Confounded thieving Muses! One minute they both abandon me, the next moment the Original Muse steals the chocolate covered coffee beans from Mini-muse and types up one more unanticipated chapter! Wasn't Kili supposed to either wake up or be dead by this time...?

I so need a vacation.


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No words were needed to apprehend whimsical glints of hope. The bleak acceptance in Thorin's guarded expression was evidence enough that he would think twice before surrendering himself to a notion that was impossible. Hope was slipping like molten glass through a cracked mold, and neither supplications nor bribery would sway the shadow's call.

Thorin paused at the door and rested his fist on the water stained oak. He was not prepared for this. He had trained himself to be ready for any crisis; war, death, epidemics ... Never had he entertained the possibility that one day he might lose one of his nephews. The thought had been too dire to consider and he had put it out of his mind.

No child was intended to die before their elders. No father should be expected to bury his son.

The day before had started like any other and Thori nwas at a loss to how could it have ended in tragedy. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against his fist, recalling every detail which had led up to that night.

He'd had a few errands to run in town; instructions for one of the new workers in the forges, the retrieval of a badger's hide that Fili had sent to the tanner's to be cured, a lengthy discussion with Balin over the recent trouble with Men in the town, a few odd supplies which Dis had requested, and the inspection and purchase of a trio of throwing knives he intended for Kili to put to good use.

Thorin had in no wise forgotten his nephew's birthday. How could he lose track when during every waking minute of the past week he had been hounded by his sister glowering at him across the table, or hissing in his ear that he had so many days before he faced the ultimatum of her wrath for his negligence, or lecturing him the minute he set foot outside the door to see to it he was home before dark instead of early the next morning. No, he had been given no opportunity for the occasion to slip his mind, and Thorin had succeeded admirably in finishing his tasks and returning by early afternoon.

By the time he had walked through the door the house was sparkling and Dis was in a royal fit. Fili and Kili were nowhere to be seen, and when Dis had gone into explicit detail how the morning had progressed Thorin was led to the assumption that Fili had caught up to his brother along the road and they had lingered in town together.

The steady rain swiftly deteriorated into a torrent, however, and Dis' worry increased by the hour. As much as he reasoned that a delay was reasonable given the weather, Thorin found himself pacing every time his mind began to wander. When evening began to tint the clouds he could wait no longer.

Three search parties of two Dwarves each were all that Thorin could muster to assist him in the bleak tempest. A brief inquiry among their own people revealed no sign of Fili or Kili, and Thorin trusted that his nephews had upheld enough common sense to remain in the village to wait out the storm.

He wished he had paid closer attention to his sister's intuition.

Thorin could remember the moment he found Kili and Fili as starkly as if he were still reliving that night. He could still hear the wrenching, forlorn wail that led him and Dwalin to leave their original course and follow the cry's echo until they found his nephews huddled together in the mire. He could taste the dread he felt upon seeing Kili's inert body, unable to fathom the possibility that they might be too late.

He had not experienced this manner of sinking dread since Feanor had been slain. He spied his nephews an instant before Dwalin and uttered only a harsh bark of warning before racing ahead. His feet sloshed in the spreading lake and the icy waters hindered his movement, but Thorin did not register the slowing of his pace. The sole focus of his mind was the drenched, crumpled forms of his sister's sons.

Terror rose up inside of him in a wave of adrenaline, clearing his mind with the sharpness of a blade even as his reasoning hazed with furious denial. Though Fili's back was to him, Thorin could see the wracking shudders coursing through his frame. There was no doubt in his mind whom his nephew mourned for. Crimson misted his vision and Thorin defied the whispered foreboding that warned him to prepare for a tragedy he would not accept.

Without further consideration he pushed Fili aside, too overcome with the need to assure himself that Kili was still breathing to pay closer attention to the erratic state of his other nephew. He did not anticipate a fight, however, and was caught off guard when a fist slammed into his jaw and dumped him backwards into the water.

Fili was shouting incoherently, sobs breaking his words as he held Kili tighter as though to protect him from further harm. Thorin glanced to Dwalin and nodded once. As the larger Dwarf grasped Fili under the arms and held him immobile Thorin scrambled to his knees and pulled Kili into his arms. Fili struggled like a wild animal in Dwalin's grip, kicking out and catching Thorin in the knee as he garbled nonsense and cried for his brother to be returned to him.

"Fili! Control yourself!" Thorin shouted, using the only measure he knew to bring the situation under control. "We are trying to help you!"

Instantly Fili slumped in Dwalin's hold, but whether it was from fear or the revelation that it was his family he fought against Thorin did take the time to decipher. Anxiously he prodded for the vein in Kili's neck, frozen in alarm until he felt a faint, slow beat against his fingertips. Kili's skin was icy to the touch, and if he breathed at all it was too faint to visibly recognize. Exchanging a horrified glance with Dwalin, Thorin whipped off his coat and wrapped it around his youngest nephew, scooping him up as though he were no more than a child of eighteen summers.

A glance towards Fili caused a hand to close around his throat as he realized he was as likely to lose the elder as the younger. As Fili's head dipped onto his chest Thorin screamed for him to remain conscious, breaking his nephew out of his stupor in the only way he knew how.

"Fili!" he shouted the moment Fili blinked awake, "Enough of this childish behavior!"

His words were harsh and Thorin would not defend himself otherwise. In this moment nothing mattered save getting both his nephews home alive, and he feared that the Kili's chances were rapidly dwindling.

"Dwalin, get him up and keep him moving!"

There was no time for dawdling and Thorin did not hesitate long enough to ensure Dwalin was following him. Against the raging storm he strode on, the passion of his fervency outmatching that of the tempest as shrieking gusts of wind barraged him and the rain cascaded sideways in lancing pellets of sleet.

Kili lay as still as though he had already passed beyond Middle Earth's borders. Hues of shadowing bruises contrasted starkly with his pale features and only the urgency of his nephews' plight kept Thorin from dumping Kili into Dwalin's care and hunting down those who had harmed him at once. The cold had no effect on him now, for rage boiled in Thorin's veins until he thought he could murder with his gaze alone. Both his nephews were injured, one barely conscious and the other…

He no longer knew if Kili even breathed. Cradled in his arms like a sickly child, Kili had not so much as shivered since Thorin had found him. He knew well the effects of hypothermia, and Thorin refused to consider the likelihood that the cold alone might claim his nephew before they returned.

The familiarity of this scenario struck him with aching nostalgia. Often in times past he had carried a much younger Kili home, Fili trotting along close at his side. Usually this took place after the rowdy child had a tumble, or wandered too far and was lost, or was too ill and had to be carried straight to Oin's infirmary, or was too tired from his adventures to walk home on his two feet. More often than not, however, Kili was happy just to have someone holding him and assuring him he was loved. He would crawl into Thorin's chair and curl up under his arm, promising "To be vewy quiet an' not bothowsome" ... until he decided that Thorin's scroll would make excellent drawing paper or fancied some other form of mischief.

Memories barraged him of similar occasions and Thorin forced them down, clenching his jaw against the whispering doubts which plagued him with uncertainty as he purposefully lengthening his stride. He would not allow this night to end in tragedy, no matter what manner of logic screamed that there was little chance. He would bring them home to Dis alive, and he defied any who would reason otherwise.

Peals of thunder roiled like war drums, following dazzling bursts of white light that outlined each individual blade of grass. The clouds scorned him and Thorin looked to the sky and cursed the rains which strove relentlessly to drown the land. His cloak no longer provided any form of dry shelter nor warmth for his nephew. Water once more trickled down Kili's frozen cheeks and collected rainwater streamed in rivulets from his sodden clothes. What little time they had was swiftly dwindling, and every moment that passed was emblazoned into Thorin's mind with excruciating clarity.

He would forget, if he could, the agonizing trek home. The taunting voice of realism mocked the futility of Thorin's efforts with every flash of lightning that illuminated Kili's slack features. Ever more the terrible dread rose inside of him; that he was hastening only to return the body of his nephew for a proper burial. Memories of Frerin and of his sister's husband bombarded him and Thorin shouted his outrage to the storm. He would not lose another this night. He would see to it that Kili lived, and he would not fail his sister.

Mahal help them, they had all suffered too much grief already. He would not permit another loss to scar his sister forever. He would bring both of her boys safely home.

...

Thorin would not accept that death was imminent not after Kili had lingered on the brink for so long and stubbornly refused to let go. His nephew was a fighter; he would not give in until life was ripped shred by shred from his clenched fingers. This quiet passing was surely a dream that Oin had conjured, for in Thorin's memory no heir of the line of Durin had experienced so peaceful a slip into eternity. They died as warriors; heroes slain in battle or overcome by the aftermath of their wounds.

This was not the end; Thorin refused to allow it. He had sought his nephews out in the storm, watched them struggle to cling to life, and done everything within his power to ensure their survival; he would not only to stand by helplessly as they wasted away before his eyes.

The fire rekindled in his gaze and Thorin squared his shoulders, his expression grim and determined as he grasped the door handle to push it back.

The barrier was flung open before he could move. Dis stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and furtive as she looked straight through Thorin, frantically seeking another.

"Oin, I need you in here! Hurry!"

...

Before the healer could respond Thorin barged past his sister, striding forward like a man possessed until he dropped to his knees by Kili's head. Oin hurried after him with practiced surety, already assuming the worst.

He had never been so delighted to admit he was wrong.

Dazed, murky dark eyes blinked slowly in the dim light of the candles and a wince of discomfort creased the bruised forehead. Oin drew in a sharp, quiet breath, relief mingled with surprise as he hastened to assess his patient, motioning for Thorin to clear the way. He received a grunt and a fierce glower in response to his intrusion, and Oin might have protested the recent impolite treatment of healers had it not been for the unbridled joy shining in Thorin's eyes as he turned back to Kili and gently stroked the matted hair away from his nephew's face.

Kili watched the proceedings with uncertainty, aware of his surroundings yet unable to share in the relief. His gaze flitted from Thorin to Dis and back to Thorin again, searching the room for that one presence he longed for most. Split and dry lips could not form the name, but it did not take a wizard to surmise his desire.

"Fili is not hear, darling," Dis whispered, tears glimmering in her eyes despite her tired relief. "He is resting. You will see him as soon as you are well enough."

Kili struggled to respond, only for panic to light in his eyes. His throat convulsed spasmodically as he attempted to swallow, fear and pain lancing across his gaze as he frantically looked to Thorin and Dis for answers.

"Oin!" Dis barked, whirling to face the healer even as Thorin leapt to his feet and braced his hands against Kili's shoulders. A breathless whine escaped Kili and he kicked out and writhed under Thorin's grasp, his eyes roving in frenzied anguish as he searched agitatedly for something he could not name.

The fever-driven desire was not unanticipated on Oin's part; he had already prepared a remedy for that very reason should Kili awaken. It was violent reaction that gave him cause for alarm. The agony from his struggles must have encompassed Kili as he bucked like a wild animal against Thorin's cautious restraint, yet the fevered prince paid his injuries no heed. It proved the body's desperate need for the life-sustaining liquid that had been denied for too long; Kili had already reached a dangerous stage of dehydration. Oin knew the next few hours would be miserable for the lad, and pity rose up inside him as he hastened forward with a small dosage of medicine that would only be considered a droplet in the well of the boy's thirst.

Wrenching his jaw open despite the stiff and swollen muscles, Kili threw himself towards the cup in Oin's hand. Herb-steeped water trickled out the corner of his mouth as he gulped down the meager offering, gasping and choking against the burn of his sore throat even as he panted for more. Wretched eyes pleaded with Oin and the healer's heart was rent in two as he was forced to deny the simple request.

"Not yet," he whispered to Thorin as the Dwarf looked to him with mingled horror and accusation. "Too much at once will kill him; give him a few moments to hold this down."

A harsh whine was torn from Kili at the refusal and he sought out Dis instead. She crumbled in an instant and swerved to face Oin, silently begging that he relent and cease tormenting her son. He could only shake his head in remorse and repeat his orders. Kili let out a strangled cry and thrashed against Thorin's hold, his right hand scrabbling at the covers as he fought to escape the torture as his body screamed for water.

Oin found himself counting the seconds and he finally ignored his own healer's creed, pouring a second dosage after half the space of time he should have taken to ensure Kili's body would not reject the first. Kili's swollen tongue darted out to lap the corner of his lips in anticipation and he lurched to meet the cup halfway, spilling half the dosage in his fervency and yearning for more.

"Give it time," Oin grunted between clenched teeth, forcing himself to remain impassive to the lad's cries as Kili's thirst roared up within him like a dry riverbed devouring the first sprinklings of rain after a severe drought.

The prince deserved none of this heartless treatment, but it was cruelly necessary. Too much water after prolonged dehydration would kill him as surely as the lack thereof. Such was the extent of Kili's injuries that Oin had not expected him to ever open his eyes again, and he would not take further chances.

They were in for a battle, for no triumph could be won over so dire an illness without a battle. Against all odds Kili had tenaciously held on, clawing his way back to life with that stubborn, rebellious streak that had so often frustrated Dis to no end. Now it was their turn; they would fight for him when Kili's strength failed him, carrying him through until death claimed him or Aulë granted them mercy. Now that they at last had a fleeting chance, Oin would not let it slip from his fingers.

He would not allow the boy to die this night. By whatever means necessary, no matter how agonizing they might be, he would find a way to save him.


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Yes, all my wonderful readers who are so generous in their food donations and reviews: you may keep your poor, battered Prince of Durin for a little while longer. Maybe or maybe not until the end of the story, but …. Well, a little longer at least. XD

'Sigh' I was sorely tempted to turn this into a deathfic and leave my reviewers in tears. Alas, the Oroginal Muse loves the idea but the Mini-muse scorns it. Seeing as we need a tie-breaker, I prefer NOT to have my reviewers kill me.

So make sure and leave a review - I will be hiding behind a 'DON'T KILL THE AUTHOR' sign while the Original Muse reads through them. Seeing as the Original Muse has officially decided the next course of the story ... well, just don't disappoint it, okay? ;D