AN: Thank you for reading the first chapter and not despising it by moving onto the second one! I'm sorry if this one is a bit slow, but I need to put some background into my story.
Gimli is 15 at this time, which is around 7 or 8 in our years.
"What do you mean, you don't know what this is?" Thorin muttered furiously inside the house of Óin. Fíli felt an awful pit in his stomach at the other dwarf's answer.
"I do not know what it is," Óin repeated firmly. "I have ten sick children in here, one whom is my young nephew, Gimli. He is a dwarfling of fifteen, Thorin, so do not be so quick to assume that I do not want an answer as badly as you do."
"Gimli is sick as well?" Fíli asked with shock. "…Ten children?" The same Gimli that he and Kíli helped to be a little soldier while his father was working? The same Gimli that would eventually get impatient and would be content with smacking him and his brother with his practice sword? Stubborn, belligerent, unyielding Gimli?
"Seems like it's eleven now, with young Kíli," said Óin. "And that is not counting the adults that I hear are sick, too. My little brother is begging me for an answer and I do not have one. Do you know what that is like, my dear friend?" he asked Thorin.
"Yes," Thorin replied without thought. Fíli's mind then went to Frerin, the brother of his mother and uncle, the brother they rarely mentioned.
"Then you should know that I will do anything for Glóin, and little Gimli, and I do not have time for foolish questions such as yours!"
Fíli knew that ordinarily Óin would speak to his uncle with more respect, but upon seeing the bags under the older dwarf's eyes, he knew that Óin had to be frustrated and exhausted with taking care of all of the sick, and the last thing on his tuckered mind was pleasing Thorin.
"Do not make the mistake in thinking that I do not care for Kíli's health," he said. "You seem to have forgotten that it was I who pulled the lad through his first fever, but I have other children to deal with as well, one of them my close kin!"
"Then what am I to do?" Thorin asked boldly.
In a calmer voice, Óin spoke. "We are taking the children to the only healing house in Ered Luin, to get help from more experienced hands. I suggest you do the same with Kíli."
"He is in no condition to move; he needs someone to come to our home."
"None of them are in the proper condition, but what choice do we have?" Óin asked. "I cannot prioritize anyone, Thorin - not even Kíli...not even Gimli. There are too many sick. We're moving them in the morning."
"Óin," the distant voice of Glóin called. It seemed to be coming from one of the bedrooms in the back of the home.
"On my way," Óin replied and Thorin put a hand on his shoulder.
"What is it, Óin?" he asked. He wanted answers. He wanted to know why his youngest sister-son was too weak to stand, too weak to stay conscious at times.
Óin sighed. "I do not know. It is a fever for sure, but this is much different than anything I have experienced. My hands are tied."
"Has anyone...d-" Fíli swallowed thickly and tried again, "passed?"
Óin shook his head somberly. "One lad around Kíli's age did. He made it about three weeks before the fever won. Another, a little lass of thirteen. Thirteen, Thorin - so young, such a future ahead of her, and I could do nothing. She lasted about the same time. One lad pulled through, but just the one."
"This has been happening for weeks, then?" Fíli said in shock. "Why have we not heard of it?" he demanded.
"Those three were the first to get sick, laddie. When one out of them made it through, we figured it was a terrible, but typical fever. That is...until now. Eleven children sick in two days, and possibly many more. I do not know what is going to happen."
"Óin!" Glóin called again.
"I must check on Gimli."
"May I come in as well?" Fíli asked suddenly.
"Why?" Óin and Thorin asked together.
"He is my kin, no? Distantly, yes, but still family. I would like to see him."
"I will not have you get sick as well, Fíli," Thorin said firmly. "That is the last thing your mother needs."
"We could all get sick, Uncle. That does not mean that we abandon those who are ill out of fear." Thorin raised his eyebrows at his nephew's comment. If they weren't inside a home, with many sick and miserable dwarves, then he might not have put much thought into throwing Fíli over his shoulder and solving any debates of staying at Óin's home.
Óin smiled, in spite of the severity of the situation. "You can go in, but be careful." He snorted. "Stubborn lad, eh?"
"He gets that from his mother," Thorin muttered. He and Fíli followed Óin into what was most likely his room. On a bed, there was little Gimli, and there were two more children who occupied mattresses on the floor, their mothers and fathers close to them.
The young, chestnut-haired dwarfling was clearly feeling and showing the effects of the fever. He was sweaty, shaky, eyes focusing on nothing and everything in a semi-conscious haze.
An older dwarf with the same shade of hair sat in a wooden chair, his hand in Gimli's. It was Glóin. He was whispering sweet nothings to his child when he caught sight of the three new additions to the room.
There was his elder brother, Óin, still looking miserable with lack of sleep, but showing no signs of wanting to rest. Thorin Oakenshield entered with young Fíli, the golden-haired lad wore a worried expression, but stood as strongly as his uncle.
Glóin ran a hand over Gimli's forehead. "He's warmer, Óin. What shall we do?"
"A cool cloth for now," he replied, handing it to his brother.
Glóin looked to Thorin and Fíli and managed a small smile. "Hello, lads. Where is Kíli?" he asked, knowing that the pair were rarely seen around Ered Luin without the charming and fiery dark-haired dwarfling.
Thorin sighed, but Fíli answered. "He is sick, as well." He hardly knew that he could say it without choking up, but he got it out nonetheless.
I should've done something, Fíli thought. He wouldn't be ill if I had been paying better attention.
"Mahal, help us," Glóin said with acid in his voice, cursing whatever was responsible for the horrible ailment. "When this fever has hold of one as fearless as your brother, it is time to worry."
"Indeed," Fíli answered, the cracks in his voice were now noticeable as he thought more and more of his brother. His brother who was lying hopelessly in bed, confused, scared, and probably asking for him at this point. "We should go soon, Uncle. Mother will need help."
"F-Fíli?" they heard Gimli call out. Fíli looked to Glóin for permission to come over and the older dwarf nodded.
"He has been talking all night about missing his training with you and Kíli. He loves it so."
Fíli came over and put on a small smile, one that the dwarfling needed to see. "Hello, Gimli. Feeling a bit under the weather?"
"Training...we have to practice...tomorrow. Am I...too s-sick?"
"No worries," Fíli said. "We can practice whenever you feel up to it."
"Promise you won't...forget?"
Fíli took a sharp breath in. "Promise. As soon as you're...better, we can train. Kíli will be there, too."
"When will I be better?"
Fíli looked wide-eyed to Glóin, not wanting to answer this question.
"Soon, laddie," Óin assured him. "I will make you all better."
"Gimli, I have to get back to Kíli now. You understand that, right? My little brother needs me."
"Is he sick t-too?" Gimli asked.
"...Yes." He felt like screaming. He felt like shaking Óin until he found of what was wrong with Kíli. He wanted to scour Middle-earth for anything, anyone that could help.
He wanted his father.
He would've known what to do.