A/N: YOO. My winter break has begun and here is a chapter for you. Sorry it took so long. Also I have finally seen BotFA, so if you haven't, you probably want to wait to read this chapter. Also go watch it, what is wrong with you.

Madammadhatter is the best beta ever, just letting you all know. She's so nice to me.


"Uncle?" Kíli called from outside the door to Thorin's study. "It's me again."

"Yes, come in," called Thorin from the other side, and Kíli pushed the door open and stepped inside. Óin stood by Thorin's desk, and he looked up and nodded in greeting as Kíli came closer; Kíli nodded back, though he felt a twinge of anger towards his cousin still. Óin had been the apothecary with all the answers for Fíli and Kíli as they grew up, and Kíli had never known him to have any failings when it came to treating either of them before now. He didn't like it at all.

"Did the Elves have anything to help?" Thorin said, straightening in his chair with a wince.

"Aye," Kíli replied. He reached into his pocket; his fingers touched the runestone first, and he frowned slightly and searched for the jar. He set it down on Thorin's desk, and Óin picked it up and opened it, peering inside.

"Tauriel said—uh, the healer said that we put a spoonful of this in some water and give it to him," Kíli said. "It doesn't stop dreams—apparently that's a bad thing—but it will ease his mind or something so that he doesn't have bad dreams."

"Does it work?" Óin said skeptically, screwing the lid back on the jar and setting it down.

Kíli shrugged. "It's worth a shot," he said. "It's better than what you lot tried."

Thorin looked up at Kíli sharply. "We did what we thought was best," he said. "And you were not there to help, so we didn't know what—"

"You have known him even longer than I have," Kíli snapped. "Both of you. You should have known." He sighed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to have this conversation again—it wouldn't change anything. "But we have this now, and I think we should try to give it to him. And by we, I mean me."

"Now, Kíli," said Óin, "you don't need to keep us out."

"Apparently, I do," Kíli said, casting a glare at Óin. "And I will. I will tell Fíli about this, and I will convince him to take it." He turned back to his uncle. "I just wanted to let you know what I had gotten… but Fíli trusts me. I don't know how much I can say for the two of you at this point."

Thorin and Óin exchanged looks, and Thorin let out a sigh and waved his hand in dismissal.

"Fine," he said. "You can deal with this alone, if that is your wish. But he will not avoid our presence for the time being. We are having dinner with the Company and Dáin in half an hour—let your brother know."

Pleased that he had gotten his way, Kíli nodded and took the jar off Thorin's desk. It clinked against his runestone when he dropped it into his pocket; with a slight frown, he bowed and took his leave, heading for Fíli's room. He reached his destination quickly and knocked twice on the stone door.

"Fee, it's me," he called. "I'm coming in."

He opened the door to find Fíli and Bifur still working on their whittling; Bifur had a figurine beside him and another in his hand, and Fíli was still working on his first. When Kíli entered, the two of them looked up at him. Bifur grunted and gave his typical wide-eyed stare, brandishing the piece in his hand, and Fíli smiled cheerfully in greeting. Kíli crossed the room and looked at the piece beside Bifur: a little figure that looked very familiar. Kíli picked it up and smiled broadly.

"Is this Bilbo, Bifur?" he said.

Bifur nodded and reached up, closing Kíli's fingers around the figure. For you, he signed.

"Thank you," Kíli said, touched. They all missed their little burglar quite a bit, but Kíli felt that he missed him more fiercely than some of the others. He gently slipped the figurine into his empty pocket to keep it safe.

"The Company is having a dinner together tonight with Dáin," he said to Bifur. "We should all get ready."

Bifur pocketed his current piece and his knife and rose, patting Kíli on the shoulder as he saw himself out. Kíli looked at the wood shavings on the floor with a sigh and then turned his attention to Fíli, who was still working on his own little piece.

"Hello, brother," he said, sitting down beside him. "What are you making?"

Fíli held out the carving in his hand for Kíli to see. It was only half-formed—Bifur had far more experience with whittling than Fíli—but Kíli could see the head of a Dwarf forming. He smiled.

"Anyone in particular?" he asked.

Fíli shrugged and set it down on the bedside table, brushing the wood shavings off his lap. He twirled the knife expertly a few times before setting it down as well, and then he turned his gaze to his little brother. To Kíli's relief, the agony seemed to have disappeared from his brother's face, replaced by a cheerful disposition—for however long that would last. Still, he was grateful for it.

"Thorin sent me to get you," he said. "Like I said to Bifur—we're all to have a dinner together tonight."

Fíli's hands immediately went up to his hair. Kíli chuckled.

"I'll help you with your braids, if you like," he said.

Fíli let his hands down and grinned sheepishly. Of all the Dwarves Kíli knew, the only ones who seemed to care more about how neat their hair looked were Dori and Nori. At least Fíli's preferred hairstyle was nowhere near as complicated as theirs—they would have to miss dinner to achieve that level of meticulous braiding. Fíli dropped his hands, and Kíli unclasped the metal beads holding his messy braids together; he ran his fingers through them and separated out three pieces for a new braid. Fíli sat silently as Kíli worked, and Kíli bit his lip. He did this for Fíli sometimes, but they always talked while he braided.

"Hey, Fíli, I've got a question," he said—not that he expected much in the way of an answer.

Fíli turned his head ever so slightly, careful not to disturb Kíli's work.

"Do you think I have… angry eyebrows?"

A loud chortle escaped from Fíli's mouth. Kíli dropped the braid he had been working on and frowned, and Fíli turned to look at him, covering his lips with his hand.

"I don't look angry all the time, do I?" Kíli said. "I'm not angry. It's just my face."

Though Fíli's hand was still covering his mouth, Kíli could tell by the way his face was twitching that he was hiding a grin—not to mention the fact that his chest was bouncing. Kíli furrowed his brow and pouted, though a voice in the back of his head told him that it would only further Tauriel's point. Sure enough, Fíli's laughter became even louder, his shoulders shaking as he bowed his head, and Kíli's pout grew fiercer.

"Stop laughing at me," he grumbled, though the sound of Fíli laughing was chipping away at his self-absorbed misery. Even if it wasn't speech, it was something.

Fíli rested a hand on Kíli's arm, his laughter ceasing; then he chanced a look at Kíli's face only to double over again. Kíli sat and waited for his brother to finish laughing at his expense, unamused. After what felt like forever, Fíli finally calmed down, wiping tears from his eyes. He looked up at Kíli and patted his arm, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth and affection. He opened his mouth as if to speak, and Kíli's heart jumped; but then a shadow seemed to pass over Fíli's face, and he pressed his lips together, the laughter fading from his eyes.

"It's fine, Fee," Kíli said quickly, fighting to hide his disappointment. "You don't—you don't have to say anything." He looked down at his lap. "Hearing you laugh is enough."

Fíli's hand moved from Kíli's arm to his shoulder, and Kíli looked up and met his brother's shining eyes. There was sorrow there, but there was also something more—a question, one that his brother wanted to ask but could not make come from his lips. Kíli knew that look; his brother wanted to know if he was all right. He struggled for the right words to say.

"I'm fine," he said lightly, but it didn't feel right, and Fíli did not look satisfied. He bit his lip, fighting against the words that wanted to escape him. But he lost, and words were tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I wish you would talk to me," he said. "Everything is so new here—it's all so different, and I—I don't know what I'm doing, Fíli. I'm trying to get used to this… this new life, these new people, this new position, and I know I'm not alone—I have you and I have Uncle and Balin and everyone else—but nothing is the same. I feel like I'm far underground without a light, and I just want to be able to talk to you and have you talk back and I want everything to be like it was before, you and me and not a care in the world, and nothing is like that anymore, I—"

He stopped and bowed his head, taking controlled breaths through his nose and fighting the tears that built in his eyes. He hadn't meant to say so much. Fíli's hand did not leave his shoulder, and when Kíli looked up, his brother was staring at him, his brows drawn apart and a deep frown upon his lips. His eyes were apologetic and sorrowful as he reached up and pulled Kíli's face towards his own, leaning forward until their temples touched. Kíli took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes for a few moments.

I'm still here for you. That was what Fíli was saying. Kíli did not have his brother's words, but he still had his brother.


The Company of Thorin Oakenshield and Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills were all finally gathered, and the noise of all of them together was incredible. Kíli could barely hear himself think. Not that he minded much; it was the first time everyone had come together for a good meal at a proper table since they had reclaimed Erebor, and the joviality the Company displayed reminded Kíli of another dinner, over a year ago now, at a dearly-missed Hobbit's home. Kíli smiled, recalling poor Bilbo's face when he and Fíli had turned up at the door, and cringing a little as he remembered that he had called Bilbo Mister Boggins. Fíli had corrected him later that night, and Kíli was sure that Bilbo remembered the unintentional slight, though he had never said anything.

"What are you smiling about, Kíli?" said Bofur from his right over the din.

"Oh, just missing Bilbo," Kíli replied. "We haven't had a meal quite like this since we met him, have we?"

Bofur smiled fondly. "We'll have to visit him someday," he said. "He did say not to bother knocking."

Kíli chuckled. "Can't wait to see his face when we take him seriously on that offer."

"Thorin!" called Dáin from the other end of the table. All eyes turned at the sound of his commanding, accented voice. "Tell me, did ye keep count of how many orcs ye killed in the battle? I got forty even, meself."

Kíli looked across the table to Fíli and then to Thorin on his right, his heart missing a beat. This was not the best topic of conversation right now. Thorin glanced at Fíli as well before giving his calm answer.

"I did not keep track," he said. "I killed Azog—that one kill is enough to remember for me."

Kíli looked back at Fíli at the mention of Azog's name. His brother was staring down at his plate, but he did not appear to be very interested in eating.

"Oh, that's very noble," said Dáin, "but I can't compete with ye there. Come on, didn't anyone keep track? Kíli?"

Kíli twisted his lips and turned his gaze from Fíli to Dáin. He shook his head. "I killed a pretty big orc, myself." He gestured to Glóin. "I bet Glóin kept track, though."

"Thirty-seven," Glóin said proudly, leaning back in his chair.

Dáin nodded in approval and looked around the table at the other Dwarves, but no one else offered a number. Dáin's eyes settled on Fíli, and Kíli's heart sank. He tried to think quickly of a way to change the topic, but he wasn't quick enough.

"What about you, Fíli? Did ye at least match your brother and your uncle with a giant orc of your own?"

Fíli looked up suddenly with wide eyes. The table was silent. Kíli and Thorin exchanged glances as the silence grew.

"Fíli didn't keep track, either," Kíli said quickly. "I saw him take down a decent number, though."

"Oh, come on, Fíli, nothing to say for yourself?" said Dáin. "Nothing noteworthy at all?"

Fíli opened and closed his mouth, looking from Dáin to Thorin desperately. Balin laid a hand on Fíli's arm as the blond swallowed.

"Fíli hasn't had much to say lately, Dáin," Thorin said, keeping his voice level. "He acted nobly in battle, I assure you."

Fíli flinched hard at this comment, and Kíli watched him carefully, tensing. Balin's grip tightened on Fíli's arm. He murmured something that Kíli could not hear, close as he was, but Fíli did not appear to be comforted.

"Hasn't had much to say?" said Dáin loudly. "Well, laddie, when are ye gonna give us a piece of your mind? You're the prince of this mountain, after all!"

"Dáin," Thorin warned, but his warning came too late. Fíli ripped his arm out of Balin's grip and rose, limping to his crutches and leaving the room as quickly as he was able. Kíli rose from his seat as well.

"Kíli," said Thorin. "Sit."

With an incredulous look at his uncle, Kíli sat heavily in his seat, his heart pounding. Fíli was gone, and the room was dead silent. Fighting for an appearance of normality in front of the others, Kíli picked up his wine glass and took a sip, but he could not stop the wave of frustration that crashed over him. Before he could stop himself, he threw his glass, and it shattered against the far wall, red dripping down the green marble.

Nobody else moved. Kíli fumed, staring down at the table. The silence grew heavy like a fog from the South.

"Let him go, Thorin," said Dáin, his voice softer now. He turned his apologetic gaze to Kíli. "I didn't realize what ye lads meant—that it was a serious thing. Tell him I didn't mean to rile him up, will ye?"

"Thank you, Dáin," Kíli said softly. He looked from Dáin to Thorin, waiting for permission to leave, and Thorin sighed and nodded. Immediately, Kíli rose, nearly knocking his chair over, and bolted out of the dining room. Fíli was still visible far down the long corridor; as Kíli ran to catch up, Fíli stumbled and crashed into the wall. Instead of regaining his footing, Fíli leaned heavily into it and dropped his crutches, sliding to the floor with his head in his hands. Kíli knelt down beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder, but Fíli pulled out of Kíli's grip.

"It's just me, Fíli," he said, but Fíli did not look up. Instead, he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and took a tearful breath. Kíli tentatively reached out for his shoulder again, and this time, Fíli did not pull away.

"Dáin says he's sorry," Kíli said. "He didn't… he didn't realize."

Fíli let out a huff and bowed his head even lower; his right leg slid down flat against the floor, the plaster clunking against the marble. Kíli looked left and right down the corridor. No one was here now, but that didn't mean that nobody was nearby.

"We can't stay here," he said. "Come on, let's get to your room. No one will bother you there."

Fíli nodded and held out shaking hands, and Kíli pulled him up, making sure that he was balanced against the wall before reaching down for his crutches. They slowly made their way towards Fíli's chambers in silence; when they got inside, Kíli took Fíli's crutches, and Fíli sat down on the bed with a strained groan, pressing a hand against his side where the crutch had rubbed against him.

Kíli sighed and studied his brother carefully. Though Fíli was clearly attempting to look as if he were fine, his eyes were half-lidded, and his hands had not stopped shaking. Kíli's hand drifted into his pocket, where the jar of powder sat waiting. Now was the time, he supposed.

"Fíli," he said, "I… I went to see the Elves today."

Fíli cast his brother a suspicious glance, and Kíli swallowed. He had seen that same look on the shores of the Long Lake, when he had given his runestone to Tauriel—the one that now sat in his pocket—and Fíli and Bofur and Óin all waited on him to start on their way to Erebor and see if their kin were still alive.

"It was after what Thorin and Óin did," he explained. "I didn't want them to do that to you again, and I thought the Elves might have something we don't that could help you—something to help you sleep. And they did."

Fíli's eyes grew wide as betrayal swept over his countenance, and Kíli's heart dropped. He pulled his hand from his pocket and put both hands in the air.

"I won't make you do anything," he said quickly. "I promise, I won't. But listen, please, Fíli. It's different than a sleeping draught. It won't make you sleep—it just stops bad dreams. So you can rest without seeing… well, whatever it is you're dreaming about. That's what Tauriel said."

Fíli still looked dubious, especially after the mention of Tauriel's name. Kíli rolled his eyes and sighed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out both the jar and the runestone.

"First of all, here is the runestone I gave her," he said. "She gave it back." He swallowed before a lump could develop in his throat and shoved the stone back into his pocket. "And here is the medicine she gave me for you. We just put a spoonful in water and you drink it. She said it might make you a little… loose in the limbs, maybe a little disoriented, but it will ease your sleep. You want to sleep, don't you? Peacefully?"

Sighing, Fíli eyed the jar; Kíli could see the desire in his eyes, but he knew that his brother would never completely trust the Elves, even after Tauriel had saved both of their lives. She was an exception to the typical Elf, but even so, she was a hindrance to Kíli. Fíli had never said as much, but his actions had made that clear.

"Do you want to try it?" he said impatiently, wishing once again that Fíli would just talk. "If it makes you feel better, I'll stay with you—make sure it's working, wake you up if it's not."

After a few moments of thought, Fíli finally assented with a dismissive wave. Kíli fought to hide a victorious grin.

"All right, well, do you want to try it now?" he said.

Fíli's previous distrustful look rose again, this time tinged with panic. Kíli frowned.

"I said I'd stay with you," he said. "You don't have to be afraid. I know you're tired, Fee—please just try this. You know you're feeling worse. We can all see it. You need to rest, and if this can help, why delay it?"

Though he still looked unsure, Fíli nodded. Kíli set down the jar and set off to fetch a cup of water and a spoon. Fíli had changed into bedclothes when he returned and was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. He yawned and looked up at his little brother.

"All right, let's try this," Kíli mumbled, opening the jar. He dropped a spoonful of powder into the water; it swirled and disappeared, leaving the water slightly cloudy, but there was no odor. Better than one of Óin's already. He handed the cup to Fíli; his brother stared at the concoction for a moment and then took a careful sip.

"You're probably supposed to drink all of it," Kíli said, giving his brother a cheeky grin.

Fíli shot him a disgruntled look and drank some more. Kíli pulled over a chair and sat by the bedside, waiting; he wished he could make conversation, but it would only be one-sided. Instead, he sat in silence. Fíli finished drinking and handed the cup to Kíli, who set it on the bedside table. Fíli slid under his covers and waited, staring out into nothing; already there was an obvious change in his demeanor. His eyes seemed glassy, and his gaze was distant—not that it was often focused these days. At first, he seemed content, but as the silent minutes passed, that look soon faded away.

To Kíli's dismay, a look of fear was rising in Fíli's eyes: the same look he had when Kíli had found him alone and confused on the level below Azog at Ravenhill—where the pale orc had dropped him after Bilbo's expertly-aimed rock. The same look that had continued when Kíli dragged him to a safe place and fought to defend him. It had remained on Fíli's face even when Kíli and Tauriel had carried him to safety, when the healers had tried to set his leg, all the way up to the point when an Elf had come with something—Kíli did not know what it was—to sedate him. It was a blind panic, unaware of what was going on or if it was safe.

Suddenly Kíli realized how stupid he had been. With everything that had happened, why would Fíli feel safe if his faculties were impaired? He reached out to take Fíli's hand and squeezed, hoping the physical touch would comfort him. Fíli squeezed back, but the fear did not leave his eyes. He slowly started to shake his head, his gaze latching onto Kíli's desperately. Suddenly he pushed his free hand into the mattress and sat up. Kíli let go of his hand and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him back down.

"Whoa, it's all right," he said. "Tauriel said it would make you feel funny, but you're fine. I promise. Rest now. You're safe."

Fíli pushed himself up again, only to be pushed back down by Kíli. A frightened, high sound left his lips; Kíli could not tell if it was simply a gasp or if his brother was saying the word no. He let go, and Fíli sat up, leaning back against the headboard and shaking his head. Kíli hopped up onto the bed and sat next to his brother, and Fíli turned his head loosely in his direction, leaning into him suddenly, as if he had forgotten how to sit upright.

"It will work, Fíli," Kíli said. "I know you don't trust them—the Elves—but look what Tauriel did for my leg… and she gave me this medicine. I'm sure you won't have nightmares if you just let yourself fall asleep. You know you need to."

Fíli nodded, wavering from side to side, but he did not lie back down. His hands lay limply in his lap. Tauriel was right—it really did make it difficult to control movement. What was the point of taking it if you weren't about to sleep?

"Fee, lie down," Kíli said. "I'll be right here. I promise."

Fíli still looked afraid, but he cast Kíli a trusting glance and slid back down, resting his head against his pillow. Kíli moved back to his chair and sat waiting. At first, Fíli kept forcing his eyes open, though they were clearly trying to close on their own. But after a while, Fíli's resolve to stay awake melted away, and his eyes opened less and less; finally, they stayed closed, and Fíli's breathing became slow and steady, his face peaceful.

Kíli's heart ached. He was confident that the medicine would work—Elves were supposed to be wise, after all, and they were usually quite old, which must have given them plenty of time to perfect their medicines. But he hated that it had come to this to get his brother to agree to sleep. He took his slumbering brother's hand and sighed sadly.

Whatever measures they had to take were fine by him. Fíli would get better now. He had to. And maybe, in time, he would speak.


So I'm gonna edit a couple things about previous chapters to make them a little more in-line with the movie now that I've seen it. That's a thing that will happen. Also, Race Against Time books are ALMOST ready... I had a test copy printed today and the cover was off-center, which was disappointing because it took twice as long as I expected and I was late for work. But whatever, we'll get there. The cover looks REALLY AWESOME, by the way. My wonderful friend Lili drew it (lilisrandomstuff on tumblr, lilis-gallery on dA), and if you look at Race Against Time on this site, you can at least see the front cover. The back is absolutely fabulous as well.

Reviews are most welcome and appreciated! Angry rants about BotFA are NOT welcome, nor will they be appreciated!