A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you all had a great Easter! A huge thank you to everyone who returned for Chapter Two and a manic wave to my new readers! You guys are all awesome, and I am so sorry for the emotional trauma I've been inflicting – this is a longer chapter and it comes with a free bar of chocolate. Oh, and there will be a little light relief in this one, promise! Sparrow – sorry I can't reply to your review, but thank you for reading and well, if you like Fíli whump, you're gonna love this…

Kíli leapt to his feet and had a hand on the tent's door-flap when a healer appeared, blocking his exit. His stomach jolted when he realised the healer had been one of the team in Fíli's tent. Now, standing before him, the healer's face was ruddy, with beads of sweat slipping down his brow as he looked from Kíli to Óin.

"The lad's woken up and we've run out of poppy milk," he gasped out. "We need to reset his leg, but he's screaming up something shocking!"

"Yes, even I can hear that!" Óin replied, coming to stand at Kíli's side.

Fíli's agonised screams were indeed forming the horrific background noise to the exchange, and each time his brother cried out, Kíli felt another long knife twist in his chest. He wasn't sure why the healer was here, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he pushed him aside and bolted towards Fíli's tent.

"We've sent someone to Bard's men to try and cadge some supplies, but you don't happen to have anything, do you? In that personal store of yours?" the healer continued, a nod indicating Óin's medicine chest placed on the floor at Thorin's bedside.

"Not poppy milk, but some Valerian root might help." Óin went to collect the chest, picking up the leather strap which allowed him to carry it over his shoulder.

Óin's movements seemed painfully slow to Kíli, and Fíli's screams were getting louder, piercing him further. He wanted to burst out of the tent like his heart wanted to burst out of his ribcage, but the healer remained in the doorway.

"I… I can help!" Kíli said desperately. "Please, let me try and calm him down!"

"He's out of his mind with pain and fever, lad… I'm not sure he'll even know you're there," the healer answered, but the tortured look in Kíli's eyes made him add: "Though it can't hurt to try."

Kíli nodded, relief flooding his burning chest as the healer moved aside… But then he thought of Thorin. He didn't want to leave his uncle alone in the tent… The bitterly rational part of him said the dead didn't care and it made no difference whether they were alone or not. The body laid out on the bed behind him wasn't really his uncle anymore. But still, Kíli's heart ached at the thought of abandoning him.

The healer appeared to have read Kíli's conflict in his expression, and he murmured: "You two go, I'll stay with Thorin."

With whispered words of thanks, Kíli and Óin set off towards Fíli's tent. As they drew closer, Fíli's screams were almost drowned out by the shouts from the healers and Kíli recognised Grefur's growl. The manic movements of the shadows across the walls of the tent prepared Kíli for the chaos he was about to enter, but still the sight that met him made him want to scream too.

Fíli was being pinned to his bed by four healers, but he continued to writhe beneath their hands. His torso was almost entirely wrapped in white bandages, which were soaked with sweat, a spot of blood blooming just below his ribcage at one side. With each scream, his head snapped back into the pillow, and Kíli caught sight of his eyes – the blue icy with pain and swimming with tears – as they rolled deliriously in their sockets.

Grefur was at the foot of the bed, trying to examine Fíli's leg, blocking it from Kíli's view. "If he keeps this up he's going to tear out all his stitches!" the head-healer said angrily. "Where is Bastrun with that poppy milk?"

Grefur noticed the healers staring at something over his shoulder, and he spun around to find Óin and Kíli standing in the doorway. Kíli immediately feared for his fingers.

"That sling is not for decoration!" Grefur barked, and Kíli quickly slipped his arm back into the sling that had been hanging limply around his neck. Grefur turned to Óin. "We need something to knock him out now. If we wait any longer he's going to lose the leg."

This news made Kíli's stomach rise into his throat. Peering around Grefur's towering form, he saw Fíli's movements were becoming more frantic and his limbs were thrashing against the healers' restraints. Every time he jerked, the healers seemed to throw their whole weight into pinning him down, which only made him scream louder.

"They're hurting him!" Kíli cried, trying to move towards Fíli.

"No more than he is hurting himself," Grefur snapped, stepping in front of Kíli. "And what did I tell you about stepping foot in this tent again?"

"Let him stay, Grefur," Óin said calmly and firmly, from where he knelt on the floor, pulling herbs from his medicine chest. "He might be able to calm Fíli. You know what it's like between brothers. How many times have you soothed Grendul?"

Grefur seemed thrown by this mention of his brother, but not as thrown as Kíli, who couldn't imagine Grefur soothing anyone. The healers were all staring at Grefur, their thoughts moving along the same line as Kíli's, but as soon as Grefur turned around they looked back down at Fíli.

"Alright, lad, see what you can do," Grefur said gruffly, moving to let Kíli pass.

Kíli went to Fíli's side, and sat down on the bed by his head. Very slowly, and with great care, he pulled Fíli's head into his lap. At first Fíli's head kept slamming into his leg every time he screamed, and the healers kept a firm hold of his limbs, but then Kíli began to stroke Fíli's hair, the way their mother used to do when they were children.

"Fíli… Fíli! Listen to me… It's Kíli… I'm here…"

He ran his free hand, gently and rhythmically, through Fíli's golden hair. Initially this proved difficult; Fíli kept struggling against the healers, and his screams were enough to send Kíli permanently over the edge. But Kíli tried desperately to stay focused. He wasn't going to give up on his brother now.

"Fíli… I know you can hear me… And I know it hurts…"

Kíli had to bite his lip to stop the cry that was determined to burst from his lips. He blinked away the tears. Now was not the time to crumble. He had to be strong for both of them.

"Look at me, Fíli… You're safe… You're with me…"

And for a split second, the wide blue eyes met the brown, and the scream died in Fíli's throat. Kíli's heart skipped a beat when he saw the flicker of recognition in Fíli's eyes as he emitted a low whimper.

"That's it, Fíli… Just breathe… I'm not going anywhere…"

He began to smooth Fíli's hair back from his glistening forehead, which was burning and sticky with sweat. Fíli continued to whimper, with the occasional higher-pitched cry, but he stopped thrashing in the bed, his limbs only jerking when the pain threatened to take over again. Kíli exhaled for what seemed like the first time in minutes, and looked up to find all the healers, including Grefur, staring at him, dumbfounded.

"Well done, lad," one healer said finally.

Óin appeared at Fíli's other side, carrying a large wooden spoon of gritty, dark green liquid. "Valerian root, highly concentrated," he explained. "It'll help keep the pain at bay."

Kíli carefully lifted Fíli's head, and he let out a cry, but they still managed to get him to sip the concoction from the spoon, with Kíli giving him gentle encouragements.

"Alright, we can't wait any longer," Grefur said, positioning himself by Fíli's leg. "We're going to have to do this without poppy milk."

A shiver seemed to run through the healers as they readjusted their restraining stances. They glanced at Kíli, almost with regret, as if they knew exactly what was coming.

"Give the lad something to bite on so he doesn't gnaw his own tongue off." Grefur glared at Kíli when no one moved. "Your belt, boy! Quickly!"

"Oh!" Abandoning pretences, Kíli pulled his hand from the sling, and with shaking fingers, hastily removed his belt.

Fíli seemed to have sensed the tension and the panic in the room, and he began to struggle again with a helpless whimper. His eyes widened when Kíli gently placed the belt in his mouth, and he fought against it, trying to spit it out.

"Shhh… Fíli! It's alright… I promise you, it's going to be alright… I need you to bite down on this for me… Please, Fíli…" Kíli whispered, stroking Fíli's hair again, placing his injured hand on Fíli's shoulder. He didn't have a free hand to wipe away the rogue tear that was slipping down his cheek. Fíli quietened again, and stopped struggling.

"Alright, let's do this quickly and cleanly," Grefur said, moving his hands into position. "After four…"

Kíli tightened his grip on Fíli's shoulder, each breath getting caught in his throat, and his heart rioting against his ribcage.

"One… Two… Three –" Grefur snapped the bone back into place with a sickening crack and Fíli lurched forward, his agonised screams barely muffled by the belt.

Fíli's head dropped against Kíli's leg, but he arched his back, and just screamed, and screamed, and screamed. Kíli was speechless, frozen in shock, as he looked to Grefur.

"We always do it after three," Grefur grunted, in response to Kíli's obvious horror. "Oldest trick in the book."

His breaths coming almost as rapidly and raggedly as his brother's, Kíli tried to regain himself, and his shaking hand moved back to Fíli's hair. "You did it, Fíli!" Kíli gasped, over his brother's cries. "That's the worst part over with… I'm so proud of you!"

At these words, Fíli's eyes, filled with a look of both confusion and terror, darted up to Kíli, peering at him as though he was someone else. But then his eyes rolled back into his head, and the lids closed over them. He stopped writhing and was still, the only movement being the twitchy rise and fall of his chest.

"About time," Grefur muttered, not looking up from Fíli's leg as he began to stitch the wound where the bone had previously protruded, just below the knee.

The healers slowly released their grip on Fíli's limbs and straightened up, one of them patting Kíli on the back. They were beginning to busy themselves helping Grefur when another healer suddenly half-threw himself through the tent's doors.

"Where in Aulë's name have you been?" Grefur barked, and Kíli realised this must be Bastrun, who had gone to Bard's camp for aid.

"Bard has sick men too…" Bastrun panted. "They were quite reluctant to part with it…" He held up a small vial of poppy milk. "…But then I told them it was for the King."

Kíli's heart, which had previously been in his throat, plummeted down into his stomach. He looked to Óin, his mouth hanging open slightly, as the reality of Bastrun's words slowly began to sink in. There was a prolonged, tense silence, as the healers exchanged nervous glances, but then Grefur said: "Well, it'll do him little good now."

Kíli didn't move from his position on the edge of Fíli's bed, with his brother's head still in his lap. The healers didn't question this, and happily worked around him. Kíli tried not to look as Grefur bandaged and splinted Fíli's leg, and instead his gaze fell on the scarlet stain, a stark contrast to the white bandages wrapped around Fíli's abdomen… The stain was on Fíli's left side… Exactly where the blood had been on his jacket… And he had told Bofur it was Kíli's blood…

"The wound on his side…" Kíli said quietly, addressing any healer who was listening, and nodding to the stain.

"From an arrow," one healer replied. "He must have pulled it out himself."

It was what Kíli had been afraid of… Fíli must have removed the arrow without him seeing, and carried on regardless. He had been injured when he brought Kíli to safety, but had returned to the battlefield to look for Thorin… The thought of Thorin knotted Kíli's stomach, and he realised he had been so focused on Fíli that he had forgotten about his uncle for minutes on end… A hot, sickly feeling of guilt mingled with the pain in his chest.

And then, as if the thought of Thorin had conjured it, Kíli noticed something lying on the floor in the corner of the tent… Thorin's oak shield. His eyes widened with shock… What was it doing here? He blinked, wondering if, in his grief, he was imagining it, but it didn't vanish – it was definitely there, next to Fíli's blood-spattered jacket and boots.

"Óin?" Kíli murmured, but the old healer was too busy with his medicine chest and Kíli's voice had been too soft. "Óin!" Kíli said, louder. "Why is Thorin's shield in here?"

Looking up, Óin's gaze moved from Kíli to the famous shield. "They brought it in with Fíli… Balin found him clutching it, and we had to fair wrench it from his hand."

Fíli had been holding Thorin's shield? Kíli wished he knew what had happened out there on the battlefield… And how the oak shield had come to be passed down from uncle to nephew. Balin told him they had found Azog dead in the same ditch, and they were assuming Fíli had killed him – his falchion being smothered in black orc blood. Kíli only wished he had been there to defend his brother and his uncle, and maybe if he had, Fíli wouldn't be in such a state… and maybe Thorin wouldn't have died.

Kíli remained lost in these grim thoughts for a long time, and no one dared to disturb him. The healers finished treating Fíli's leg and covered him with thin blankets whilst his fever raged. When he showed some signs of consciousness, they managed to get him to swallow most of the poppy milk they had acquired. Sometime in the early hours, Kíli fell asleep sitting at Fíli's side, his head lolling on his chest. Caught somewhere between consciousness and dreaming, Kíli felt gentle hands slowly helping him rise from the bed, and then settling him down onto the ground, which seemed softer than usual, and something even softer was placed beneath his head. Wanting to protest the loss of Fíli's body heat, Kíli tried to speak, but he had only just managed the first syllable of his brother's name when sleep reclaimed him.

Kíli sat bolt upright with a sharp intake of breath. The first thing that greeted him was a strip of bright blue sky, glimpsed between the tent's door-flaps. For a second there was that moment of numbness experienced just after waking, where your thoughts are erased of both past and future, and you are blissfully ignorant of everything. But the moment was fleeting, and Kíli was soon dragged painfully into the conscious present, aware of the crushing past and the uncertain future. He was sitting on a mat on the floor of Fíli's tent, his legs tangled in a blanket. Whipping his head to the side, he found Fíli lying still on his bed, with Óin gently dabbing a cold cloth to his forehead.

"Good morning, lad" Óin said, with a smile.

"How is he?" Kíli asked, untangling himself from the blanket and moving to Fíli's side.

"Well, he's made it through the night, and that's promising," Óin replied. "He's a fighter, your brother."

"That he is," Kíli agreed, taking Fíli's hand and squeezing it. He sensed Óin had something he wanted to tell him, but was holding back. He looked at the healer questioningly.

"We've sent a party back to Ered Luin… to collect your mother," Óin said softly. "Glóin, Bombur, and Nori have gone. Glóin and Bombur are wanting to see their bairns, and they've taken Nori to keep him out of trouble."

Kíli managed a nod, although the thought of his mother and her grief made his chest ache.

"They've found Bilbo," Óin continued, when it was clear Kíli wasn't going to comment. "The company are having breakfast with him in the main tent… I think they would like to see you."

Kíli's gaze moved uncertainly to Fíli. "I… I want to be here… When he wakes up."

"I know, lad, but we've given him enough poppy milk to take down an oliphaunt – he's not going to be waking up before noon," Óin replied gently.

Kíli was silent for a long time, but finally he gave in with a sigh. "You'll come and get me if he wakes?"

"Aye, of course," Óin said, and so Kíli reluctantly let go of Fíli's hand and, straightening up, stepped out into the fresh air.

The morning was cool and clear, and there was hardly a cloud in the sky that stretched above the row of tents. A chill wind nipped at Kíli's nose as he made his way to the main tent. He slipped his hand back into his sling before he entered, remembering that it was not for decoration. As he walked into the tent, an unnerving hush fell over the inhabitants, which made him pause, unsure if he wanted to go any further.

"Kíli, lad! Come have some breakfast!"

Kíli recognised Bofur's voice and spotted the company sitting at the opposite end of the tent, by the healers' table. He walked as quickly as he could to join them, but he didn't miss the looks of sympathy he got from the patients in the beds as he passed. Some nodded, and others almost bowed. He awkwardly nodded back, but tried his best to avoid eye contact. He reached Bofur and the others, who were sitting or standing around a bench next to the last bed of the row. Bilbo was sitting in the middle of the bench, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, with a steaming bowl of porridge clutched between his knees. He looked up at Kíli with a meek smile. Dori and Ori sat at either side of him; Dori was finishing a plate of eggs and bacon, and Ori was knitting a patch of something in brown and gold wool. Bifur was standing next to Bofur, and there was no sign of Balin or Dwalin. Kíli was about to say something when he heard the patients behind him whispering… and some were even sniggering. Kíli felt his cheeks grow hot and he was about to whirl around when Bofur put a hand on his shoulder.

"They're not talking about you, lad," Bofur assured him, and conspiratorial smiles twitched on the lips of all present. "The patients are rebelling against Grefur the Grouch."

"What?" Kíli whispered, unable to deny his intrigue.

"They've all swapped beds," Bofur grinned. "Well, the ones who can manage it anyway. And they've moved his things around at the healer table. Want to make him think he's losing it."

"Haven't the other healers tried to stop them?" Kíli asked, glancing behind him at the gleeful patients.

"Stop them? They've been helping them!" Bofur said, and a chuckle ran through the company. "As have we. No one calls my hat ridiculous."

"And he did tell me I was an oversized squirrel who should stop wasting his time," Bilbo added, with a small smile.

There was a moment of silence, in which most of the depleted company bowed their heads. They all knew no amount of mischief could ever really mask the pain they felt at the loss of Thorin, though Kíli thought it was just like Bofur to try and lighten even the darkest of mornings. He sensed they all had so many things they wanted to say to him, but didn't quite know how.

"How is Fíli?" Bilbo asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Sleeping at the moment," Kíli replied, fighting his desire to run from the tent and go back to Fíli's side. "They, er, treated his leg last night, and he's pulled through 'til morning… So Óin says it all looks promising."

"Excellent news!" Bofur said, beaming.

There were murmurs of agreement from the company, and then Ori said, rather shyly: "This is for him." He raised his knitting needles. "It's going to be a blanket… This is his sigil, see."

On closer inspection, Kíli recognised his brother's sigil woven in gold on the brown patch. "That's really great, Ori," he said, smiling, and Ori almost blushed.

Then the silence returned. Kíli knew what was being left unsaid, but he couldn't bear the thought of talking about Thorin… And now he could think of nothing else to say.

"I am so sorry, Kíli," Bilbo said, voicing what everyone else was thinking, though they noticeably flinched when he said it. He opened his mouth, as if to continue, but decided against it… He had already said enough.

Kíli stared at Bilbo, feeling his eyes begin to sting. Part of him wished he had never left Fíli's tent, but there was such sincerity and such pain in Bilbo's eyes that he knew not only did Bilbo mean every word, he also shared Kíli's grief.

"Where… Where are Balin and Dwalin?" Kíli stammered, looking away from Bilbo. There would come a time when he would have to talk to their burglar about Thorin, but he knew that time was not now, not when they were in a tent full of people.

"Balin is talking politics with Gandalf and Dáin," Dori answered.

"And Dwalin has, er, gone for a walk," Bofur added, shifting his weight slightly.

"How is Dwalin?" Kíli asked carefully, hoping someone would be honest with him.

"We're trying to keep him away from living things," Bofur replied, exchanging glances with Dori and Ori. "But we don't really want him to be on his own, so Bifur has been keeping him company… He likes the fact that Bifur can't tell him it'll be alright, and seen as Bifur has already survived one axe to the head, we thought it was the perfect match."

Despite it all, Kíli managed a smile. He only wished he was gifted with Bofur's eternal optimism… Behind this tale, Kíli knew the truth was that Dwalin was hurting, and expressing his grief in the only way he knew how. Kíli was sure he would have to speak to him about Thorin too.

"And why isn't Bifur with him now?" he murmured.

"He wanted to be left properly alone… He's gone back onto the battlefield," Bofur explained, but not wanting to take the subject any further, he continued: "Now let me get you some eggs and bacon. I'm not allowed to cook in here, but I've got a fire going out back." Before Kíli could protest, Bofur was heading out of the tent.

And so Kíli managed what little breakfast he could with the company, lingering just long enough to see the perplexed expression on Grefur's face turn murderous when he returned to the tent and realised what was going on. Kíli then spent most of the day in Fíli's tent, at his brother's side, anxiously waiting for him to wake up, but dreading the moment when he did.

As evening arrived, Kíli was spending an hour alone in Thorin's tent. Thorin, with all his wounds now cleaned and stitched, was dressed in his finest clothes, and that slight frown which blurred the line between sleep and death was still there. The silence had become suffocating and so Kíli had, very tentatively, begun to speak to his uncle. He told him all about the night's events and how Fíli had pulled through… That Dwalin missed him and he wished there was something he could do to help… He asked him about his shield, and what had happened out on the battlefield… And then, his voice cracking, he told him he was sorry he hadn't been there…

Words were beginning to fail him when Óin entered the tent, making him jump. Kíli knew Óin must have heard him talking, but all thoughts of embarrassment vanished at the healer's sombre expression. Surely Fíli wasn't…?

"Fíli is awake," Óin said quietly. "He's asking for you."

A/N: Please do let me know what you think! Your reviews make irresponsibly ditching finals revision to write well worth it!