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.

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"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.