**Author's note: some of the references to Fili, Lady An, their children, and Kili are inspired by all the really outstanding fan art I've seen on artist's blogs. If you want to see some of my inspiration, I've posted a board on Pinterest (with artists cited) in case you'd like to check it out!

Apparently Fanfic won't add a URL in a doc, so just google "summer alden pinterest" and you'll find it.

(And don't worry, Summer Alden is an alias. Not my real name.)

Hope you enjoy Chapter Ten...Thanks for all your support!**

Ten

It took longer to get things rolling on the western terrace than Fili would have liked, but he couldn't fault how hard the mining crew worked at it.

Old Bofur and Bombur had brought their best engineers, who took one look at the snowy slope and started sketching plans for an ore cart on an iron track powered by counter weight inside the mountain. The wind could gust all it wanted and the cart and track would remain steady. They would even assemble the track on runners inside and slide the whole apparatus out, somewhat like launching a raft. Fili approved, and miners swarmed over the construction like busy ants.

Meanwhile, the storm raged on and the darkness of night turned to the dull gray of a stormy morning. Still, the wind would have to quiet before the ravens would be seen again, so Fili remained focused on task one—which was to find his brother.

Two hours later, Fili was all too eager to hop inside the mine cart and ride down the hillside, though he had conceded that two others should go first for safety. He forbade them to look for Kili, however, on the premise that they might disturb tracking signs.

"Might be a bit of a jolt at the bottom," Bofur said, tossing a heavy coil of rope over the lap of his King and friend. "But good luck."

Fili gripped the old miner's hand in thanks, then double checked the contents of the bag strapped to his side. Herbs, a pan, food, and clean cloths. On the other side, a canvas bag with a half dozen sticks of oil-soaked kindling.

He nodded to Bofur that he was ready.

With a clang, the brake released and the cart rolled heavily down the steep track and indeed there was a bit of a jolt at the end, throwing Fili a few inches forward as it jerked to a stop. Two burly dwarves helped him out at the bottom.

"Where to, my Lord?" one of them shouted over the wind. Fili handed them one end of the heavy rope to anchor firmly to the cart and raised a hand to say they should stay put.

Fili was a master at tracking—he'd been doing it all his life to find game, thieves, orcs and, of course, his little brother. It took only minutes for him to make his first circuit of the immediate area and discover the small rock cairn, nearly obliterated with snow.

This was Kili's marker—set in the way he always used. Fili played out his safety rope and moved parallel to the mountainside until he found the second marker about ten steps away.

After that, it didn't take long for the stones to lead him straight to the old guard house.

"Kili!" he shouted, hoping he could be heard over the howling wind. He stomped his way through an open foyer, tying the end of his safety rope to a handrail. He would need that to guide him back to the cart.

Once inside, he could see an inner chamber lit by the dim orange light of embers and he pushed forward, sliding the snow hood off his face.

He did not expect to hear the ring of steel or see the half-undressed dwarf medic pointing his brother's sword at him.

But he admired her instinct.

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm just here to help my brother."

The lassie's eyes went wide as she realized she had just drawn steel on her King.

But Fili didn't have time for apologies. There, twisting in the mussed blankets in front of a dying fire lay his very sick brother. One look and he could see Kili was in the throes of the poison, dangerously fevered and shivering in unspeakable pain.

He dropped the load of firewood in front of the lass, who dropped the sword and crouched before him, bowed in horror.

"Build up the fire," he said, ignoring her shock. "Quickly, now." He stripped off the bag at his side, then threw off his snow jacket and gloves, already caked in ice. "Good," he said, spotting the little kettle. "You've already got hot water."

Nÿr's cold hands fumbled with the bundle of kindling, breaking it apart and turning to quickly add two, then three of the treated logs to their guttering fire. It flared quickly, bringing immediate warmth to the little room.

Next to her, her King (she could barely believe it was really him) was bending down to kiss his brother's forehead.

"Kili," she heard him murmur. "Kili? Brother?"

Her friend (lover?) had been unresponsive for the last few hours and said nothing now, either.

But instead of cursing her for her poor care of his brother, her King was quietly rummaging through his bag for a handful of herbs.

"The hot water, please," he said, gesturing for her to hand him the kettle.

Nÿr hastened to help. The King had said please.

And what he was doing now was not something she's ever learned from the healers. She watched, fascinated, hardly daring to hope.

The King pulled a small, flat pan from his pack, poured the hot water in, and then lightly crushed the herbs in his bare hands.

As she watched, he closed his eyes and started a low throated chant in Khuzdul, almost like the first part of an ancient song. Then he cast the herbs on the water and waved a hand through the steam, dispersing the scent of something wholly unfamiliar to her—yet surprisingly heady.

It brought to mind clover on the sunny hillsides of Ered Luin and the smell of fresh raw honey.

As if catching the scent, Kili's head turned slightly toward the steam and his shivering slowly stopped, his body relaxing.

"Kili!" her King called to his brother as if issuing a command.

And this time, Kili's eyes slitted open and his brows furrowed in puzzlement as he looked at his brother's face with an expression at once sweet and confused.

"Fee…?" his voice was husky from the fever. A momentary shiver returned, then stopped. He moved a hand, and Fili grabbed it, clutching it as if he could make his brother strong again through sheer force of will.

"I'm here, Kili. I'm taking you home. Just hang on."

Kili's head moved a little in what Nÿr took as a nod. "Fee…"

And Fili went to work in earnest, grabbing clean cloths from his bag and dipping them in the strongly scented water. He bathed his brother's face, then motioned for Nÿr to uncover his leg and expose the angry scar just above the knee. He wet another cloth and pressed it to the old wound, nodding for Nÿr to take up the task.

They kept at it until Kili's breathing evened out. He looked spent, but a little of his color had returned and the scar, oddly enough, was looking less angry and more like an ordinary old wound.

"I think he's asleep, my lord," Nÿr whispered. "I think you've done it."

Fili looked at her, his handsome face showing worry and strain. "No. The athelas did it. I was just the pack horse." He glanced at her, then seemed to take in the half dressed tumble of things in the little room. He said nothing but reached out, drawing her into a warm embrace.

"Thank you for staying with him."

She felt like breaking into tears or dying of shame (he had to know what they'd been up to), but she banished both thoughts. "I tried to help him, but I've not seen this kind of thing before. He was fine…" she shook her head, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Right up until the moment that he wasn't fine? Believe me, I know." Fili sighed and let her go.

"But what is it? I've never seen the like."

Fili looked sad. "Nor will you again, Mahal willing. It's Morgul poison, from an orc arrow some eighty years ago. We almost lost him then until a warrior used a handful of this," he nodded at the herb, "to bring him back."

"This is Kingsfoil?" she asked. And then she guessed which warrior must have done the healing.

He nodded. "We were so relieved…he was alive. Back to himself in less than a day, in fact. But what we didn't know then was that a Morgul wound never really heals. The poison hides in the blood and comes back, same time every year, for the rest of your life. It's a curse, really. Short of killing you, it makes your life hell."

"This happens to him...every year?" Nÿr could hardly fathom such a thing.

Fili nodded, then frowned. "Well, not this exactly. Some years are worse than others." He touched his brother's forehead again. "When the dark lord fell, we thought the poison would be gone. That he would be free." Fili's expression was faraway. "But this is one of the worst relapses he's had."

They were quiet, listening to Kili's even breathing. "I must swear you to secrecy on this," Fili said, turning to lock eyes with her. "There are very few of us who know. Had the dark lord ever realized it, he would have used Kili against us, turned him into a wraith…or worse." He looked immensely sad then, and Nÿr could see the toll these years had taken on him. "For this reason we've kept Kili close to Erebor. He's hated it sometimes, but the mountain protects him." The King's eyes were moist with sorrow. "And now the free peoples have prevailed over Sauron, and yet my brother is not healed."

Nÿr felt her King's pain like an arrow to the heart, and she realized no one really understood the price paid by the Sons of Durin in order to secure the northern lands.

And something about that hardened her resolve at the tragic unfairness of it all.

"You have my discretion, my lord," she said. "And my oath as a healer to always keep confidence and to help all I can." She looked at Fili and saw him nod.

"How can I help now?" she asked.

Fili, surprisingly, found a touch of humor in her question.

"Well, first of all," he said. "You can find your clothes and get properly dressed in the presence of your King."

Nÿr thought she would sink into the ground with sheer embarrassment.

But when their eyes met, his smile was gentle, and she felt a touch of very fond approval in the way he raised an amused eyebrow at her.