Kili was trembling with exhaustion by the time the lack of noise registered in his ringing ears. He had defended his uncle's body until the last orc was dead, until the last warg turned tail, until the last goblin-shriek was silent. It was only then, as his sword dropped from nerveless fingers, that he realized something wasn't right. He felt... lopsided. He felt exposed. He felt alone.
The young dwarf swung around in a complete circle, confirming the truth of the growing dread clawing at his insides. He was alone. Fili was gone. His big brother had always been there, for as long as he could remember. Now that Fili was gone- where? For how long? Kili searched the faces of nearby warriors, frantic in his dwindling hope that Fili was still on his own feet.
"Kili!" Gandalf was striding toward him, looking about as cheerful as the thunder cloud. "Where is Thorin?" The dwarf stared up at him, his world falling to pieces around his feet.
If Thorin had looked bad on the ground in armor, then he looked horrible on a bed without it. Oin, Gandalf, and an elf he didn't know worked feverishly on the Mountain King's wounds, applying poultices and mumbling and exchanging serious looks with one another.
Fili was brought in not long thereafter, and Kili sat between the two beds in a little noman's land all his own. The chaos inside him settled into a cold lump in the pit of his stomach. Would he lose them, all of them, in one dreadful day? Kili was still as he watched the healers work. Hours passed. Darkness fell. Members of the Company clustered outside the tent, waiting for news of their fallen leader. At last, Oin sighed and sat down, looking exhausted in more ways than one could count.
"There's nothing more to be done," he said heavily, shaking his grey head. Thorin's face was still and pale. If it weren't for the slight rise and fall of the dwarf king's chest, then Kili would suspect he was already dead. The elf looked truly dismayed, sweeping auburn locks over her shoulders impatiently.
"He yet lives. We cannot simply give up!" Her tone was passionate, and Kili's lips twitched into a faint smile. An optimistic elf. Rare breed. The dark-haired dwarf slanted a glance at his brother, unconscious and swathed in bandages. Fili would have thought it was funny.
"He lives, but has no will to continue doing so." Oin watched his king's face with a grieved expression. "He has lost his only love." The elf looked so startled that Kili nearly laughed. Trust an elf to not know that dwarves could love. He felt like he wasn't himself, detached from the turmoil he should have been feeling.
"Where is she?" The elf's voice was gentle, but even so, it was impossible to suppress a surge of anger at her words.
All at once, the pain, the grief, the fury all came rushing back, and Kili sprang to his feet, shaking with emotion. "She betrayed us! She left. If I never see her again, I'll thank Mahal." The young dwarf knew in his heart of hearts, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was all Billa's fault. If she hadn't turned traitor, then he wouldn't be alone now. Thorin wouldn't be dying.
Oin, with a pained expression, spoke the very thought that Kili couldn't bring himself to admit. "I hate to say it, but... if Thorin is to have any chance at all of recovering... we need Billa." He looked as though he wished that weren't the case, his worried eyes fixed on Thorin's still form. Kili tasted bile at the sound of her name, and turned away sharply.
Gandalf, meanwhile, gazed down at the Mountain King with an expression of tragic revelation. "What have I done?"