Author's note: This chapter is the shortest so far, save for chapter one. The reason is that there was another part to this chapter, but I decided to cut it off and expand it into Chapter 7. I tried to add more into this one, but it felt complete the way that it is. Until then - despair! I mean, enjoy! I mean... Well, you'll see.
By the next day, Kíli's fever had gotten so high that Dís insisted they put him in a lukewarm bath to cool him down. He had grown delirious in the night and did not protest to the treatment, though Fíli was sure he would be horrified if he had his senses about him. Fíli could not bring himself to help. Instead, he lay in Thorin's bed across the hall, resting. It was a temporary move, as they now needed to cushion Kíli on either side with pillows to prevent him from rolling off the bed, leaving no room for Fíli. From Thorin's room, he could hear Kíli babbling nonsense in Khuzdul and giggling childishly in the tub.
The twist of guilt in his stomach had turned into a dull ache of fear as the hours brought only worse change. By midday, Kíli had cried so hard he coughed up blood twice, and no one seemed to be able to placate him or even determine why he was crying. Fíli took charge of cleaning the wound and changing the bandages, as he could not bear the more private matters, leaving those to Dís and Thorin. Dís was constantly in and out, bringing in fresh, cool water and clean cloths for Kíli's brow and singing to him on the occasions when he cried, though her songs had no effect on his demeanor and she left the room crying herself. There was no joy in the house. Only Kíli laughed, but no one knew why.
By nightfall, Kíli's temperature had risen again and Dís subjected him to another lukewarm bath. Kíli cried pathetically the whole time, shrieking in Khuzdul about how he was drowning. Dís spoke comforting words in both Westron and Khuzdul, but Kíli only wailed harder until Thorin carried him back to bed, his face worn with deep sorrow. Fíli was waiting with fresh bandages and Óin's potion – ointment, they'd started to call it – and Kíli squirmed under his care. The arrow-wound remained stubbornly open and leaking pus. Kíli screamed when Fíli applied the ointment and bandages. Fíli knew it hurt him, but he faithfully did his duty, even if it was through grieved tears. Never had he seen his brother so ill, and he prayed he never would again.
The fourth day was the worst.
Fíli awoke suddenly very early in the morning, a strange disquiet churning his insides, more so than even recently. He felt the need to check on Kíli. He would need a change in his bandages, anyway. He climbed out of bed slowly. Thorin snored beside him; Fíli tiptoed out of the room, wishing him all the sleep he could get.
Nothing in a thousand lifetimes could have prepared him for what he saw.
His brother, his Kíli, lay convulsing on the bed. All reason left the world as Fíli's senses filled with a tangible terror – he could smell it, taste it, feel it, a real and instant fear that made the world before him swim and the air turn into a thick liquid that tried to stop him from reaching his Kíli, his Kíli – no, this couldn't be happening, it wasn't real. He pushed through the viscous atmosphere with all the force he could muster, aware of a muffled sound that sounded far away and yet very close. As it clarified, he recognized it as his own screaming, but he couldn't stop, not until Thorin and Dís ran into the room and Dís forcibly turned his face to hers.
"Fíli, darling, stop screaming," she begged. He let out a strangled cry and tore his eyes away from Kíli's seizing frame, connecting with his mother's gaze. She pulled him into an embrace, and he wrenched his eyes back to Kíli. The feverish dwarf jerked unnaturally; Thorin's body blocked Fíli's view of his brother's face. He needed to see his face.
"It's the fever," Thorin said. "I've seen this before."
"I've killed him, Mum," Fíli cried. "He's dying, isn't he? I've killed him. Oh, Durin, I've killed him!" He tried to break free from his mother's grasp, but she held him with surprising strength.
"Wait, Fíli," she said. "Let it stop first."
Fíli watched helplessly as the most precious person in his entire world seized and shook. Thorin held his head gently and tried to keep him a safe distance from the side of the bed without getting in his way. All sound disappeared as Fíli waited for the moment, the moment he was sure was coming – the moment his precious brother would die.
Eventually, Kíli became still. Fíli pushed out of Dís's arms and flew to his side, kneeling at the side of the bed, fearing the absolute worst. Thorin put his ear to Kíli's mouth and listened; Fíli looked up at him hopefully. Thorin's expression pulled into something Fíli had never seen before.
"No," he whispered.
Fíli's world went white, and a high-pitched hum filled his ears. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Not Kíli. Not his Kíli. He blinked hard, and his brother's still body came back into focus. Thorin had his fingers on Kíli's neck, feeling for a pulse. He looked lost for a moment, and then a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. Fíli looked on desperately.
"Still alive," Thorin said. "But not breathing."
Fíli didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. He felt dizzy. Thorin laid Kíli down and tilted his head back; without hesitation, he began blowing air into Kíli's mouth. Kíli's chest rose and fell with each breath that Thorin gave him, but every time he stopped to check his breathing, there was no movement. He tried again and again and again. Fíli gripped his head, digging his fingernails into his blonde hair, praying ever Khuzdul prayer he'd ever learned.
"Thorin, it isn't working," said Dís tearfully. "It just isn't working."
"No," Thorin said gruffly, feeling for a pulse again. "I will not give up on him while he still lives."
Dís sank to the floor and sobbed, but Thorin ignored her, determined to keep his youngest nephew. He blew more breaths desperately into Kíli's lungs, tears streaming down his own face now.
"Come on, Kíli!" he shouted, and he tried one more time. He stopped finally and stared at his young nephew, stricken, as his body remained still. A tear dripped from his chin, and he let out a heavy gasp of grief.
Fíli felt the world slowly moving away from him. Everything seemed to shrink, and only he and Kíli's motionless body remained. He tried to breathe in, but no breath would come. There was no breath – there was no air. Kíli was gone. There was nothing anymore. No air, no light, no warmth, no joy. Fíli knelt unmoving, his eyes fixed on the only thing that mattered.
And then a miracle happened.
Kíli let out a weak cough and inhaled lightly on his own. Then he took another breath. And another. The world flooded back into focus, and Fíli dropped his head onto the mattress and let out a shaky sigh of relief. Thorin touched his forehead to Kíli's, whispering thanks to Mahal. He kissed Kíli's damp hair and put a pillow under his head, turning him onto his right side. There was silence for a long time as the dwarves reined in their grief. Eventually, Fíli reached out and put a trembling hand on Kíli's burning temple.
"Will it happen again?" he said quietly.
"We will have to keep a constant watch over him," said Dís. She had risen from the floor and now stood beside her brother, who wrapped an arm around her and held her close. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. She patted Thorin on the chest and pulled herself from his embrace.
"Now, why don't you two have some breakfast, and I'll clean him up?" she said, sitting down on the bed next to her youngest son. Thorin placed a comforting hand on her back as she stroked his dark hair, pushing strands off his forehead.
By the next day, Kíli's fever had gotten so high that Dís insisted they put him in a lukewarm bath to cool him down. He had grown delirious in the night and did not protest to the treatment, though Fíli was sure he would be horrified if he had his senses about him. Fíli could not bring himself to help. Instead, he lay in Thorin's bed across the hall, resting. It was a temporary move, as they now needed to cushion Kíli on either side with pillows to prevent him from rolling off the bed, leaving no room for Fíli. From Thorin's room, he could hear Kíli babbling nonsense in Khuzdul and giggling childishly in the tub.
The twist of guilt in his stomach had turned into a dull ache of fear as the hours brought only worse change. By midday, Kíli had cried so hard he coughed up blood twice, and no one seemed to be able to placate him or even determine why he was crying. Fíli took charge of cleaning the wound and changing the bandages, as he could not bear the more private matters, leaving those to Dís and Thorin. Dís was constantly in and out, bringing in fresh, cool water and clean cloths for Kíli's brow and singing to him on the occasions when he cried, though her songs had no effect on his demeanor and she left the room crying herself. There was no joy in the house. Only Kíli laughed, but no one knew why.
By nightfall, Kíli's temperature had risen again and Dís subjected him to another lukewarm bath. Kíli cried pathetically the whole time, shrieking in Khuzdul about how he was drowning. Dís spoke comforting words in both Westron and Khuzdul, but Kíli only wailed harder until Thorin carried him back to bed, his face worn with deep sorrow. Fíli was waiting with fresh bandages and Óin's potion – ointment, they'd started to call it – and Kíli squirmed under his care. The arrow-wound remained stubbornly open and leaking pus. Kíli screamed when Fíli applied the ointment and bandages. Fíli knew it hurt him, but he faithfully did his duty, even if it was through grieved tears. Never had he seen his brother so ill, and he prayed he never would again.
The fourth day was the worst.
Fíli awoke suddenly very early in the morning, a strange disquiet churning his insides, more so than even recently. He felt the need to check on Kíli. He would need a change in his bandages, anyway. He climbed out of bed slowly. Thorin snored beside him; Fíli tiptoed out of the room, wishing him all the sleep he could get.
Nothing in a thousand lifetimes could have prepared him for what he saw.
His brother, his Kíli, lay convulsing on the bed. All reason left the world as Fíli's senses filled with a tangible terror – he could smell it, taste it, feel it, a real and instant fear that made the world before him swim and the air turn into a thick liquid that tried to stop him from reaching his Kíli, his Kíli – no, this couldn't be happening, it wasn't real. He pushed through the viscous atmosphere with all the force he could muster, aware of a muffled sound that sounded far away and yet very close. As it clarified, he recognized it as his own screaming, but he couldn't stop, not until Thorin and Dís ran into the room and Dís forcibly turned his face to hers.
"Fíli, darling, stop screaming," she begged. He let out a strangled cry and tore his eyes away from Kíli's seizing frame, connecting with his mother's gaze. She pulled him into an embrace, and he wrenched his eyes back to Kíli. The feverish dwarf jerked unnaturally; Thorin's body blocked Fíli's view of his brother's face. He needed to see his face.
"It's the fever," Thorin said. "I've seen this before."
"I've killed him, Mum," Fíli cried. "He's dying, isn't he? I've killed him. Oh, Durin, I've killed him!" He tried to break free from his mother's grasp, but she held him with surprising strength.
"Wait, Fíli," she said. "Let it stop first."
Fíli watched helplessly as the most precious person in his entire world seized and shook. Thorin held his head gently and tried to keep him a safe distance from the side of the bed without getting in his way. All sound disappeared as Fíli waited for the moment, the moment he was sure was coming – the moment his precious brother would die.
Eventually, Kíli became still. Fíli pushed out of Dís's arms and flew to his side, kneeling at the side of the bed, fearing the absolute worst. Thorin put his ear to Kíli's mouth and listened; Fíli looked up at him hopefully. Thorin's expression pulled into something Fíli had never seen before.
"No," he whispered.
Fíli's world went white, and a high-pitched hum filled his ears. This wasn't happening. It couldn't be. Not Kíli. Not his Kíli. He blinked hard, and his brother's still body came back into focus. Thorin had his fingers on Kíli's neck, feeling for a pulse. He looked lost for a moment, and then a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. Fíli looked on desperately.
"Still alive," Thorin said. "But not breathing."
Fíli didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved. He felt dizzy. Thorin laid Kíli down and tilted his head back; without hesitation, he began blowing air into Kíli's mouth. Kíli's chest rose and fell with each breath that Thorin gave him, but every time he stopped to check his breathing, there was no movement. He tried again and again and again. Fíli gripped his head, digging his fingernails into his blonde hair, praying ever Khuzdul prayer he'd ever learned.
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"No," Thorin said gruffly, feeling for a pulse again. "I will not give up on him while he still lives."
Dís sank to the floor and sobbed, but Thorin ignored her, determined to keep his youngest nephew. He blew more breaths desperately into Kíli's lungs, tears streaming down his own face now.
"Come on, Kíli!" he shouted, and he tried one more time. He stopped finally and stared at his young nephew, stricken, as his body remained still. A tear dripped from his chin, and he let out a heavy gasp of grief.
Fíli felt the world slowly moving away from him. Everything seemed to shrink, and only he and Kíli's motionless body remained. He tried to breathe in, but no breath would come. There was no breath – there was no air. Kíli was gone. There was nothing anymore. No air, no light, no warmth, no joy. Fíli knelt unmoving, his eyes fixed on the only thing that mattered.
And then a miracle happened.
Kíli let out a weak cough and inhaled lightly on his own. Then he took another breath. And another. The world flooded back into focus, and Fíli dropped his head onto the mattress and let out a shaky sigh of relief. Thorin touched his forehead to Kíli's, whispering thanks to Mahal. He kissed Kíli's damp hair and put a pillow under his head, turning him onto his right side. There was silence for a long time as the dwarves reined in their grief. Eventually, Fíli reached out and put a trembling hand on Kíli's burning temple.
"Will it happen again?" he said quietly.
"We will have to keep a constant watch over him," said Dís. She had risen from the floor and now stood beside her brother, who wrapped an arm around her and held her close. She sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. She patted Thorin on the chest and pulled herself from his embrace.
"Now, why don't you two have some breakfast, and I'll clean him up?" she said, sitting down on the bed next to her youngest son. Thorin placed a comforting hand on her back as she stroked his dark hair, pushing strands off his forehead.
"Come, Fíli," Thorin said.
Fíli didn't want to leave his brother so soon after almost losing him, but he knew that his mother wished to have him to herself. He was her little boy, even after all these years – the baby. Though he had grown, she still knew exactly how to care for him, and care for him she would.
Still, he could not bring himself to stand and leave his brother's side. He reached out and took Kíli's hand; it felt unnaturally hot in his palm. Thorin reached out, uncurled his fingers from Kíli's, and took his shoulder, pulling him back. Fíli stumbled to his feet and allowed Thorin to take him out of the room, his heart caught between the lightness of relief and the heaviness of sorrow.
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