Oin had gathered the supplies he needed and then stood and braced himself against the table, looking warily from Fili to Thorin.

"I can't bear to put him through a cauterization – I fear the shock alone could kill him. That and the wound is too large – burning that amount of flesh would just cause infection."

Fili felt his stomach flop at the words "burned flesh," as he knew it would be Kili's flesh that would suffer. And yet he steadied himself when Kili's hand found its way around his own – seeking comfort as he tried desperately to steel himself for the further onslaught of pain.

Oin sighed, a pang of guilt hitting him in the chest as he witnessed the effects his words had on the boys. Thorin's face however, remained as impassable as the mountains, for he had seen much war in his lifetime.

"So a pack and seal?" questioned their leader, to which Oin nodded.

"Aye Thorin I shall pack the wound with a poultice, apply some stitching, and then wrap it tight. After a few changes of the dressings, we can re-stitch if necessary. The poultice will do wonders," assured Oin, looking to the brothers and trying to smile the best he could, "but unfortunately it will be painful for it contains salt to stave off infection."

Kili sighed and bit his lip anticipating the horrible sting, and Fili grimaced, undoubtedly feeling the sting already simply from the sheer empathy and connection that he shared with his brother.

Oin looked at Kili, a look of sincere apology written all over his face. "Lad, I do apologize but I must secure your legs for this once more."

"But Oin, we just got him…!"

"And Oin doesn't want to get kicked in the head by a flailing limb. Do not argue Fili – and do not forget where we are! Time is of the essence," snapped Thorin, who promptly put an end to Fili's protests. Oin, sighed, and set about to securing Kili's ankles to the table once gain. The youngest Durin was trying his best not to panic yet again, and lay with his eyes closed, breathing through his nose.

Poor lad, thought Oin, not for just the pain, but the humiliation of having an audience! Good graces, what a poor job it is to be a healer at times such as these.

Once Kili's legs were secure, Oin made a motion to indicate that he would leave the boy's hands lose so that he could grip his brother's hands, although he would perhaps regret this later, assuming Fili could end up with a crushed hand in need of tending.

"Uncle Thorin, would you prefer to help Bilbo? Thranduil is strong – what is he wakes?" pleaded Kili, a slight hint of panic to his voice which he was attempting to mask with his usual humour.

Thorin looked to Thranduil on the floor, and then back down to his nephew, his body shaking from shock, smattered in blood, and almost entirely naked. It then dawned upon him why Kili had made the odd request.

Thorin sighed. "Because Kili – I fear I would be of no assistance to Thranduil, as I would currently like nothing more than to put my boot through the side of his head," growled Thorin. "No, I shall let his son attend to him – I know not of herbs and such magic. But I have seen many soldiers wounded in my day – my place is standing right here."

Kili's breath hitched in his throat, and his eyes welled up with unshed tears. "Thank-you Uncle, I am just….embarrased to be seen so weak in front of my King," stammered Kili. And at that moment, with Kili looking up to Thorin with his massive brown eyes, and Fili looking to his Uncle for a response, having completely understood what his brother was meaning to say, Oin could have sworn that the boys were in their twenties again. And Thorin must have caught a glimpse of it as well, for something in the stone fortress of his face crumbled as he looked upon his youngest nephew.

"One must never be embarrassed to seek aid in tending the wounds of battle. You and Fili are warriors, and war does not come without its share of pain – I know this all too well. No, there is no shame for you to have here – only pride, for I am proud of you," said Thorin, with a stoicism that one could only get from a royal lineage.

"Besides, I may be your King – but I am also your Uncle. You forget lad, how you first greeted me in this world," muttered Thorin, shooting a sly look at Fili who immediately started to laugh.

Kili looked confused, and had momentarily forget that Oin was examining his leg wound. "What? What did I do?"

Thorin sighed and smiled, shaking his head.

"You peed on him! All over his new council robe!" laughed Fili, almost falling off his chair.

Kili looked horrified – but couldn't help but smile a little.

"Aye Kili, a wee screaming babe – the first time I held you, and that is what you did to your dear Uncle. So really you have already done the most embarrassing thing possible – nothing can top that, and this doesn't come close," noted Thorin, motioning to the table. It was so rare to see the King being candid with his nephews, but Oin's movements to his side soon had him snapped back to the role of leader, and he turned abruptly to Kili, which immediately wiped any traces of mirth from Fili's features, and replaced them with a look of dread for what was now to come.

Thorin looked eyes with Kili, and gave him a nod as if to rally his strength for one last battle.

The King under the Mountain then gently placed his leather belt in Kili's mouth, which the youngster hesitantly accepted. "Bite down on this. We don't need you swallowing your tongue."

Oin considered giving the boy a countdown, but opted against it. In his many years of healing, he saw that countdowns caused more anxiety than anything else. And so, without any notice other than some unspoken words with Thorin, Oin began to pack the wound with poultice, pushing the foul smelling mixture in to the gouges of the wound. Kili was fighting with everything he had to control himself, but his body was all but arcing off the table – a guttural scream tearing from his throat and strangled behind the belt in his mouth. Fili was crouched over his face, whispering to his brother, who now had tears streaming down for his eyes as Oin continued to work.

With the wound packed, and looking perhaps even more gruesome than when he had started, Oin begin to stitch, and this fin ally had Kili almost over the edge.

"Hold my hands, Ki! Hold my hands, almost done!" Fili pleaded, the pain evident in his face from Kili's death grip around both his hands. Kili's eyes were practically rolled back in his head at one point, and his breathing was dangerously reaching the point of hyperventilation. Thorin noted this as well, and placed both of his large hands on Kili's naked chest, pressing him down to the table, allowing Oin to work a little better. And poor Kili, well he went from strangles sobs, to low growls, to trying to plead with Fili. His ordeal was nothing short of torture from the very depths of Mordor, and it was getting to everyone.

"Oin, for pity's sake!" snarled Thorin, imploring Oin to hurry his work, although he knew full-well that it would make no difference.

Oin only nodded and bit his lip until he tasted blood, and continued to work fervently on Kili's wound. It was only on the second last stitch that Aule answered the healer's prayers and took Kili into blissful unconsciousness. His shaking frame slumped down into the table, and gave Fili quite a fright, but Thorin was quick to reassure him that Kili was only unconscious from the pain, and that it was a blessing in disguise.

As Oin finished wrapping and cleaning the thigh-wound, Kili's chest was like a hummingbird's, rising and falling with short, pained breaths. But that too, eventually slowed, partly because Fili, the dedicated and loyal older brother that he always was, had never stopped stroking Kili's hair and brushing the feverish sweat from his brow. Even far away, in hidden halls of his mind, Kili would know that Fili was there, for so great was there bond.

But not a moment's peace was to be had, because before Oin could even grab some extra dressings, a terrible ruckus erupted from the center of the ward. Bilbo had fallen backwards from where he was kneeling besides Thranduil, and Legolas was desperately trying to hold Thranduil down, who was making the most horrible noises. The King of Mirkwood looked wild-eyed and panicked as he coughed and gagged. Black ooze spewed forth from his mouth, and trailed down his chin like slick oil.

"Breathe Adar! Breathe through your nose!" shouted Legolas, imploring his father to cooperate. Thorin rushed to Legolas's side, and had Thranduil gripped by one of his shoulders, undoubtedly fearing that the King would get loose and wreak even more havoc. And Thranduil, amidst his gagging and coughing forth of the vile black blood that filled his gullet, looked upon Thorin not with anger and horror, but with eyes of pure shock, as if seeing him for the first time in centuries!

Now Oin was also standing with them, looking over Legolas's shoulder.

"Aye the ballybloom is working – look at the poison he spits forth!", cried Oin as he pointed to the small black puddle that had formed besides Thranduil, the contents of which were still dripping from his mouth. And the ooze, or whatever vile scum the King had brought up, did not flow into the floor drain – it crawled. Much to the horror of all in the ward, the puddle began to slink its way towards the floor drain, undoubtedly trying to escape back to the evil bowels from which is came.

"My word! It is moving! What is that!?" cried Bilbo, scuttling further backwards.

"Dark magic Master Baggins…darker than the pits of Mordor," whispered Legolas, his face lined with pain as he knelt still clutching his father's trembling form. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Thranduil stopped coughing and gagging on the black phlegm, and sank back into his son's lap, absolutely spent and exhausted. At that very brink of consciousness, Thranduil lolled his head to the side so he could better see his son.

"Legolas? My son…" croaked Thranduil, his throat undoubtedly raw from the violent effects of the ballybloom. And this time, there was no malice in his voice – no disdain, and Legolas's relief was evident as the Prince let his shoulder finally relax as his father lost his fight to consciousness.

All was once again silent in the ward for what seemed like a lifetimes. Spirits had been tested and pushed to their limits, but not broken – and the company herein was absolutely exhausted. Bilbo rubbed his dirty hands on his face, trying to rouse himself from the compelling temptation of sleeping right where he sat. He then heard a few grumblings from behind him, as Bofur began to finally wake.

Everyone, save Fili who was still stroking his unconscious brother's hair, turned to see Bofur prop himself up by his elbows, his chest still bare and bloody from the arrow-removal, but otherwise, the bandages held well. The toymaker winced at the movement, but stayed sitting up, and rubbed his weary eyes, looking about the ward in confusion at all the stark faces that now looked upon him.

"So," muttered Bofur, "…..what did I miss?"

And after the horror of their entire ordeal, and no doubt the fight that still lay before them, Bilbo found his smile in spite of it all.

Thanks for being so patient with me guys - I am trying the best I can to type with a busted hand! Thanks for all the follows, faves, reviews and love! I notice it ALL and it always makes me smile! :)

-Mzz