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.