned. "Sore," he said, "but this fresh air is doing me a world of good."

"Good," said Kíli. "Then you'll be fine for archery practice, right?"

Fíli let out another groan, this one louder and longer than the first, and closed his eyes. "I don't know why you are so intent on making me as good as you," he said. "You're almost better than Thorin now. I prefer my axes and my knives."

"Oh, come on!" said Kíli, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with one arm. "Who knows? One day, you may be very grateful that I made you learn."

Fíli opened one eye and raised an eyebrow.

"Imagine killing Smaug the Terrible with one arrow," Kíli said. "Or do you think a great dragon is going to stay in range of your axes and knives?"

"I'll just let you shoot him, then," Fíli said, closing his eye and sighing. Kíli made no sound, and after a minute, Fíli got suspicious and opened his eyes. Kíli had sat up and was looking at him with his shining brown eyes, his mouth pulled into a frown.

"Kíli, you're not a child anymore. Cut that out."

Kíli kept staring at him, opening his eyes even wider. Fíli sighed and hit the ground.

"Fine," he said, "teach me how to shoot."

Kíli grinned and hopped up onto his feet. He held out a hand, and Fíli took it and pulled himself up. Kíli took his bow and quiver and tossed them to Fíli, who looked at them with unease.

"It'll be fine," Kíli said. "Come on!"

Fíli shouldered the quiver and followed Kíli into the woods.

* * *

"Now, remember, you need to pull back as far as you can," Kíli said. "And you only need to let go with your fingers, not your entire arm."

"You've told me this ten times already," Fíli growled. "Just let me try."

Kíli held up his hands and stepped back, closing his mouth. He raised his eyebrows, and Fíli rolled his eyes.

"Being taught archery by my younger brother," he muttered. He notched an arrow into the bow and took aim at a nearby tree. The tip of the arrow fell away from the bow.

"You have to—"

"Shut up," Fíli snapped. He felt heat creeping up into his cheeks. He was an accomplished fighter with the axe and the sword and the knife, but he felt like a 10-year-old again when he held a bow. He would have teased Kíli about the elves' weapon, but Thorin also had great skill with a bow, and Fíli held his uncle in the highest respect. Besides, Kíli's skill had saved his life once before, years ago.

He drew the arrow back again and aimed. He took in a deep breath, and released the arrow as he breathed out. Thunk. The tip sank into the tree trunk, and Fíli lowered the bow, smiling. He felt a clap on his back.

"See, I didn't think it'd be that hard for you!" Kíli said. "You're doing really well!"

Fíli nodded with a half-hidden grin. He was pleased, but his pride still felt wounded.

"Fíli! Look!"

Fíli whirled around and searched the woods for whatever it was that Kíli saw. His eyes caught it almost immediately – a large buck, not too far away – at least, close enough to shoot.

"Can you shoot it?" Kíli said.

"I don't know," Fíli whispered. "I can try."

(click to enlarge)

"Oh, that would be good for dinner tonight," Kíli said with excitement. "Give it a shot." He ran toward the buck quietly, hiding behind a tree. The buck remained still, munching on some vegetation. Kíli looked back at Fíli and nodded.

Fíli took in a deep breath and strung an arrow into Kíli's bow. He pulled back the arrow swiftly and took aim, his heart pounding. This would be so much easier with one of his knives – he wouldn't have felt any nervousness at all, then. But now he felt the double pressure of bringing home a good meal and not embarrassing himself in front of his younger brother. He hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" hissed Kíli. "Shoot it!"

Fíli took another deep breath and focused on the buck. He blew out slowly and readied to release the taut string.

Suddenly, a branch fell from a nearby tree, startling the buck and causing it to dash. Fíli faltered.

"Shoot it!" Kíli shouted.

Fíli quickly pulled the bow again and turned to catch the buck in its path, releasing without fully aiming in his panic to catch it. He missed, and the buck got away.

"Damn it!" he shouted, shouldering the bow. He looked to where Kíli had been standing, embarrassed. But Kíli was not standing anymore. He was kneeling, and a cold wave of fear ran through Fíli's body as he beheld what he had done. An arrow was buried deep in Kíli's side.

"Kíli!" he screamed, and he ran to his brother. He was kneeling with his head against the tree, shaking and silent.

"Oh, Kíli, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he said hoarsely. Kíli only grunted, breathing hard, his eyes squeezed shut. Fíli was at a loss for what to do. The arrow had not gone through, which mean the head was stuck inside him. They hadn't taken the ponies. The only options were to carry him – unlikely, as movement could move or break the arrow – or go and tell Thorin what he had done. Another cascade of fear went through him at the thought of Thorin's inevitable anger. But it had to be done.

"Kíli? I'm going to get Uncle," he said. "I'll be back as soon as I can be."

Kíli nodded shakily, still incapable of speech.

"I'll be right back, Kíli. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Kíli reached out and took his hand, squeezing gently. "It was an accident," he grunted. Fíli watched as a visible wave of pain went through Kíli, who let out a short cry. "Get Uncle, please," he whimpered.

Fíli squeezed his hand and stood up, searching for the exit to the woods. He ran as fast as he could, crashing through brush and branch in a race against time.

Chapter 2 : Pressure

Author's note: Before I wrote this chapter, I did some research on arrow wounds. I really love when a story is realistic, and I didn't want to slack of just because this is a fanfic, nor did I want to overstate the drama of the incident for the sake of angst. But oh! What I discovered. I am sitting here absolutely horrified at just how serious arrow wounds actually are, and feeling quite guilty for what I have done to poor Kíli. As far as my research shows, an arrow wound to the torso is about as serious as things can get.

Thanks to my lovely friend Immi for all her help in editing this so that it's much more wonderful now. She gave me so much help I could credit her as a cowriter, so when you wonder at how fabulous this is (tee hee) keep in mind that it wasn't all me!

For the first time in his life, Fíli wished that he were a Man, jealous of their long legs and swift gait. While it was true that dwarves were a dangerous rival in a sprint, he was at least a fifteen minutes' walk from home. Five or ten if he ran. He had not a moment to lose – even that short distance felt too long.

He dashed into the home he shared with his mother, brother, and uncle, searching about for Thorin wildly. He was not in the kitchen, nor in the pantry. Still asleep, and likely with a hangover. Fíli didn't have time to worry about that now. He burst into Thorin's room, startling him out of his sleep.

"By Durin, what's the matter with you, boy?" he roared.

"Kíli's hurt," Fíli said quickly.

Thorin blinked, and frustration burned in Fíli's abdomen.

"Uncle, please, I need you now!" Fíli cried desperately.

"What's happened?" Thorin demanded.

Fíli shrank back, suddenly afraid to speak. Ten half-imagined scenarios of what Thorin would do to him when he discovered what he had done flew through his mind in rapid succession. He felt small, like a child, but the crime was much more severe than anything he had done even on his worst days.

Thorin pulled himself out of bed and began to dress, waiting for Fíli's answer.

"Speak, Fíli!" he said impatiently.

"It – it was an accident, we were practicing with the bow, well – Kíli was teaching me, and it just – there was a buck – and – "

"Out with it!" Thorin interrupted.

"He got – I shot him with an arrow, Uncle."

Never before had Fíli seen his strong and stoic uncle show any sign of fear, but at these words, all the blood drained from his face. He knew how serious arrow-wounds could be – he had seen too many die from them. He said nothing for a moment, then cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure.

"Get Óin," he said. "And the ponies."

Fíli nodded and ran to find Óin, leaving Thorin to dress. Guilt wracked him with every step, and if he had not been in such a hurry, he felt as if he would have crawled on his belly in shame. He ran to Óin's home, and burst in the door without knocking. Óin sat in the kitchen, whistling and mixing some kind of medicinal potion. Óin looked up from his work and squinted at Fíli, surprised.

"Can I help you, Master Fíli?" he said courteously, raising his ear trumpet.

"I need you now," Fíli gasped. "Kíli is gravely injured. Thorin sent me for you."

"Injured how?" said Óin. He continued stirring his potion, as if the words "gravely injured" meant nothing. The burning sensation returned in Fíli's belly; his patience had already been worn to almost nothing.

"Arrow," Fíli said. "Can we please hurry?"

Óin's eyes widened. He immediately abandoned his work and grabbed his apothecary's satchel, throwing in some surgical tools from various drawers.

"Will you meet us at my home?" Fíli said.

"Yes, of course," said Óin. Fíli ran back to his own house, out of breath but running on adrenaline. The short run gave him too much time to think; the crippling guilt returned, and it took all of his strength to keep running and not drop to the ground and drag his face in the dust. He dashed to the barn behind his home to grab the ponies and found Thorin already there, putting the saddles on quickly and efficiently. Fíli's throat tightened when he saw Thorin, and he wanted to drop to his knees and beg for mercy before Thorin could scream at him or hit him or - who even knew? Fíli had never done anything this horrible before. Thorin, however, kept a calm demeanor when he caught Fíli's wilting gaze.

"Óin will follow shortly," breathed Fíli. "He's gathering supplies now."

Thorin nodded seriously, his face unreadable. Still, Fíli knew that Thorin must be livid with him, and he could think of nothing to say. Though he kept his composure outwardly, he felt like he was crumbling on the inside. He had done great harm to the dearest person to him in the entire world, and if Kíli died, he would never forgive himself, if he lived to be four hundred years old. Even what he had already done felt like it had killed a part of him, like he had betrayed Kíli. Kíli had only wanted Thorin when Fíli had left him. What if Kíli didn't trust him anymore? What if Kíli would never have a chance to trust him anymore? No, he thought, pushing the thought out of his mind. He would not give up so early on his baby brother.

Fíli looked at his pony and then at Kíli's. Kíli always teased him about his pony, Clover. She was a good girl, but Kíli was convinced that his own pony, Princess, was much faster. Perhaps Kíli was right, and Fíli's pride was already dying on the floor. He might as well save Clover the weight and ride Princess. Time was not on his side.

Óin arrived a couple minutes later – a couple minutes too long, in Fíli's mind – and they set off at full speed, Fíli leading the way back. They were moving too quickly for talk, which he was grateful for. He didn't want to say anything. Even if he had anything to say, his throat was dry and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth from running back at forth. He was grateful for the ponies this time around.

They burst into the woods, and they had to slow down to avoid hitting trees, which annoyed Fíli greatly. He needed to get back to Kíli now. He tried to spur Princess on, but she flattened her ears and refused to speed up. Maybe it wasn't Princess that was faster - maybe Kíli was just the better rider. He had always been quicker, sharper. That's what made him a better shot, too - Fíli was sure of that. Kíli wouldn't have missed the buck; he wouldn't have shot his brother. He wouldn't have made this mess. The small dwarf inside Fíli shrank lower as he considered that maybe Kíli was just the better brother, and Fíli was the failure.

Even with the delay with the disobedient ponies, they made it back to Kíli in less than ten minutes. As soon as he was in view, Fíli dismounted and ran to his side. Kíli had not moved since he left. He knelt beside him and peered into his face, desperate to find signs of life. At first glance, Kíli didn't appear to be alive at all, and for a second all Fíli could hear was his own blood rushing in his ears, louder than a hurricane. He panicked and put his pointer and middle fingers on Kíli's neck, feeling for a pulse. The blood in his ears faded away as he felt a pulse against those two fingers. He was deathly pale and his breathing came in short, quick breaths, but he was alive. Fíli breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm back, Kíli," he said, brushing damp hair from Kíli's brow. "I've brought Uncle and Óin. You'll be fine." He tried to sound confident, but his cracking voice betrayed him.

Kíli smiled halfheartedly, and Fíli noted the blood on his teeth. So he was coughing up blood… Fíli felt that rush of blood in his ears again. He knew that that was never good, that it meant blood was in his lungs.

Within moments Fíli heard the thump of Thorin's heavy boots hitting the ground and his determined gait. He cringed under that gait, as he had done so many times as a small child when he was in trouble. The sound of Óin's lighter gait and the clinking of tools followed. Thorin knelt beside Kíli and examined the damage; when he saw the location and depth of the arrow, he blanched, and Fíli felt a cold fear wash over him. If Thorin was scared, anyone should be scared. He felt the small dwarf inside of him shrink even smaller in shame. He knew in that moment that he didn't deserve to be Thorin's heir; he was a failure, a traitor, possibly a murderer. How could he stand proud next to his uncle ever again?

"What do we do?" said Thorin tersely.

"Let me see him," said Óin, and Fíli and Thorin obediently moved out of the way. Óin studied the wound placidly. If he felt any worry, he did not show it. Fíli wondered at his fortitude.

"How does Kíli bind his arrows?" Óin said as he inspected the shaft in Kíli's side.

"He ties them with animal sinews," Fíli said.

"No good, no good," muttered Óin, and Fíli felt as if the little dwarf inside him had almost wasted away.

"Why is it no good?" he forced himself to ask.

"Fíli, quiet. Let Óin work," Thorin snapped. Fíli felt the words hit him like a physical slap, and he backed away, barely able to stand. Thorin looked back at Fíli's stooped frame and followed him. Fíli recoiled at his approach, but to his great surprise, Thorin addressed him gently.

"When the sinew comes in contact with the interior of the body, it loosens, and the arrowhead can become stuck inside," Thorin explained. "It has already been in too long to pull the arrow out by the shaft."

"What do we do, then?" Fíli asked.

"Thorin, Fíli, lay him down and restrain him," Óin called.

Fíli swallowed. "Restrain him?"

Óin looked at him with an arched eyebrow, and Fíli came forward wordlessly.

Kíli, silent and still until this point, reacted violently to this development. He started and shook his head, his eyes wide and pleading.

"No, please," he whispered hoarsely.

(click to enlarge)

"Lie still, Kíli," said Thorin, and he nodded to Fíli, who moved down by his feet, shaking like a leaf. Thorin slowly lowered Kíli to the ground; Kíli hissed through his teeth, drawing his knees up halfway and dropping them as it caused him more pain. Fíli took hold of his legs, and Thorin, having lowered him completely to the ground, took his arms. He nodded to Óin.

Óin came forward and examined the arrow. It stuck straight out from his side and was buried a good four inches at least. He frowned. Kíli watched him with wide eyes as he took hold of the arrow and very lightly tried to turn it.

Kíli screamed and struggled as searing pain swept through his side. Fíli and Thorin kept him in place as his screaming turned to coughing, and blood shot from his mouth in alarming quantities. Fíli felt the scream rip through his being as if he were running a gauntlet. It was as if he could feel the arrow in his own side, the pain was so real. He gasped harshly and looked up at his uncle, horrified. Thorin avoided his gaze and looked down at Kíli, stone-faced. Fíli envied his strength.

"Sorry, lad," said Óin gently to Kíli. He looked up at Thorin. "It's in his lung," he said. "I'll have to cut the head out."

Kíli began to struggle weakly against the hands that held him, and Fíli couldn't blame him. The idea of being cut open did not appeal to him, either.

"Should we move him?" said Thorin.

"No, best not," Óin said. "We'll have to do it here."

Kíli lay wheezing, his entire body damp with sweat. His gaze flicked back and forth from Thorin to Fíli, panic shining in his eyes. He tried to pull an arm loose from Thorin's strong grip, but he was no match for Thorin even on a good day. He caught Fíli's gaze.

"Please, brother," he whispered.

Tears Fíli didn't even know he had been holding spilled from his eyes as he slowly shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Kíli. We have to do this. I'm sorry."

The betrayal in Kíli's eyes pierced through Fíli's soul sharper than any arrow. This was all his fault - all of it. He bowed his head, no longer able to meet his brother's eyes, and let more silent tears fall.

Óin, ignoring Kíli's pleas, pulled a bottle out of his bag and uncorked it. He lifted Kíli's head gingerly and held the bottle to his lips.

"Drink, lad," he said. "It won't stop the pain, but it will take off some of the edge."

Kíli took the bitter-tasting medicine and swallowed as much as he could, coughing up half of it mixed with blood. Óin pursed his lips.

"That'll have to do," he said. "We'll wait just a couple minutes for the medicine to take effect."

Kíli's eyes suddenly opened wide and he wheezed harshly, as if no amount of breathing could bring air in. A sick grating sound came from his throat, and his skin began to take on a bluish tinge. His mouth opened and closed like a freshly-caught fish on the shore, but the only sound he made was that thick, grating noise. Óin immediately sprang into action.

"What have you given him?" Fíli shouted in a panic. "You're killing him! What have you done?"

"It wasn't the medicine," Óin snapped. "His lung has collapsed. No time to wait for the medicine. We must relieve the pressure."

Fíli looked down at his little brother, terrified. What did that mean? He looked up at Thorin, whose face was pale grey.

"Hold him tight, lad," said Óin, looking up at Fíli. All Fíli could think was he's choking him, he's choking him, but his hands were stuck in place anyway. Óin looked to Thorin. "You know what to do." Thorin nodded and found a thick stick, which he placed between Kíli's teeth. He then held Kíli's arms tightly. Fíli frantically looked from one to the other, unsure of what was going to happen next.

Óin took out a knife, and for a moment, Fíli's frenzied mind could only think that Óin was about to slit his throat, but Óin instead swiftly cut away the fine fabric around the arrow. They could get another shirt or another coat; they could not get another Kíli. At last Óin made it through the layers of clothes to Kíli's bloodsoaked skin. He took a long, thick needle from his bag, and without sparing another moment, he stabbed the needle into Kíli's chest. Kíli struggled violently, unable to scream, biting hard on the stick between his teeth. A sick hissing sound came from his chest. Fíli felt sick - this was too much. He could taste blood. Why could he taste blood?

"It's all right, lad," Thorin was saying calmly by Kíli's head as he panicked and wheezed and tears flowed freely from his eyes. Fíli hadn't seen him comfort Kíli like this since they were very small. Fíli wondered if Thorin told the truth - if Kíli would be all right.

Fíli's entire body felt cold and weak. He suddenly realized that he was biting his lip - that's why he tasted blood. He must have bitten too hard. The iron taste in his mouth flipped his stomach, and it took many deep breaths to keep himself from retching.

Óin removed the needle and placed a thin tube in its place. A whimper escaped from Kíli's throat, but the wheezing slightly subsided. Whatever Óin had done, it was working.

"Now we need to remove the arrow, lad," said Óin to his patient. "The medicine I gave you should be working now, but it's still going to hurt. I need you to stay still, you hear?"

Kíli no longer had any ability to comprehend what was going on around him. He looked upwards to Thorin, who simply held his arms in place. A strangled cry escaped his lips over the large stick in his mouth as he tried to escape. His eyes searched wildly until they met Fíli's grieved ones, and it took all the strength Fíli had to offer him a grim smile. This small gesture seemed to calm him, and he closed his eyes tight.

Óin took out a small knife, and Fíli realized what was about to happen. He wanted to beg and plead - Please don't cut him, don't hurt him any more, don't hurt him, please - but all he could let out was a strangled sob. Óin ignored the intimate sound and began to cut an incision in Kíli's side. Fíli could feel Kíli's leg muscles tense as Óin worked, cutting down the length of the arrow's shaft until he came to the arrowhead, which was half buried in the lung. He reached into Kíli's body with careful fingers. Kíli struggled for a moment, then his eyes rolled back into his head and his body went limp.

Fíli started forward, thinking the worst, but Thorin stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"He's just unconscious, Fíli. He isn't dead."

There was so much blood. Fíli had never had trouble with the sight of blood – goodness knows he had gotten enough cuts and scrapes to cure him of that – but the sight of Kíli losing such a large quantity from something that he had done made the world before him swim. He sat back and let go of Kíli's legs, which were now still.

He wanted to run. He wanted to get away, to hide from what he had done, but he couldn't leave his Kíli. What kind of brother would he be if he did? No, he had to stay and face his error. No matter what punishment Thorin would have for this foolishness - this stupidity - nothing could be worse than witnessing the pain he had inflicted on his little brother, the one he had sworn to protect with his very life. He blinked hard, and heavy tears fell from his eyes.

Óin was now busy stitching up the incision. Kíli's breathing came in wheezes – the pressure on his lungs was relieved, but the collapsed lung was still not functioning at full capacity. The thin tube remained.

Fíli buried his face in his hands and took deep breaths, trying to hide his weakness. The tears fell silently down his cheeks, but he made no sound. He heard Thorin sit beside him, and he panicked, sure that harsh words or harsh hands were coming his way. He stood up and stumbled away, feeling like a child again, fleeing from Thorin's wrath.

"Fíli!" Thorin called sharply, and Fíli stopped in his tracks, even now not daring to disobey him. He dropped to his knees, his back turned to his uncle.

"You are both foolish," Thorin said. "You and your brother."

Fíli hung his head in deep shame.

"I'm sorry, Uncle, I'm so, so sorry." Fíli began. "This was – "

"An accident," Thorin finished.

Fíli pondered this admission, confused. Maybe Thorin's wrath would come later, when he was sure that Kíli was well. Minutes of silence passed between them.

"Will Kíli survive?" Fíli asked finally, turning to face his uncle.

Thorin looked at Kíli grimly. "It's hard to say," he said. He was never one to mince words. "I've seen this type of wound before, and – when the lungs are involved…" he drifted off.

"Uncle?"

"They don't survive most of the time," he admitted. Fíli felt as if his heart had shattered as he looked at his unconscious brother, still being carefully stitched up by Óin. "But Kíli is strong," Thorin continued. "Stronger than most. He is an heir of Durin, and we are hard dwarves to kill."

Fíli was not very reassured, but he put his faith in Thorin's faith. He knew that Kíli was a strong dwarf, and he knew he should not lose hope in his brother, one who was stubborn to the bone. He drew up his knees and rested his forehead on them, numb from the whirlwind of emotions of the last hour. Thorin came to his side and slung one strong arm around his shoulders. The punishment must be coming later, Fíli thought.

When Óin finished his work, Fíli and Thorin carefully lifted the still-unconscious Kíli onto Princess. Fíli tied him in place to keep him from falling off, taking special care to avoid his injured side. He felt like a young dwarf again, teaching his baby brother how to ride - Kíli had quickly gotten the knack of riding, and the ropes had not been necessary for many years. But this was what Fíli had reduced his dear brother to. He bent under the weight of his error, his guilt making it hard to even stand. Still, he refused to leave Kíli's side, opting to walk next to Princess instead of riding his own pony. He would not let his brother fall. They led the pony as quickly as they dared back to home; Kíli did not wake, not even when they laid him in his bed.

Chapter 3 : Awakening

Author's note: A lot of research has been put into this story, especially on the medical side of things. I've tried to make everything accurate, but since this is Middle-Earth and not our world, I've played a bit with what medical knowledge of this time would be. If anything seems out of place, just remember that Bilbo Baggins had a pocket-watch and indoor plumbing while they were still fighting with swords and shields and no one had heard of a bomb before.

Fíli refused to leave Kíli's side for any reason. As soon as they had brought him in and laid him down, Fíli had pulled up a chair and sat in it, and there he had remained for the past six hours. Kíli had not awoken since he lost consciousness in the woods.

He had wanted to make Kíli as comfortable as possible, with warm, soft blankets, but Óin had forbidden it. Just enough pillows to elevate the upper half of his body, he'd said. The tube that Óin had inserted remained in Kíli's chest to keep the lung from collapsing again, and it needed to stay uncovered. It had taken Fíli the better part of an hour to look at it without feeling an uncomfortable ache in his own chest and a queasy feeling in his stomach. Thorin had built a warm fire in the fireplace of Fíli and Kíli's room, and when Fíli wasn't keeping close watch over his brother, he was making sure that the fire stayed hot to keep Kíli's uncovered body warm.

The guilt he felt was immense. How had it come to this? Before the sun had risen, the day had seemed so perfect. Now it was by far the worst day of his life.

And it was all his fault.

The weight of his own inadequacy was slowly crushing him. He was still waiting for Thorin to express his anger towards him, an event he was sure was coming and dreaded. His mother didn't even know yet. The thought clenched his stomach. His poor mother… he would understand if she never forgave him. He knew he would never forgive himself. He stood up from his chair to stoke the fire, wrapped up in his thoughts. He tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach and watched the flames dance in the hearth.

A moan from behind him grabbed his attention, and he was instantly at Kíli's side.

"Kíli?" he said quietly.

Kíli's eyelids fluttered open at the sound of his brother's voice. Fíli laid a hand on his arm, and the younger dwarf turned his head towards the touch.

"Hey, there," Fíli said. He couldn't help smiling. He'd been entertaining the fear that Kíli would never wake.

"Hi," Kíli said weakly, returning the smile. His expression suddenly changed as he tried to take in a deep breath and wheezed painfully. His brow furrowed and his eyes widened with panic as he tried again with the same result. Fíli put a hand on his stomach to calm him.

"Light breaths, Kíli."

Kíli nodded and lightened his breathing into short, shallow breaths. He relaxed as his body got the air it required, but Fíli could see the pain crossing his face. It tore at his heart ferociously.

"How are you feeling?" he said meekly.

"Been better," Kíli replied with a cheeky grin. It faded quickly. "It hurts," he added.

"I can get Óin to mix you something," Fíli said, already starting to rise. "Would you like me to get him?"

Kíli nodded, his eyes closed against the pain. Fíli stepped out of the room and into the kitchen, where Óin and Thorin sat at the table, talking in grave voices. They both looked up as he entered, surprised to see him away from Kíli's side.

"Kíli is awake," he said. Thorin started up immediately and moved past him into the bedroom. Fíli shrank back as he passed, but Thorin paid him no mind. He stood quietly for a moment, looking down at the floor as Óin eyed him quizzically.

"He's in pain," he said finally. "I didn't know if you had anything you could give him. For-for the pain. And he isn't breathing well."

"He won't breathe well for at least a couple of weeks, but I can certainly give him a draught for the pain," said Óin.

"Thank you."

Suddenly, there came a cry from the bedroom. Fíli's heart jumped in his chest and he dashed into the bedroom. Thorin was holding Kíli's hands at his sides, and Kíli was panting wildly, clearly distressed.

"What happened?" Fíli exclaimed.

"He saw the tube in his chest," Thorin said gruffly. "Wanted to take it out. Kíli, lad, stop struggling. You cannot remove it. It has to stay."

"It hurts," Kíli grunted through gritted teeth.

"Of course it does, but it's keeping pressure off your lung so you can breathe," snapped Thorin. "Now, stop this nonsense."

Kíli obeyed, letting out a hiss between his teeth and glaring at the ceiling. Thorin let go of his arms slowly; Fíli leaned back against the wall and let out a sigh of relief. Óin entered moments later with a bottle of dark liquid.

"Óin, please take this tube out," Kíli begged as soon as he saw him. Óin simply shook his head, and Kíli's nostrils flared in annoyance. As Óin approached the bedside, Kíli turned his head away.

"Don't be a child, Kíli," Thorin scolded.

Óin studied his patient for a moment, and then opened his mouth to speak. "Do you know what a collapsed lung means, young Master Kíli?" he said.

Kíli shook his head.

"It means that air has escaped from your lungs and into your body. The pressure outside the lung collapses it, and the only way to relieve the pressure is to allow the air to escape. That is why there is a tube in your chest, and that is why you must not remove it."

Kíli remained silent, fuming.

"Stubborn lad," said Óin affectionately. "I've made you something for the pain. Come, drink it. Slowly, now."

Kíli accepted the draught and then leaned back into his pillows, refusing to make eye contact with anyone in the room. Fíli could tell from his demeanor that Óin's warning had gone in one ear and out the other, and he feared for his safety; he resolved to keep a vigilant eye on him.

"I'd like to talk to Kíli privately," Thorin said suddenly.

Óin nodded. "I'll take my leave now," he said. "I'll be at my home if you need me." He stepped out, nodding to Thorin, Fíli, and Kíli separately. Fíli lingered, reluctant to go, and Thorin turned to face him.

"Fíli, go," he said. "I will speak to you afterwards."

Fíli's stomach flipped upside down; he knew that this had been coming. He quickly left the room and shut the door behind him, then ran outside, using the walls as support as the fear balling in his stomach caused him to physically bend. He was done for. What would Thorin do to him? Scream at him? Beat him? Publicly denounce him as heir? He felt that he deserved it, but he didn't want any of it. He wanted this whole damn day to disappear. He wanted to disappear.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his pipe, eager for the relaxing properties of pipe-weed. He searched his pockets for his bag of tobacco, but he had none; he groaned and went back inside to find it. He checked the usual places in the kitchen where one of the three smokers usually left some pipe-weed, but to no avail. His was surely in his room, but he couldn't go in there right now. He briefly considered lifting some from Thorin's room when the door to his and Kíli's room opened and Thorin stepped out. Fíli froze, afraid for a moment that his uncle would know his thoughts and get him for that, too.

"He's asleep," Thorin said. "Must have been a sleeping draught. Óin's a clever dwarf."

"He's not just pretending, is he?" Fíli said.

"I've known him just as long as you have, Fíli."

Fíli felt heat creep into his cheeks. Of course Thorin would know if Kíli was pretending. How dare he doubt his uncle?

"Sit."

Fíli immediately obeyed, stuffing his pipe back into his pocket. His stomach was twisted in knots. He wanted to apologize, to grovel, to plead for mercy, but his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he remained silent. Thorin sat across from him and leaned back, crossing his arms. He studied his young nephew, who fidgeted nervously under his piercing gaze.

"I trust you understand just how serious this is," Thorin said.

Fíli nodded almost imperceptibly, waiting for the shouting to begin.

"Fíli, look at me, lad."

He brought his gaze up to meet Thorin's slowly.

"You know that it is my duty to be as a father to you. I promised your mother that when her husband – your father – died. I don't take that responsibility lightly… but I also do not consider you a burden."

This was not the direction Fíli had imagined at all. He searched Thorin's eyes, looking for some clue to what this all meant.

"I know that I can be hard on you, Fíli. You and your brother, but you especially as the eldest. You set an example for him. He looks up to you."

"I know," Fíli said, so quietly that he was practically mouthing the words.

"Kíli told me what happened. He feels quite guilty, you know."

"He what?" Fíli said. Why would Kíli feel guilty? He hadn't shot Fíli with an arrow. He hadn't nearly killed – or quite possibly actually killed – his only brother. What could he possibly feel guilty about?

"He was foolish," Thorin continued. "He told me that he moved into range of the bow and put himself in danger. He knows better than that." He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. "I've taught him better than that. And you, shooting without considering the path of your arrow?"

Fíli lowered his gaze and sank down in his chair. Here it comes.

"It's common sense, Fíli. You don't shoot when your comrades are in front of you. It's a perfect way to – well, for this to happen."

The knot in Fíli's stomach rose into his throat, and tears stung the corners of his eyes. He hid his face in his hands, ashamed of his weakness and unable to speak.

"But – it was an accident."

Fíli looked up, surprised.

"Uncle?" he said, unsure now.

"The situation is dire, and the consequences may be great, and yes, it was very foolish – stupid, really – but burying yourself in guilt will not make Kíli better."

Fíli could hardly believe what he was hearing. No shouting? No beating? Nothing?

"But, Uncle, I—"

"Have been punished enough," Thorin finished. "As I was saying earlier – I may be hard on you, Fíli, but I look on you as a son. I've seen the way you shrink in my presence, as if you are expecting me to strike you. I know you feel guilty, and I don't blame you, but I would that you were not afraid of me."

Fíli felt as if a great weight had lifted off his shoulders, but the lump in his throat grew larger. A tear spilled from his eye and he wiped it away quickly, embarrassed.

"Thank you, Uncle," he whispered. Thorin nodded sagely and offered him a comforting smile.

"Go to him," he said. "I'm sure you want to be at his side, and he will want you there if he wakes."

If he wakes. Fíli knew what he meant, but he also knew what it could mean. He stood up and returned to his and Kíli's room, reclaiming his place at Kíli's side. There he stayed for hours, only moving to build the fire. Kíli's chest rose and fell irregularly, but at least it was moving at all.

* * *

It was late in the evening when Dís finally arrived at home. Fíli could hear her humming as she entered and the clank of coins on the table from her day of selling trinkets in the neighboring human villages.

"Dís," came Thorin's voice rumbling through the door. "I need to speak with you."

There was a pause. "What's happened, Thorin?" she said.

Thorin explained to her the events of the day in a hushed tone; Fíli could not make out what he was saying, but his mother's horrified sob was unmistakable. He cringed. He hated to hurt his poor mother, who had already lost so much – her grandfather, her father, her husband, her brother Frerin… Fíli found himself wishing solely for his mother's sake that Kíli would not die.

Thorin was speaking again, surely words of comfort, and then Dís's voice rang clear – "Let me see him."

Moments later, Dís entered the room. Fíli looked back at her and met her bloodshot eyes. She slowly walked to the bedside and placed her hands on Fíli's shoulders; he put his right hand over her left and rested his cheek on top.

(click to enlarge)

"He's been asleep," Fíli said. "Oin gave him a sleeping draught… he was causing trouble."

"He's always causing trouble," said Dís, and Fíli smiled. Typical Kíli. She sat on the side of the bed and stroked his hair gently.

"He's strong," she said softly. "He is of the line of Durin. He will survive. I am sure of it." She placed her hand on his bare chest. "His heart is strong still."

"I'm sorry, Mother," Fíli said, his voice cracking.

Dís turned to face him and took his face in her hand. "You didn't mean to do it," she said. "I do not blame you."

Fíli let out a shuddering sigh and leaned his head into her palm. She stroked his cheek with her thumb and smiled.

"Thorin tells me you've been here all day," she said. "Go – get some fresh air. I'll sit with him for a while."

Fíli got up wordlessly and retrieved his pipe-weed from the mantelpiece. He snuck past Thorin, who was staring into the kitchen fire, and slipped outside into the cool air. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep.

He packed his pipe and then pulled his tinder-stick out of his pocket, lit it on the lantern by the door, and brought it to the bowl of his pipe. The fire went out before the leaves could catch, and he tried again – once again, the light went out. A burning frustration sprung up in his chest as he tried one more time – and again, the light went out.

Fíli tossed the pipe roughly and shouted a dozen curses in Khuzdul, his voice breaking with every curse he uttered. He leaned back against the doorframe when he was done, his anger spent.

"Oh, Kíli," he whispered as he sank to the ground. He squeezed his eyes shut and choked out a sob, and this time, he allowed the tears to fall.

Chapter 4 : Heat

Author's note: There is mention in this chapter of Fíli and Kíli sharing a room and a bed, and I want to say a few things about that so no one gets the wrong idea. First of all, I hate slash, and I especially hate incest, so there is absolutely no way that that is what I am implying. Second of all, I did plenty of research on this beforehand, and the only reason that we find it weird for men to share a bed is because of a serious homophobia that started in the 1950s that made men afraid to be affectionate around each other (Check out the website The Art of Manliness if you'd like to see the history!). I have decided for the sake of this story ignore this, and if anyone has a problem with that, I'd like you to pick up 'The Fellowship of the Ring' and read the chapters where the hobbits all take a bath together in Tom Bombadil's house and then later run around in the fields naked. And none of them are gay. So there.

The fire was dying when Fíli awoke.

Fool, he scolded himself. He had been so vigilant through the night in making sure the fire stayed hot, but he had fallen asleep in the chair after keeping watch until early in the morning. The day was just barely beginning – Fíli could see the first hints of daylight out the window, a dark blue light barely illuminating the sky.

Twenty-four hours ago, everything had been fine.

Fíli sighed wearily and rubbed his temples, and then sat up slowly, groaning as his joints creaked and pain shot through his lower back. Wooden chairs were definitely not made for sleeping in. He stretched as he stood, feeling the blood flow back into his pinched legs. Slowly, he lumbered over to the fireplace and tossed some more wood on the smoldering fire. When the wood was burning to his satisfaction, he turned back towards the bed; normally, Fíli and Kíli shared this bed, but Fíli was too afraid of moving and hurting Kíli somehow in his sleep – although Kíli had always said that he slept like a log. But the fear remained, and he would not risk it. Not while that ghastly metal tube was still in Kíli's chest. Óin had promised to remove it tomorrow.

Today, he corrected himself. His heart swelled at the thought. Even this small sign that Kíli was healing brought him great hope. The road would be long and hard, but they were making at least one step on the journey. They just had to make sure that Kíli made it the whole way.

He looked at the hard wooden chair with distaste. His backside was sore from sitting in that chair for a whole day, and his spine felt compressed. He needed to lie down. Or sit somewhere more comfortable.

He opted for sitting on the bed, lowering himself slowly so as to not wake his slumbering brother. Kíli breathed easier in his sleep – and he complained far less. Fíli studied his sleeping frame.

Kíli looked peaceful in the low light – at least, peaceful for him. He had thick, dark eyebrows that slanted inward, and when he wasn't laughing – granted, a common occurrence – he tended to look angry to people who didn't know him well. But Fíli knew that when he was truly angry, he looked much different. He always tried to look ferocious, gritting his teeth and sneering like Thorin, but he lacked the features that would render him a frightening dwarf. His nose was small, his build was lean, and his beard was barely worth mentioning. But what he lacked in frame, he more than made up for in skill. His ability with a bow was virtually unmatched – except by Thorin, of course – and he wielded a blade with deadly strength and accuracy. He was quick and lithe, offering him an advantage over more traditionally built dwarves in practice, which he utilized frequently.

But now he had been put at a great disadvantage by Fíli's hand. If – when, he told himself – Kíli recovered, that wound in his side could pain him for years. Not to mention all the time he would spend bedridden, unable to practice. The horrible stab of guilt returned, making him wince. He knew now that Thorin and his mother held no anger towards him, but be that as it may, it still didn't change what had happened. He had caused unnecessary pain and suffering for all of them. He didn't know if it was even possible to not feel guilty about that.

The bandages on Kíli's torso were starting to stain through. They would have to be changed soon. Fíli touched the red stain gingerly, his heart filled with sorrow. It would bleed for days, most likely, even with the stitches. The wound was deep, and the incision would surely slow the recovery as well.

Kíli stirred, and Fíli removed his fingers hastily, cursing his foolishness. He watched Kíli's face for signs of waking, but his younger brother remained peacefully asleep. Fíli let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and stood up. Kíli shifted again, and he froze.

"Mmph," Kíli mumbled, and Fíli smiled. Kíli often talked in his sleep, a fact that Fíli had teased him about relentlessly when they were children. Fíli would tell him that he had revealed some secret in his sleep, and Kíli would press him, panicked, until Fíli would laugh and say, "You fool. Is there anything that you keep a secret from me?"

"I guess not," Kíli would reply sheepishly.

Fíli's stomach growled. He had barely eaten anything the day before; he hadn't even had much of an appetite until now. After another glance at Kíli to make sure he was asleep, he quietly headed for the kitchen.

"Fíli?"

He stopped and waited. Kíli could very well be sleep talking.

"Fíli, where are you going?"

Blast. He'd woken him up.

"Just to the kitchen," he said.

"Don't leave me," Kíli whispered, and a lump formed in Fíli's throat.

"I'm just going to the kitchen," he said. "I'll be right back."

"Please don't leave," Kíli repeated, a little louder this time. "Please."

Fíli sighed and returned to the bedside, sinking into the chair. "I'm here," he said.

Kíli was fully awake now, and he studied his brother's face. "You look awful."

"You look worse," Fíli retorted.

"Have you slept?"

"A bit, in the chair, but not well," Fíli admitted. In truth, his lower back had protested the moment he had sat back down, and his eyelids felt so heavy that he wasn't sure how they were even open.

"Come to bed," Kíli said, nodding to the space next to him.

"No, I can't," Fíli said. "I don't want to move and hurt you in my sleep."

Kíli let out a chuckle that turned into a weak cough. "A whole army… couldn't move you when you sleep," he wheezed. "Don't make yourself ill on my account. Come to bed."

"All right," Fíli conceded after a moment's deliberation, secretly glad to be able to lie down. "But wake me if I hurt you."

"You won't," Kíli said confidently.

But I already have, Fíli thought. Kíli was either forgetful, foolish, or very, very trusting. The fact that his brother still trusted him after what he had done spoke volumes to his heart and lifted a little of the sorrow that he had been holding so close. He made his way around the bed and lay down carefully, trying to avoid moving the bed too much. He pressed his face into his pillow, and let out a strained sigh as his back straightened out painfully.

"I don't blame you," Kíli said.

"Mm?" Fíli said, already half-asleep.

"I'm not angry about what happened. It was my fault, too."

"It wasn't your fault," Fíli mumbled.

"It was as much mine as it was yours," Kíli insisted with a strained voice. "Don't take all the blame."

Fíli paused. He knew that Kíli meant it, but he wasn't sure that his guilt would allow him to assign blame to anyone but himself. The logical part of his mind told him that the accident would not have been possible had they not both been foolish, but he was so used to protecting his little brother from harm… and then this had happened. But Kíli had asked so sincerely, and Fíli knew that he meant it from the depths of his heart.

"I'll try," he said finally.

"Thanks," said Kíli. And with that, Fíli drifted off to sleep.

* * *

When Fíli awoke, the sun was high in the sky. The rays warmed his face through the window, and his eyes adjusted slowly to the light. He lifted his head and rubbed his eyes sleepily with a great yawn.

"Afternoon, brother."

Fíli turned his half-opened eyes up to Kíli. He was leaning back on his pillows with a bowl of soup on his lap and a cheerful expression on his face. Fíli merely blinked.

"You were snoring," said Kíli. "Never heard you snore before." He let out a chuckle, but it turned into a cough, and his brow furrowed. He put a hand on his chest and took shallow breaths; Fíli noted that the tube was gone. A bandage had taken its place.

"Óin took the tube out," Fíli commented.

"Yeah, and you must've been really tired to sleep through that," Kíli said. "I wasn't exactly quiet when he did it. We thought of waking you first, but Uncle wanted you to sleep if you could."

Fíli looked at the small bandage and then back up to his brother's face. "It hurt, then?"

Kíli looked down at his bowl and nodded forlornly, and Fíli could see the memory of the pain in his face. It stung his heart.

"But it feels much better now," Kíli said cheerfully. He stopped again to breathe. "Damned lung," he said with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. Fíli gritted his teeth and buried his face in his pillow as the now-familiar twinge of guilt twisted in his stomach.

"Now, don't be like that," Kíli chided. "I meant what I said last night. Or… this morning."

Fíli said nothing in reply. He'd said he would try, but he wasn't sure that he would succeed. He could hear Kíli slurping his soup, apparently tired of waiting for a response.

He had almost drifted back off to sleep when Kíli began to cough violently. Fíli was up in an instant as Kíli hacked and choked, clutching his injured side. The bowl of soup clattered to the floor and splashed everywhere, but Fíli's eyes were only on Kíli.

"Wrong way down," Kíli croaked, then returned to his coughing. He doubled over in the bed, tears flowing from his eyes; Fíli put a hand on his back, unsure of what to do. Thorin burst into the room suddenly and ran to Kíli's side. Fíli looked up at him desperately.

"He-he was just eating," he said with a trembling voice.

"Kíli, listen to me," Thorin said. "Tuck your chin into your chest and swallow." Kíli did as he was told, but he kept coughing, losing more breath than he could take in. His coughs weakened, but still he hacked, his body working hard to reject the offending material from his windpipe.

"Keep swallowing, lad," Thorin said. Kíli nodded and swallowed one, two, three times, and his coughing lessened gradually. He wheezed, still clutching his side, and leaned forward; a thin line of bloody saliva dropped from his lips. Thorin and Fíli exchanged concerned looks.

"All right?" Thorin said gently. Kíli let out a couple weak coughs and nodded. He tried to sit up straight and groaned painfully. Thorin put a hand on Kíli's chest and the other on the back of his head and leaned him back into his pillows. The young dwarf's face was flushed, and he breathed harshly. His dark hair clung to his forehead; there was blood on his chin, and his hands shook. Thorin took a napkin from the bedside table and wiped away the blood.

"Should we get Óin?" Fíli said.

"No," said Thorin. "It was probably just irritation from the coughing. Just keep an eye on him." He studied Kíli's face one more time, his brow furrowed. "Watch him closely." He picked up the bowl and whatever bits of soup he could find from the floor, dropped a napkin to sop up the rest, and left the room.

Fíli watched him leave and then turned his attention to his brother. Kíli was still shaking like a leaf, gasping for air. Saliva dripped from his chin, but to Fíli's relief, there was no more blood. Fíli sidled up beside him and put an arm around him, a silent gesture that he knew would comfort him without poking at his dignity.

To his great surprise, Kíli turned to lay his head on Fíli's chest. The older dwarf paused for a moment, shocked at the juvenile motion. Kíli had often leaned against him like this as a child, but never in recent years. However, he hugged his brother closer, his heart aching as the invalid dwarf shuddered in his arms. He then pulled the blankets over the both of them, fearful of Kíli catching cold in his condition. Kíli moved in closer silently, and soon his breathing slowed into a fitful pattern that Fíli recognized as sleep. He rested his chin on Kíli's head and stared into the dying fire, thankful for the living dwarf that dozed on his chest.

(click to enlarge)

* * *

Fíli opened his eyes and immediately cursed himself for falling asleep. He looked down at Kíli, who lay still sleeping in his arms. He smiled fondly, recalling days many years ago when Kíli had often fell asleep like this – only then, he had been much smaller. Once a baby brother, always a baby brother. He reached up to stroke Kíli's hair absentmindedly; to his surprise, he found it still damp with sweat. How long had he been asleep? Judging by the movement of shadows in the room, it had to have been at least an hour. He put his hand on Kíli's forehead, and his heart sank.

He had a fever.

Fear paralyzed Fíli's body as images flew through his mind in rapid succession: Kíli lying dead, Kíli in a casket, Kíli being buried. He kicked himself mentally and pushed the images away. Focus, Fíli. What do you need to do?

Tell Thorin, his mind answered. He gently lifted Kíli off his chest and laid him down on the pillows. He felt his forehead again: definitely hot. With a leap, he was off the bed and running into the kitchen. Thorin sat by the fire, smoking; he turned as Fíli stepped into the room and lowered his pipe.

"What is it?" Thorin said, reading the look on Fíli's face.

"I think Kíli has a fever," he said.

Thorin looked down and sighed; his shoulders hunched over, and deep sorrow crossed his face.

"Did you check the arrow-wound?" he said.

"No, I thought I'd tell you," Fíli said. "I thought you might know what to do."

Thorin's head bowed lower. He stood up and set his pipe on the mantelpiece. "Let's have a look at it," he said wearily.

The two re-entered the bedroom, where Kíli lay now awake and shivering.

"C-cold," he gasped as a violent tremor shook his body. Fíli jumped back onto the bed, and Thorin sat at his bedside. He rested his palm on Kíli's forehead and nodded, his countenance downcast.

"We need to look at the arrow-wound," he said. "Kíli, can you sit up?"

Kíli pulled his head forward weakly and hissed in pain, dropping back into the pillows. He shook his head forlornly. Thorin looked to his older nephew. "Fíli, sit him up," he said.

Fíli wrapped his left arm around his shivering brother and slid his right hand onto his lower back. He slowly lifted him upright; Kíli groaned as another tremor shook his body. Thorin unwrapped the bandages around his torso, then motioned for Fíli to lay him down on his right side. Still holding him with his left arm, Fíli moved away the pillows and lowered Kíli onto his side as directed. Thorin leaned forward and inspected the wound. The area around the arrow-wound was an angry red color, and red lines extended from the site of injury; a foul-smelling greenish-white liquid oozed from the entry wound. Thorin closed his eyes tightly and swore.

"Get Óin," he said gruffly. Fíli looked at him blankly, frozen in his distress.

"Go!" Thorin shouted, and Fíli ran.

Chapter 5 : Weakness

Author's note - forewarning: This chapter deals with some things that may make some people uncomfortable, but I felt that it is ignored by writers too often and is an important part of showing just how vulnerable the sick really are. I've tried to deal with the situation as delicately as I possibly can.

Also, before you ask: the answer is yes, Óin's father is really named Gróin. I don't know, dude. I just don't even know. But it is basically my favorite random Tolkien fact to throw at people just for the fact that it is hilarious, so of course I had to incorporate it somehow.

He cannot die. He cannot die. He cannot die.

Óin's mouth was moving, giving him instructions, to be sure, but his voice was dim in the rush of blood that moved through Fíli's ears.

He cannot die. He cannot die. He cannot die.

"Fíli, you're not listening," he heard faintly. He looked up at the source of the rebuke – Thorin – but the rushing noise would not stop.

He cannot die. He cannot die. He cannot die.

"Fíli!" Thorin said sharply, and Fíli blinked. The rushing faded, and his eyes met the matching blue of his uncle's.

"Listen," Thorin growled.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said quietly. He turned his still-detached gaze to Óin, who took his cue to continue.

"The wound must be cleaned three times a day," Óin repeated. "Change the bandages every time you clean it, and use the potion I gave you. Try to get some in the wound. It will clear out the pus."

Fíli looked down at the jar in his hands, which he had been absentmindedly sliding back and forth. The mixture inside was clear. Fíli wondered what was in it.

"How long until the infection clears?" Thorin asked.

"That depends on the depth of the infection," Óin replied. "I cannot guarantee the efficacy of my potions on so deep a wound. We will have to see."

"But it will work?" Fíli said.

Óin sighed. "We must hope so," he said.

This was not the answer Fíli wanted to hear. Yes would have been good. Without a doubt would have been perfect. But not we must hope so. Fíli swallowed and stared down at the jar in silence.

Thorin stood, and Óin followed suit. The two shook hands, and Thorin clapped a hand on Óin's shoulder.

"Thank you for all that you have done," he said. "We will never forget this kindness. May your beard grow ever longer, Óin son of Gróin."

"And yours, Thorin Oakenshield," said Óin courteously. He bowed politely and saw himself out. Thorin turned to Fíli as the door closed; the younger dwarf remained staring at the jar sliding back and forth between his hands, his stomach gnawing away at him in deep guilt. If Thorin had anything to say, he decided against it; after a minute or two of silence, he retrieved his pipe from the mantelpiece and stepped outside.

Fíli looked up as the door clicked shut and twirled the bottle around with his finger, lost in thought. Kíli was sick. Kíli was dying. He was responsible. He had caused this.

It looked like he wouldn't be able to keep his promise, after all. He wasn't even trying to push away the guilt. He welcomed it now, letting the pain of regret wash through him and feeling it prickle in his skin. The hair on his arms stood on end, and he blinked several times in rapid succession.

All your fault. All your fault. He's going to die. Look what you've done.

The door to his and Kíli's room creaked open, and Fíli looked up in surprise. In the doorway stood Kíli, pale, sweaty, and shaking.

"Kíli, what in Durin's name are you doing?" Fíli shouted, on his feet in an instant. Kíli attempted a step forward, clutching the doorframe. His weak grip failed to support him, and he dropped to the floor with a thud. Fíli rushed to his side and knelt, reaching an arm under his quaking body and pulling him into his chest. Kíli groaned at the movement and grasped at Fíli's arm, his face hidden in a curtain of damp, unkempt hair. He shuffled his feet against the floorboards, feebly attempting to regain his footing, but he could not pull himself up.

"Let me walk," he rasped.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Fíli said, but Kíli still attempted to stand unsuccessfully.

"I have to," Kíli pleaded.

"No, you don't have to go anywhere. Come on, let's go back."

Kíli rested his head against his older brother. "Help," he whispered into Fíli's tunic.

"Where were you trying to go?" said Fíli, perplexed.

"I have to go," Kíli whispered fervently.

"Go where? You're not going anywhere but back to bed," Fíli said, lifting Kíli to his feet. Trembling, Kíli leaned into his brother, unable to support his own weight.

"No, I have to go," Kíli said urgently.

Kíli's meaning dawned on him, and a warm wash of horror and great discomfort rose from his chest to his temples. This problem had not occurred to him. The thought greatly disturbed him, but he shouldered his discomfort and shifted to more easily support his brother's weight. Any horror he felt, he was sure that Kíli's shame was worse.

"Well, we'd better get you there, then," he said, and led him down the hall. He helped him as needed, utterly mortified, and Kíli wept, ashamed to be so weak.

There was no strength in Kíli's legs as the two attempted to make it back down the hall; Kíli was still weeping, deeply ashamed, and his breaths came in gasps and hiccups. After several attempts to get Kíli to walk with no success, Fíli moved to pick him up completely, his heart breaking afresh.

"No," Kíli pleaded. "Let me walk."

"You can't," Fíli said.

"Please," said Kíli in a broken voice. "Let me have some dignity."

Fíli nodded and supported his weight as best he could, but Kíli's energy was spent. He couldn't even pick up his feet. At last he gave up, slumping into Fíli, tears dripping from his cheeks. Fíli put his free arm under Kíli's knees and lifted him off the ground. Kíli trembled in his arms and clutched at his tunic, hiding his face in the soft fabric.

Thorin stepped into the house, tapping his empty pipe on his palm as Fíli emerged from the hallway with Kíli in his arms. Fíli stopped and met Thorin's questioning eyes, his own shining with mortification and sorrow. Thorin peered down the hall and back at his nephews as he put two and two together; his stern visage softened, and he cleared his throat.

"Can you help me carry him?" Fíli said. "He's taller than me – hard to carry."

"Of course," Thorin said, crossing the room quickly. "Let me take him, Fíli." Thorin stood several inches above Kíli, and he had years that Fíli didn't in building muscle. They exchanged their burden awkwardly, and Fíli went ahead to prepare the bed for their invalid kin. Thorin laid him down gently, and Fíli pulled the covers over him. Kíli refused to look either of them in the eye; his cheeks burned with shame at his vulnerability.

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"Go away, please," Kíli said.

Fíli and Thorin stood in uneasy silence, unsure if he meant it.

"Go away!" Kíli sobbed, and he covered his face with one arm. Thorin took his leave, but Fíli remained. He reached out and touched the younger dwarf's shoulder hesitantly. Kíli drew away from his touch.

"Leave me," he hissed.

Fíli withdrew his hand and left the room. A pounding headache was forming behind his left eye; he rubbed the offending temple, but the ache remained. He slumped into a chair at the table, where Thorin sat, his face hidden in his large hands.

"I haven't held him like that since he was a little child," Thorin said, his voice thick with emotion. Fíli said nothing, and Thorin lifted his face. His eyes were red and rimmed with tears. Fíli looked down, uncomfortable with his uncle's uncharacteristic overflow of emotion. He wasn't as stoic with his family as he was around others, but Fíli had still never seen him cry.

"We can't lose him, Fíli," Thorin said. "I cannot lose another of my kin. I've only got you and Kíli and your mother, now."

"I've brought this upon us," Fíli said. The twisting sensation of guilt had been twisting tighter and tighter, and he felt now that he might snap in half. He looked into his uncle's red eyes, his own filling with tears. "I'm so sorry, Uncle," he choked, and he buried his face in his arms, no longer able to control his emotion. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he sobbed. Huge shuddering sighs overtook him as he cried, ashamed of his tears but too emotional to care.

"Fíli, I am not angry with you," said Thorin. "Your mother is not angry with you. Even Kíli does not blame you for what happened. The only person who blames you is yourself."

"It was my fault, my shot," Fíli cried. "I shot him. How can I not blame myself?"

"Now, stop this," said Thorin, his voice suddenly harsh. Fíli looked up through his tears, startled.

"Kíli will not heal by your guilt. We have told you that we do not blame you, and your self-pity is no longer welcome. You have had your time – now stop worrying about yourself. If Kíli is to survive, I need you ready to help, not crumbling in every spare moment."

The words cut through Fíli like a knife as he realized that Thorin was right.

"I'm sorry, Uncle – I've been selfish," he said, wiping his tears away and swallowing his pride.

Thorin nodded in silent acceptance and stood to his feet.

"Let's have some meat and an ale, then one of us can check on Kíli," he said. Fíli nodded silently and stood to assist him, but the same phrase turned over and over in Fíli's mind.

If Kíli is to survive.

If. If. If.