Chapter 1:
It took the Elven healers four hours to stabilize Thorin. But when his wound had been mended, and fever started wrecking his body, the healers turned more optimistic. Fever meant there was fight left in Thorin, fever meant his body had begun battling the infection left by Azog's weapons. Even though he was comfortable, resting easy, Balin couldn't help but sob quietly over his king's current state. To see Thorin lay wounded in front of him, his face pale and sweated, his breathing laboured, proved hard on the old dwarf.
Thranduil had, surprisingly, been kind enough to provide the dwarves with two of his own tents. In which there was no need for a fire, it's Elvish magic kept the inside nice and warm. And Thorin was laid in a bed big enough to accommodate every single member of his company, seated around him to keep watch over their healing king. A long table littered with food and drink was presented to the dwarves to keep them entertained and occupied. And thankfully Dain had provided the necessary meat dishes this time.
The two young princes, Fili and Kili, had been given their own tent. They shared a bed of equal size to their uncle's, and showed the same kind of resilience to death that had saved Thorin. Gandalf silently suspected Thranduil's hidden motive for this arrangement lay with the banished Tauriel, who never strayed from Kili's side once, and cared for him and his brother like she had known the both of them for ages. The Elf maiden held a special place in the heart of Thranduil's only son, and for some reason, the king and the prince found amends to be made. This had been a good place to start. The days after the battle were ones of silent patience, in which the dead were buried and the wounded cared for. The snow continued to fall without fail, turning the ground into a half frozen mess of mud, ice and horse dung.
When Thorin was found, Bilbo had been right there at his side, his wounded head resting on the dwarf's broad shoulder. Both of them had been unconscious. One from the extensive loss of blood, the other from exhaustion and a severe concussion. But despite being passed out, Bilbo proved unwilling to let go of Thorin, and clung to him for dear life as the others tried to pry him off. The Hobbit was carried to the Elven encampment by Gandalf himself, where his head was soon bound by the skilled hands of an Elven healer. Thranduil himself came to see the Halfling as he lay resting, with the wizard close to his side, smoking his pipe and radiating a pleasant, warm light from his staff.
With a mixture of wariness and curiosity, Gandalf watched the king of the Woodland Realm place the back of his hand to Bilbo's forehead, wrapped in bindings. He waited there a few moments, closing his eyes to no doubt feel the Halfling's energy, and drawing conclusions from it.
"What a glorious mess." Thranduil spoke smoothly, removing his hand and turning to face the wizard, who just met the Elven king's eyes with a weary expression. "You'd be pleased to know Oakenshield is on the mend. More so than your Halfling." Gandalf frowned in response, resting his gaze on Bilbo, breathing heavily under the covers. "Was the Hobbit always meant not to last, Mithrandir? You look like you've foreseen this outcome. Measured it, and then deemed it suitable to carry through anyhow." Gandalf shook his head slowly, not bothered by Thranduil's stinging words, he had every right to question the wizard's motives this moment. Seeing how it had all turned into a glorious mess indeed.
"I never meant for Bilbo to end up where he is right now." Gandalf whispered, letting the smoke of his pipe leave his lungs through his nose. "But it's just a blow to the head." He continued more light-heartedly, to which Thranduil frowned deeply. "Nothing he cannot manage, I suspect."
"Your Halfling might never wake again." The Elven king stated bluntly. Gandalf coughed on his smoke, like he did when words struck a chord within him. "I can feel him fade." With that, the wizard stood up with such surprising speed and vigour, it made Thranduil take a cautious step back.
"Then why don't you do something about it?!" Gandalf snapped at the unshaken Elf, who raised his eyebrows in question and mere surprise.
"What would you have me do, Mithrandir?"
But the wizard's question had been rhetorical, and he left the tent without waiting on Thranduil's answer. The king of the Woodland Realm had to admit he pitied the poor creature in the grand Elven bed, with a bruised body that burned with fever like a tea kettle on the stove that had been forgotten. But there was little he could do to elevate his suffering, and so, he left the tent in pursuit of the wizard.
/
Thorin woke on the fourth evening after the battle. At first, the only thing he felt was disorientation, followed by the fear he might still be wrapped in a fight. He struggled to sit up, but his arms refused to support his weight, and he sunk back in his pillows with an agitated huff. The soft snoring coming from a corner of the tent made him tilt his head to see who was keeping him company. Balin, the ever so loyal old dwarf, slumbered in an uncomfortable looking field chair, his chin resting on his chest and his hands folded neatly on his stomach. It calmed Thorin, and assured him they were no longer in any form of danger. For a while, all he did was concentrate on his body, trying to determine how badly he had been injured. Breathing too deeply caused sharp pains to shoot up from the left side of his abdomen, and judging by the bindings that covered his entire chest and shoulder, the wound Azog had given him could have been fatal. He would have expected his heavy breathing, and moving around, would wake Balin. But the old dwarf seemed undisturbed, and so, he would have to make his presence known in a different way.
"Balin.." his voice sounded strained, like he had just survived the worst throat infection of a lifetime. But it did the trick. The old dwarf sat up with a start, looking around like he expected the voice to be coming from anywhere but the bed in front of him. Thorin smiled fondly at his loyal counsellor, he couldn't have asked for a better person to wake up to. In a heartbeat, Balin was at his side, his face a mixture of relief and disbelief.
"Thorin." He choked on the name. "You're.. you're awake."
The young king nodded slowly, closing his eyes at the lightheaded sensation it caused him. He swallowed thickly to lubricate his dry throat. "So I seem to be." When their eyes met again, Thorin's gaze clouded over with pain and regret. "How many?" Balin seemed confused. "How many died, Balin? I need to know."
"Thorin." Balin chided gently, reaching out smooth back his king's lightly greying hair. "Those are questions for later, don't you think? I should get the healers. They've been waiting for this." But as he moved from his side, Thorin grabbed a fistful of his sleeve, keeping him in place with an iron grip that left no room for negotiation.
"Have I missed my cousins' burials?"
Balin opened his mouth to say something, but found he couldn't. At a loss for words seeing Thorin's tortured expression, and the lump in his throat he tried to hide. He shouldn't work himself into such a frenzy, not right now anyway. "Fili and Kili.." he started, but it was taking the king too long.
"Have I?!" Thorin barked, giving the old dwarf a good shake.
"No!" Balin protested, pulling himself away from Thorin's unkind hold. "They're fine! A little worse for wear, just like you. But unlike you they do as they're told and rest! They ask after their uncle." Scolded like a child, and relieved at the news, Thorin relaxed, letting his head lean back in the cushions like he was suddenly overwhelmed with exhaustion. "I'm going to get the healers." Balin mumbled, unamused at Thorin's aggression, and left the tent without another word. The young king could only nod in response, and gazed at the ceiling of his tent while a triumphant smile played around his lips. Everyone made it. Everyone was safe. With a new found wave of gratitude to whomever had been watching out for him and his kin, the King under the Mountain listened to the sounds of the encampment outside. People spoke quietly to one another. The crackling of several fires reached his tired ears. And the unmistaken lamenting of wounded warriors send shivers up his battered spine. While he waited for his healers, his thoughts travelled to the last thing he remembered before losing touch with the waking world. Bilbo's bloodied face came to mind, his voice softly begging Thorin not to die.
As soon as the other dwarves learned of Thorin's wakening, they came to the tent with Gandalf on their heels. They had all been with Kili and Fili. The lads had woken up a day before their uncle, and were frankly getting quite bored with being ordered to stay in their beds. After greeting and receiving careful embraces from the members of his company, Thorin nodded at the wizard, who returned the gesture politely. While the healers changed Thorin's bandages, and the dwarves settled around him, Gandalf sat down in the chair next to his bed. "Have you heard about Fili and Kili?" The young king spoke proudly. "As defiant as ever they were. Defying death like true kings they did."
Gandalf smiled softly, nodding in agreement. "They've been brave throughout these few days. They're being told of your speedy recovery as we speak." Thorin smiled widely at the news, allowing the healers to clean his wound once more and refresh the wrappings. Though the wizard expected he'd prove to be less of a compliant patient in the future, for now, fever still had a hold on the young dwarf king, and he hardly realized what was being done to him. Smiling like a young colt on a hot summer's day, the king felt happier than ever.
"Where's Bilbo?" the question came sooner than Gandalf, or anyone else in the room, had expected. And the silence that followed caused Thorin's smile to fade like snow on a spring morning. "Gandalf?" as impassive as he had tried to look, the wizard's solemn expression had spoken for him. Now Thorin raised his head from the pillows to look at him directly. "Where is Bilbo?" There was a moment in which the wizard had preferred to inform him about the Hobbit, but qxchanging a few looks with a worried looking Balin made Gandalf decide this was not the right time to tell Thorin about Bilbo's predicament.
"He's fine." The wizard lied between his teeth. And what a bad liar he was. "He's resting."
It seemed to confuse Thorin more than appease him, but he nevertheless rested his head back in the pillows, letting out a soft sigh. "Resting?" he whispered. "Good. That's good. He should rest. He looked.. so tired the last time I saw him. My poor burglar. In such distress he was because of me. I caused him.. so much pain." Torturing himself with the painful memories of Bilbo's terrified face as Thorin dragged him toward the edge of the gate, hellbound to throw the Hobbit over its side to have him plummet on the hard stones below, he felt the merciless burn of tears. If Gandalf had not been there. Had he not stepped in. He would have broken Bilbo in half right there. Shattered the brave Halfling's tender spine over something as stupid as gold. "Before I.. lost consciousness I tried to apologize for everything I said and did to him at the gate. He wouldn't hear none of it." The other dwarves were silent, their faces forlorn as they listened to their King's last moments spend with their burglar.
"He thought he was listening to your dying words, Thorin. He didn't want those to be about regret and sorrow." Gandalf spoke softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on the dwarf's forehead in an attempt to calm him. "Rest now. There is time for all that later." But Thorin huffed in annoyance.
"I have rested long enough." He said, struggling to sit up once more. Gandalf refused to assist him, and leaned back to fold his arms demonstratively, showing his disagreement with Thorin's unwillingness to rest. Dwalin helped him settle against the extravagant headboard behind him, so that the King may address his company in a more dignified way. "How long have I been laying here like a useless sack of flour?" Nobody seemed willing to answer. "How many days? Answer me!"
"Four days." Balin told him. "And considering your injuries that was well understandable."
"Understandable." Thorin spat. "I should have been there to welcome my cousins back into the world of the living. I should have been at their bedside." Gandalf closed his eyes and let out a deep weary sigh.
"You can continue carrying every burden of the past on your shoulders if that is what you wish, Thorin Oakenshield." The wizard spoke calmly. "But it doesn't change a single thing. Circumstances are as they are right now. You cannot speed up your recovery by moping about all that you could have done for the world if you hadn't been injured." He got up from his chair, gesturing for Balin to take his spot to calm the distraught king. There were other things that needed the wizard's attention. Other matters that needed thinking about. "I shall leave you in the care of your company now. And I suggest you listen to your healers carefully."
/
Some time after nightfall, Bard had come to visit Bilbo. With no interest to see the others. Perhaps maybe Kili and his brother, with whom he had spent more time than with anyone else of the company. But the Hobbit had been polite to him from the start, and had showed more courage than all the dwarves combined in Bard's eyes. The tent was empty when he entered, which struck him as odd seeing how Bilbo was faring. Rumour had spread fast. News of the company's burglar presumably succumbing to his injuries had made its rounds more than once, and it had evidently led to Bard paying the little creature a visit. Yet he couldn't help but not feel surprised at not finding any of the dwarves sitting at Bilbo's side, tending to him like they no doubt tended to their selfish king. Bard didn't feel much for Thranduil, but he felt even less for Thorin. Especially after witnessing him almost killing the one member of his company who didn't let Erebor's treasure rise to his head.
He sat down in the vacant chair beside the bed, and sighed at the sight of the Hobbit's head wrapped in bindings. "What have they done to you, hm?" he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. He knew Bilbo couldn't hear him. Yet he frowned whenever a voice was present, as if he somehow tried to identify who it belonged to. Scooting closer, and a little hesitant, Bard reached out to check the pulse in Bilbo's jugular vein, and found it faint but present. The Hobbit seemed more dead than alive. They had dressed him in a much too big Elven shirt that no doubt reached till his ankles. But it mattered not. The material was soft. Bilbo whimpered at the touch, frowning beyond the veil of consciousness. "Does that hurt?" Bard whispered. "Are you that frail, little one?"
"Da?"
Tilda had found him. And he smiled to himself as he reached out to the entrance of the tent, gesturing his youngest it was alright to come closer. "I'm here." He spoke softly, serving as example to the young girl so that she may imitate the same volume. She approached hesitatingly, and was pulled onto her father's lap, her doll clutched against her chest. A short silence followed as the child took in the sight of a creature so close to death, it made her forget all the suffering and misery she had witnessed in the past days. This was someone she knew.
"Is he going to die, da?" she asked.
It had no use lying to a child that had seen so much death, she could have answered her own question by now. "Maybe." He told her softly, nuzzling her golden blond hair. "We hope not." The gentle rise and fall of Bilbo's chest was the only thing reminding his visitors he was still very much alive. Despite the silence wrapping the small tent in a most reflective and dense mood, the quiet strides of Thranduil entering went unheard.
"I did not expect to find you here."
Bard turned to look over his shoulder, finding the Elf King standing behind him. "Nor did I at one point. Probably." He turned back to Bilbo, waiting for Thranduil to come closer. "But I needed to see this for myself." He felt Tilda shrink silently when Thranduil approached, and he tightened his hold on her protectively, as if he expected the Elf to actually mean her harm. She had not met him before. Only Tauriel and Legolas, and she had liked the both of them. Perhaps Tauriel a little more since the Prince of Mirkwood didn't say much. "How is he?"
"Fading." Thranduil said dryly, peering down at the Hobbit with little interest. "But fighting."
Bard frowned at the news, and felt Tilda place her weary head on his shoulder. It was late. She should be in bed. But she didn't want to be alone and he understood. So bedtime had to be postponed for now. "What about Thorin?"
"I heard he just woke up."
Of course. Everything turned into a burning pile of disaster, hundreds of wounded and fallen, but the king under the mountain would remain. Bard huffed.
"The wizard thinks it's a good idea to bring Oakenshield and the Hobbit together as soon as possible." Thranduil's cold voice betrayed his blatant disinterest, but there was a hint of curiosity to the bowman's opinion in it too now. "Hobbits are prone to die when exposed to a trauma of this intensity. They're not build for such sorrows."
"Why are you telling me this?" Bard whispered. His daughter had fallen asleep, and he did not want to wake her. It had been a long day for the young girl.
"I'd like to know your thoughts on the matter."
"Thorin tried to kill him." Bard huffed, looking up at the Elf's impassive face. "What in the name of the Valar could be won from bringing these two together again? More accidents?"
"My thoughts exactly." Thranduil smiled weakly. "I wouldn't trust Thorin with a jackrabbit at this point. He'd all but commence to toss that from the ramparts too." The bowman said nothing, and tried not to envision the king under the mountain throwing rabbits over the side of the gate of Erebor. "Then again.." Thranduil continued. "The Halfling is extremely fond of Oakenshield. And it was his presumed death that brought him into this state. So perhaps Mithrandir has a point after all. Only I fail to see its logic at the present time."
In the bed, Bilbo whimpered, muttering something under his breath that caught the attention of both man and Elf. Their conversation abandoned, Thranduil reached out to touch the Hobbit's forehead again, which only caused Bilbo to trash around more violently.
"What are you doing?" Bard said, watching in horror as the Elf's touch seemed to cause the little creature more distress than necessary. "Stop that!"
"I'm not doing anything." Thranduil protested weakly, but withdrew his hand anyway. Bilbo continued to writhe around in his sheets like he was struggling with an invisible enemy. "He's having a nightmare."
With more force than he had meant to use, Bard somewhat pushed passed the King of the Woodland Realm to get to Bilbo, with Tilda balancing on his hip, still vast asleep. "Bilbo. It's alright. Don't be afraid." He reached out to place a comforting hand on the Hobbit's shoulder, but it only caused him to recoil even more. "Bilbo."
"It has no use trying to stir him." Thranduil explained smoothly, somewhat annoyed at being literally manhandled a second ago. "He's not asleep. Not exactly. Not in the sense of the word you'd be able to comprehend." He watched in annoyance as the man didn't seem to hear him, and continued trying to comfort Bilbo in a place he could not reach. "I was merely trying to see what he's fighting." Somehow Thranduil felt like explaining his actions to the bowman. He wasn't sure why.
"What he's fighting leaves nothing to the imagination." Bard grumbled. He had taken to slowly run his fingers through the Hobbit's matted curls. "Though I think he's defending something more than fighting it."
"How very perceptive of you." Thranduil sneered. Slightly impressed by this man's ability to guess another creature's night visions. Bard ignored him. Like he enjoyed doing more often. "I am going to discuss both our findings with the wizard. If you'll stay here?" Bard nodded, sinking back down in the chair, and readjusting his sleeping daughter.
/
Elves normally weren't prone to exhaustion. But Legolas found himself nodding off more and more while listening to Tauriel's soft, healing humming while she hovered over the dark haired dwarf, tucked away in a lavish bed with his brother by his side. She didn't need any help. And she had voiced her protests to the prince of the Woodland Realm's insistence to be here more than once, but it hadn't moved him to leave the tent. He wasn't about to let her deal with two injured dwarves all by herself. Yet despite their rude, boyish remarks, she seemed to manage quite well. Even amused herself in their cross humour. Excused from every task, he had been pointed to a chair in a corner of the tent, and hadn't left it since. He wouldn't allow himself to fall asleep while she showed no signs of exhaustion. That would be quite embarrassing.
"My Lord Legolas."
Her voice startled him, and he sat up, stirring himself awake to find her staring at him in confusion. He raised his eyebrows, indicating he was listening, but she didn't say anything. She wasn't staring at him, he realized. She was staring at the entrance of the tent, right next to him. He followed her gaze to find a heavily breathing Thorin, supporting himself on one of the tent poles, standing in the opening. His hand clutching his bandaged torso, and his expression pained but determined. Slowly, Legolas rose from his seat, ready to catch the dwarf should he take a tumble to the floor. But Thorin just shot him a murderous glare, daring the Elf to lay a hand on him.
"My sister's sons." Thorin wheezed, letting go of the tent pole to drag himself toward the bed. "I need to see them. I belong where they are. In this tent." A little frightened by his demeanour, Tauriel backed away from the bed, exchanging worried glances with Legolas. "My dear cousins. Gravely wounded because of me." Thorin sank down onto the bed, cupping Fili's face and pressing his forehead against his sleeping nephew's. "How will you ever forgive me?"
"You shouldn't be up." Legolas tried calmly. "They are doing well, but I'm not so sure about you."
Thorin let out a stubborn growl, glaring daggers at the Elven prince. "I do as I please. You have no right to give me orders, Elf." He turned his attention to Kili, bestowing the same displays of affection on him as he had done to his brother. His dramatic action had roused the brothers from their well needed slumber, and they woke to find their uncle sobbing over them in a deranged, feverish way.
"Uncle?" Kili sounded younger than his years at that very moment. And his voice caused the King to break down completely. "Uncle, what are you doing out of bed?"
Being the oldest, Fili managed to sit up and place a comforting hand on his uncle's shoulder. "You're not well enough for this, uncle." He spoke wisely. "How did you manage to get past Balin in Durin's name? He's going crazy if he finds your bed empty." Thorin couldn't help but laugh through his tears, and threw his arms around Fili to pull him into a tight hug.
"I couldn't bear to be away from you two for one second longer." The King choked, pulling Kili into the hug as well. The two brothers seemed a little unsure about the whole situation, and occasionally looked at the two dumbfounded Elves for help, but they looked about as equally confused. "I should have been here all this time. I should have been here when you woke. But I was.. indisposed." Thorin pulled back to gaze upon the faces of his nephews with a relieved smile playing around his lips. "I'm so sorry for everything."
At that moment frantic voices erupted from outside the tent. The search for the missing dwarf king had begun, and Balin was about to raise full alarm in the entire camp when he spotted Thorin in the tent of his cousins. "Thorin! For Durin's sake! What are you doing?!" The old dwarf seemed livid as he walked up to his king, followed by Dwalin. "You are weeks away from even thinking about leaving your bed! This is madness .. this could cause your wound great damage!"
"I had to see my nephews." Thorin muttered weakly, refusing to look at his loyal counsellor. "I will not apologize for that. Nor will I heed the advice of anyone that wants to keep me from them." Balin seemed at a loss for words, struck by Thorin's willingness to toy with his life like that, while so much depended on it.
"Aye, ye saw em now." Dwalin growled, nodding toward the two brothers. "Still breathin' and still ugly, they are." Fili and Kili grinned smugly at him in return. "Unless yer plannin' on haven a pyjama party right here, I suggest ye go back te yer bed before Balin's heart gives out on 'im."
"We're fine, uncle." Fili tried to persuade Thorin, still holding on to his arm for comfort. "Legolas and Tauriel have been really good to us." Attention was suddenly drawn toward the presence of the two Elves, and Thorin gave them both a cold but now less murderous glare.
"And for that I am grateful." He mumbled, nodding to Legolas politely, finally acknowledging the prince's position. "Though I don't quite understand why Dain hasn't sent any of us his own healers. Why must we depend on Elven healers?"
"With all due respect, uncle." Kili smiled. "The Elven healers know much more than any Dwarf healer I've ever met. They saved your life. They saved all of our lives." His gaze rested on Tauriel, failing miserably at trying not to blush while the dwarf was smiling as her. "Tauriel has been with us from the start and.. her being here helped me.. us.. a great deal." Thorin followed his youngest nephew's gaze, giving the blushing Elf maiden a steely glare that caused her to drop her eyes instantly. "And Legolas!" Kili quickly drew away his uncle's attention. "He was here! Sitting in a chair and just.. being his own Elven self! Which was great!" He received a punch from his brother, and decided to stop talking. If Legolas was embarrassed by the colourful description of his idleness, he hid it well, and suddenly decided the chair he previously had been sitting in needed a much more thorough inspection.
"Have you seen Bilbo yet?" Kili's innocent question was met with a warning glare from his older brother, and the small exchange didn't go unnoticed. Thorin's weary eyes went from one brother to the other.
"I have not." He answered gruffly. "I expected him to come and see me instead. But he never did." Fili tried to look as impassive as possible, and Kili's eyes danced around the entirety of the tent, like they had both just asked their uncle where babies come from. "It seems you two know more of the matter than I do." Thorin concluded. "So out with it. Now." His order was met by silence, which seemed to aggravate him beyond relief. "Well?!"
"Don't be too hard on the lads." Balin objected softly. "Nobody blames you, Thorin."
"Blame me for what?" Now the King turned his attention to the old dwarf, his eyes searching for the truth.
"Blame you for Bilbo's.. condition." Perhaps it wasn't the best word to describe it with, but Balin found himself rendered speechless when Thorin stared at him like he was about to strangle him. But the more he tried to explain, the less Thorin seemed to understand, and he narrowed his eyes in confusion.
"Condition?"
"Lad's not wakin' up." Dwalin decided to add, trying to help his older brother. "Hasn't woken up since we found 'im." The King seemed impassive. "He got a pretty big slam te da noggin. And he's only a wee fellow after all." The air in the tent had turned thick and solemn. "Healers r' not very optimistic." Thorin's expression now resembled a little boy that had just been informed his birthday had been cancelled, and he looked at Balin with hurt in his eyes.
"You knew this." He whispered, feeling betrayed. "You knew all this time and you never told me." Balin held up his hands in protest.
"Thorin, you're still very weak. Still very much recovering from an injury that could have cost you your life. I was not about to worry you with Bilbo's ill prognosis. There is time for that later." The old dwarf tried to explain. "I assure you, Bilbo is well looked after. Gandalf is with him most of the time. The rest of the lads pull their weight too. There is nothing you can do about it." He waited a moment. "Nothing that'll change this." He added sadly.
"My father is with him." Legolas spoke up. As if that would appease the king. "He's not a healer, but he can add to Bilbo's comfort." Thorin scoffed at the prince's words.
"The last person I'd wish to be around Bilbo would be your father, prince Legolas of the Woodland Realm." He spat with as much vinegar as he could put in his voice. And it had offended the young Elf beyond measure.
"My father never tried to kill him." Legolas shot back. "Unlike some amongst us." Thorin got up from the bed with as much dignity as he could muster, ready to wipe the floor with the Elven prince. For a few seconds, the two stared eachother down with a hostility that reached far beyond both their years.
"Legolas." Tauriel calmed him gently from a corner in the tent, and spoke in their native tongue. "He is unwell. There is no use trying to reason with him now."
"I will not allow him to speak ill of my father who has done nothing but show kindness toward him and his people after the battle."
"He is worried about the Halfling."
"He tried to kill the Halfling!" Legolas continued his staring contest with the dwarf, who seemed unamused at being excluded from the conversation. "You don't deserve his forgiveness." He bit at Thorin. "Nor that of your kin." With those words, the prince turned around and left the tent. With Tauriel following close behind him. She didn't like to see her old friend hurt. His father wasn't perfect, but the young prince did not deserve to be treated unkindly for his father's flaws. Kili seemed crestfallen as her departure, and shot his uncle an accusing look.
Balin rubbed the bridge of his crooked nose and let out a tired sigh. "Well, that's that." He moped. "Thorin, you cannot wage a war with every Elf that crosses your path. Not anymore. There is simply no need for it!"
"I'll be the judge of that." Thorin grumbled, gingerly seating himself between his nephews and letting his back rest against the headboard. He was exhausted, and unable to hide it any longer. "Both of you. Don't be cross with me. Come here." He extended his arms to have the two brothers settle against his sides. "This is not the time to discuss our future lenience concerning Elves." He looked down at the youngest brother, resting his head on his uncle's left shoulder. "Not even Elves we take to." Kili blushed a bright red, and didn't dare to look up to meet his uncle's gaze. But the teasing only lasted for a second, for Thorin had spent the little energy he possessed, and was on the brink of sleep. "I will go to Bilbo as soon as I've rested a little." He mumbled with his eyes closed.
Like they had done when they were but dwarflings, the two brothers fell asleep in the protective arms of their uncle, who needed them more than they needed him at the moment. Now that peace had returned to the tent, the three of them dozed off soon enough. Giving Balin a moment to rest up himself.
R&R