Chapter 7 : Hope

Author's note: To the Sherlockians – if a part of this chapter sounds familiar to you… know that it was mostly unintentional. I only realized the parallel after I wrote it, but you know what? It fits, so it stays.

The next two days in the house were eerily quiet. After the seizure, Kíli simply would not wake. He was breathing and alive, but they could elicit no reaction out of him. He did not stir when Fíli changed his bandages, when Dís changed his bedclothes, or when Thorin sat with him, speaking Khuzdul healing spells and wiping his damp brow with a cool washcloth. No one spoke, because no one wanted to say what they all knew: Kíli's death was inevitable. His fever would not break, despite all their best efforts. If it rose too high again, they all feared that the next seizure would be the end.

Fíli's thoughts soon grew dark. He wished many things, cruel things, against himself. He wished that he could take Kíli's place – that he would die, so his brother might live. He wished that his brother, his perfect little brother, had not had to suffer this long. If Kíli was to die by his hand, he wished that it had been quick, not this terrible, long descent to death that sapped the life from the air itself. He wished that someone would yell at him, scream at him, punch him – just do something to him that he deserved. Maybe even kill him. He tried to push these thoughts away, but they bombarded him again and again.

Still, he wanted to have every living moment left with his brother that he could, conscious or not. Just to see him breathing, living, fighting. Dís and Thorin tried to get him to leave his brother's bedside, if only to eat or sleep, but Fíli would not abandon Kíli now. Sometimes Thorin or Dís joined him, and sometimes he was alone, but he refused to move.

It was sunset on the sixth day since Fíli had shot Kíli with the arrow on that crisp morning. Fíli's eyes were heavy with lack of sleep, and he had completely forsaken his hunger, allowing his stomach to growl and grumble with no mind to placate it. It had been hard to stay awake all day; he had dozed half a dozen times in the chair, but through it all, he was determined not to leave Kíli's side. Sleep could wait.

It was time to change Kíli's bandages again. Fíli hated doing it now. It always looked the same. Infected. There was never any change; Kíli's system just could not seem to shake it off. He lifted Kíli's slumbering frame, holding him by the back of the neck with his left hand and unwinding the bandage with his right. Then he laid him back down and dipped a clean cloth into the bucket of warm, soapy water that Dís had brought him. He prepared himself for the grisly image of his brother's wound with a deep breath and wrung out his cloth.

To his surprise, the wound was not releasing pus, as it had been for days. The skin around the arrow-wound was still red and tight, but nothing leaked from it, save for a small amount of clear liquid. A hope that Fíli didn't know still existed sparked in his chest – perhaps Kíli would survive this after all. His faith was small, but he clung to it fiercely.

He wiped around the wound gingerly, and then dipped the cloth back into the bucket. He wrung some water out over Kíli's side and watched his face hopefully. Before the seizure, when Fíli had done this, Kíli had screamed and fought as the water stung, and on several occasions, he had had to have Thorin come and hold him down. Now Kíli lay still. Even though the screams and the struggling had caused him anguish over and over, he would have preferred it to this silence.

He finished cleaning the wound and lifted his brother's dark head into the crook of his neck, wincing as he thought of the pain that should have radiated through Kíli's side, but the unconscious dwarf did not react. He wrapped a new bandage around Kíli's torso; he could see that his brother had lost weight on his already lean frame. They hadn't been able to get food in him in days, and Dís had grown more distressed every day that she was not able to feed him.

Finished, Fíli slid off the bed and knelt by the bedside, his face level with Kíli's. He tried not to allow too much hope, but wanted to all the same. The infection may have been clearing outwardly, but Kíli was still deep under and Fíli had no idea what may be going on below the surface. He took Kíli's limp hand into his own and touched the burning knuckles to his forehead.

"Kíli, I don't know if you can hear me in there, but if you can – please listen."

He waited for some response, anything, but Kíli remained still. Fíli could feel a lump developing in his throat.

"I need you here," he said, his voice thick. "We all do – but I really, really need you to live. So please, Kíli, for me – don't die. Can you do that for me, brother? Just one miracle, that's all I'm asking."

He lowered Kíli's hand and kissed it; the flesh was warm against his lips. He rested his cheek on his brother's fingers and closed his eyes, letting silent tears fall as he squeezed his hand.

And then, ever so faintly, he felt those fingers squeeze back.

Fíli's eyes flew open. He pulled back and stared at Kíli, searching for some indication of consciousness. He squeezed his hand again, hoping for another signal; nothing came, but his spark of hope had already ignited into a flame in his chest.

"Kíli?" he said hesitantly.

His brother's face held the same serene expression as it had the past two days. His eyelashes didn't even flutter. Fíli once again squeezed his hand, his heart pounding in his chest like a battering ram. To his great dismay, Kíli did not respond.

Something inside Fíli broke in that moment.

"Kíli!" he exploded, shaking his brother's hand. "Kíli, wake up, please, don't leave me here alone! Don't go... don't leave me."

Thorin flew into the room at this outburst. He ran to the bedside and put a hand on Fíli's shoulder.

"Is he—?"

"No, no, he's alive," Fíli said through his tears. "He squeezed my hand, Uncle. He's in there. He just needs to wake up." He shook and squeezed Kíli's hand again, and Thorin's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Fíli, come away from there," he said in a low voice.

"Why?" Fíli said, holding tight to his brother's hand. "He might wake soon. He moved, Uncle. He moved."

"Fíli, you have been awake for two days," Thorin said. "You haven't eaten. You need rest and food… please come away."

"I can't, not now!" Fíli shouted. "Don't you understand? I can't leave him! He wouldn't leave me. He wouldn't. How could I do that to him?"

Thorin's strong hands wrapped around Fíli's, and he pried his fingers loose. Fíli fought against him, but Thorin was stronger than he. The older dwarf wrapped his arms around his nephew and pulled him up and out of the room; Fíli struggled against his grip.

"No! Let me be!" he shouted, but Thorin kept dragging him away. He finally broke free in the kitchen; before he could re-enter the bedroom, Thorin grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

"Fíli, you need to rest," Thorin commanded.

"Let me go," Fíli snarled, but his uncle had a tight grip on him.

"Let me or your mother be with him for a while," Thorin pleaded. "You're driving yourself mad. I don't want to lose both of my nephews. One is more than enough."

"You haven't lost Kíli," said Fíli, finally wrenching his arm away and turning to face Thorin. "He's still alive. He's going to get better. He squeezed my hand, Uncle. I felt it."

Thorin's expression softened. He reached out to take Fíli's arm again.

"Fíli, you're imagining things," he said. "You need to sleep."

"I'm not imagining things!" Fíli said, stepping away. "It happened! Why do you have no hope?"

"Because there is none!" Thorin bellowed.

Fíli stood aghast, shocked by Thorin's outburst. The old dwarf seemed to bend as if under a great weight, and his eyes looked worn with deep regret and pain. The two simply stared at each other in silence for a few moments.

A great rage then grew in Fíli's body, sending out electric signals to the ends of his fingers and the top of his head. He roared and leapt at his uncle, fists clenched – but he collided with Dís, who had been watching unseen by Fíli. She held him back, hugging him tightly to her with another display of shocking strength.

"Fíli, stop this," she said, but her words fell on deaf ears.

"How dare you!" Fíli screamed. "How dare you give up on him? You said you would not give up on him while he still lived! He's still alive, Thorin! He's still alive!"

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Thorin backed into a chair and sat heavily; he hid his face in his hands and made no reply. Fíli let out another roar as he pushed at his mother's grip, but she held him fast. Thorin did not move.

"Fíli, please go rest," Dís said. "Don't do this. You need to take care of yourself."

"He's given up!" Fíli yelled. "At least I have faith! I won't give up on him! I won't let him die! I won't! You would let him die!"

"Enough," said Dís sharply, still holding her son back. "That is enough, Fíli. You have no right to speak to my brother that way. You will show him respect."

"I'll show him respect when he deserves it," Fíli spat contemptuously.

Without warning, Dís slapped Fíli hard across the face. He let out a shout, greatly surprised, and met his mother's deep blue eyes. They burnt with anger and grief as she looked hard at her eldest son.

"You have lost your hold on yourself," said Dís. "Would you let someone speak to Kíli the way you have spoken to my brother?"

Fíli felt heat rise in his face as he looked down, subdued.

"No," he said quietly.

"You will not speak that way to your elders, and you will especially not speak that way to my brother. We are all worried for him, Fíli. Do not take out your anger on Thorin."

I'm not angry at Thorin, he wanted to say. I'm angry at myself. This is my fault. But his pride would not let him speak. He merely stared at his feet, silent. Dís looked back at her brother, who remained still.

"Now, please, Fíli, get some rest," she said, turning back to Fíli. "We will take care of your brother. You are not the only one who cares for him."

A sudden weariness came over Fíli then, and he dropped his head onto Dís's shoulder as the adrenaline rush faded away. He couldn't hold on to his anger any longer. He was too tired. His mother and Thorin were right – he needed to sleep, before his exhaustion really did drive him mad. He felt mad already.

"Come," said Dís, leading him down the hall to Thorin's room. Fíli resisted at first, but when she pulled again, he allowed her to lead him away. As he left the kitchen, he looked back at Thorin, who remained at the table, his face hidden in his hands as his broad shoulders shook with muffled sobs.