/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT II

-The Lost Kin-

Chapter 21

The Regrets of Royal Blood

"You need to talk to Kíli."

Thorin paused in the act of trying to adjust the clothes he had been given to sit in a way that did not make him feel like he was drowning in them to turn and stare at the hobbit now darkening his doorway. Bilbo's stance was bold and unmoving, his arms folded across his chest, and Thorin recognized the look in his eyes as one of stark determination. He almost smiled at the sight, such a drastic change from the flustered halfling whose home they had invaded on Gandalf's bidding, but the words Bilbo had uttered were enough to keep the expression from ever forming.

"I mean to, Master Baggins," he replied honestly. "But conversation takes two willing participants, and, for the moment, Kíli seems intent on avoiding me. If he does not want to forgive me I fear there is little I can do to change his mind." He lowered his eyes then, shame making it impossible to hold Bilbo's gaze as he murmured, "He has every right to never wish to speak to me again."

Bilbo made a noise that sounded as an odd mixture of frustration and outright exasperation, and Thorin did not need to lift his eyes to know the Company's burglar had thrown his hands into the air.

"You are an idiot," the halfling told him bluntly, and Thorin did his best not to take offense at what was stated as nothing less than fact. Bilbo had more than earned the right to speak freely in his presence, and Thorin truly did not have any grounds to argue at present. "This isn't about Kíli forgiving you. It has never been about that, because he doesn't blame you, and he never did. For any of it. He thinks it was his fault he got banished. He thinks he betrayed you, and he's avoiding you because he's afraid you haven't forgiven him."

"What?" For a moment he simply stared at the hobbit, sure Bilbo was not serious, but there was nothing besides sincerity in the halfling's features. Still, Thorin's mind denied the possibility, both internally and out loud. "He can't possibly believe he is at fault for what happened."

"Apparently he can, and does," Bilbo retorted. "He won't listen to anyone else, so it's going to have to come from you."

"But I already…" he trailed off, the vivid recollection of the last time he had seen his youngest nephew before he and Fíli were taken springing to the forefront of his mind. Kíli had been dying then, broken and beaten and losing far too much blood, yet he had spent what could very well have been his last breaths begging for forgiveness. Thorin had granted it, knowing even as he did so that there was nothing for which Kíli needed to plead pardon, but it was what his nephew had needed to hear at the time. What he still needed to hear if Bilbo was speaking the truth, though the very fact Kíli thought any portion of the blame could be laid upon his shoulders was incomprehensible to Thorin. He had been prepared for anger, for the bitterness and resentment and even the hatred his actions could have invoked, but for Kíli to turn on himself? To carry guilt that should have been no one's burden but Thorin's? That he had not foreseen, though a part of him knew he should have. Kíli had always been more ready to see fault in himself than any other, particularly where his family was concerned, and it seemed that trait had only been amplified during the present dilemma.

"You need to talk to Kíli," Bilbo said again, and Thorin nodded numbly in response.

"Where is he?" he asked softly, aware that Bilbo seemed to have made it his own personal mission to keep track of every last one of them.

"With Fíli," was the expected response. "Should I come with you?"

"To control the carnage?" Thorin cast the Company's burglar a fond, if muted, smile. "No, Master Baggins, I believe this is a matter that needs to be dealt with only between us."

"Alright," Bilbo conceded, but there was note of uneasiness to his voice, so Thorin waited, certain the halfling had more to say. He was not disappointed, and it was only a few seconds later that Bilbo spoke again, "Just… Just be gentle, would you? He's been through a lot."

"And was fortunate indeed to have you with him through it all," Thorin answered steadily, whilst inwardly marvelling at the hobbit's loyalty. He was glad, suddenly, that it had been Bilbo who rode forth with Kíli, the little, insignificant hobbit who was likely the bravest and noblest of them all. "Truly, the debt my family owes you is one we shall never be able to repay."

"Don't be absurd," answered Bilbo with a dismissive wave of one hand. "You don't owe me anything besides getting better and making it back to Erebor in one piece. If I am able to see that I shall be more than satisfied."

"Then I will endeavour to make sure it happens," Thorin promised. "But, for now, I have another debt to pay."

~The Heart of Erebor~

Kíli's elbow slipped off the arm of the chair and he startled awake, jerking his chin up from where it had been resting in his palm and gazing wildly about his surroundings. Nothing had changed since he drifted off, the fire in the hearth still crackling merrily away, the book he had been given to pass the time resting open on his knee, and his brother still lying upon the bed against which his left foot was propped, the sound of his even, steady breaths one Kíli would never tire off. Even so it took his heart a few minutes to cease its frantic racing, the aftermath of dreams he could not truly remember, save that they had been dark and dreadful. He had suffered the same in Erebor, and now that he was no longer on the road they had returned to haunt him once more.

Sighing, he raised a hand to scrub at his eyes, scowling at the ornate embroidery that ordained his sleeve. The rangers had offered to provide clothing to replace his ruined garments, but anything they had on hand was an ill fit, so Kíli had opted instead to wear the formal raiment Dain had given to him prior to the Council in Erebor. By some miracle Gandalf had managed not to lose Kíli's few belongings during their adventures beneath Gundabad, a fact for which Kíli was immensely grateful, for more valuable things than his clothing had been packed within his satchel, but he would have preferred it had his change of clothes not been quite so ostentatious. He had felt out of place wearing them in Erebor, but here, in such humble surrounds, he felt nothing less than pretentious.

Fíli would no doubt find the whole situation hilarious, if he ever decided to wake up.

Twelve hours of ceaseless waiting at his brother's bedside had yielded nothing new, however, and, whilst Nárran assured him at every hourly check that Fíli was making progress, Kíli could not see it. His brother was showing more bandage than skin at present, his arms and torso both freshly wrapped with some form of sweet smelling salve underneath the dressings. His leg, expertly splinted and bound, was a shapeless mound beneath the single blanket covering him from the waist down, whilst his face was currently contesting with his pillow for the purest shade of white. That was, of course, only where it wasn't a mass of dark bruises and red scrapes. He looked like what he was; injured, ill, and weak, and Kíli was tired of seeing it. He wanted his brother's face to shift into an expression other than lax stillness. He wanted to see that spark of mischief duty had barely abated in Fíli's eyes. He wanted to speak with his brother, to talk to the confidante he had been without for far too long. But wanting it had not hastened the speed of the elder prince's recovery, and Kíli was left to practice patience he had never possessed in any great abundance.

Bilbo had kept him company for most of the morning, bringing him breakfast, insisting he ate it, and then just filling the silence with tales Kíli barely listened to, letting the words drift about him in a soothing buzz that prevented any of the thoughts he did not wish to entertain from forming. But the hobbit had left some hours before to see how Thorin was faring, and Kíli had been left alone in the silence ever since. A silence he was swiftly coming to hate.

The quiet allowed him time to think, time for thoughts he had not had a chance to confront on the road to swarm to the forefront of his mind, and to his distress the large majority of those thoughts revolved around that crisp morning above the gates of Erebor, and all that had been said upon the wall. Thorin's words that day had been irremovably burned upon his mind, 'cast out' and 'exiled' brands seared into his memory, and the anger he had seen on his uncle's face in that moment a sight he would never forget. He had incited that rage through treachery, and it had been treachery, no matter what any of his companions believed. Thorin had not abandoned Thror even when the gold sickness had taken his grandfather, but Kíli had not shown the same loyalty.

He had betrayed Thorin to save Fíli, and in doing so had almost lost them both.

It had been sheer chance that had placed him in a position to be able to come to Thorin's rescue on the battlefield, and he did not even want to consider what a large collection of luck and unexpected occurrences of good fortune had led to him being able to rescue them both. There was so much that could have gone wrong, so many times when he could have failed, and those possibilities, even now that they would never come to be, were enough to put a tremor in his hands. There was still one, though, one way through which his family might yet be ripped away from him, and it was that possibility that haunted his every waking second, and made him fear the inevitable moment when Thorin would step through the door to this small sanctuary and pronounce his judgment.

Balin had spoken of forgiveness, he knew, but he did not remember any of that. He did not remember anything but the absolute fury that had twisted Thorin's features into such an expression as he had never seen before, and the glint of morning sunlight on steel as a blade was raised ready to end him for his wrongdoings. His mind would not believe that forgiveness could come in the wake of such ire, not from Thorin, who never forgave and never forgot. Dain was proof that it was not simply elves who possessed the ability to earn the dwarf lord's lifelong enmity, and, if Dain had not been forgiven for a lesser crime, then what hope did Kíli have? He did not want to lose his brother, through death or his own exile, but the choice was not his to make, and he feared that the one who held that right would sooner send him away than listen to a single word he spoke.

Which was why he whirled when the door swung open, the book sliding from his knee to land on the ground with a loud 'thud' that pierced the stillness, his grip on the arm of his chair so tight the wood creaked beneath his fingers. He could not stop the sense of panic that sent his heart thudding rapidly in his chest once more. That stilled his tongue when he knew he should be speaking. That left him seated and staring in terror as he awaited the stroke of doom.

~The Heart of Erebor~

Thorin acknowledged the trepidation on his youngest nephew's face with a regret that ran deeper than the Mithril veins of Moria. Kíli was afraid, not of orcs or trolls or wargs, but of him. Of deeds he had done and words he had said and might yet say. Words with the power to do as much damage as any blade.

"Kíli…"

The truth was he did not know what to say. How to even begin to make amends for what he had done. To repair the rift he had opened between them. The way he had treated Bilbo alone had been bad enough, but Kíli was family, and Thorin had threatened to end his life. He had taken everything in those few brief moments on the wall, and some things, he knew, he would never be able to give back.

"How is he?" he asked at last, choosing Fíli as the neutral ground between them. It did nothing to set Kíli at ease, the young archer still wound as tensely as the string on his bow, though it at least garnered him some form of response.

"Sleeping," Kíli said. "Narran said he might wake soon."

It was good news, an outcome he had not dared to hope for when Bolg had them in his grasp, and which would never have come to be were it not for the bravery and determination of his youngest nephew, who had quite literally risked life and limb to come to their rescue. He was not blind to the signs of injury that adorned the young dwarf's frame, the most obvious of those the bindings holding his right arm still against his chest, peering out beneath the surprisingly fine coat that was currently hanging loosely around Kíli's shoulders. Thorin frowned slightly as he took note of the embroidered material, his awareness expanding to take in the whole of his nephew's appearance, before he uttered what was quite possibly the most random question to have ever escaped his lips.

"What are you wearing?"

The words surprised the younger dwarf enough that Kíli's head lifted slightly, his eyes tracing the pattern on his sleeve in seeming confusion, before he shrugged. "It was a gift," he murmured. "From Dain."

"It suits you well," Thorin commented, a hundred different messages hidden in those words, none of which reached their intended target, for Kíli was already closing himself off again, bracing for the worst and unwilling to listen to anything that might precede it.

Thorin was not Balin. He did not have his old friend's gift for words, and often used actions in their place. His family knew this well enough, and it was with that thought in mind that he strode forward, taking advantage of Kíli's downcast gaze, for his nephew did not realize how close he was until it was too late, and Thorin had already extended his hand to finger the tangled locks framing the younger dwarf's face.

"Your hair is a mess," he stated simply, in answer to the startled, almost wild glance his actions earned him. "Where is your clasp?"

"I..." Kíli frowned pensively, wrong-footed by the tame subject matter and searching for the right memories to provide the answer Thorin sought. Thorin saw clearly the moment when he found them, his eyes darkening and growing distant as he bit his lip. "Bolg took it from me."

"I see."

He remembered now how that same clasp had been tossed at his feet in jeering mockery as Bolg threatened to torment his youngest nephew before his eyes, but did not realize how condemning those two words sounded until Kíli's face fell, the archer's head ducking quickly to hide his pain. The clasp had been his mother's, just as Fíli's once belonged to Frerin. The third part of the set was Thorin's own, though he no longer wore it in his hair. It was a cherished heirloom, and a grievous loss, but if Kíli thought he would blame him for having misplaced the relic then he had fallen far further in his sister-son's eyes than he would have thought possible. Reaching out again, he gave the dark locks adorning the younger dwarf's head a gentle tug, pulling Kíli from whatever thoughts he had retreated to examine.

"Turn around," he commanded gently.

Clearly confused, Kíli nonetheless acted on his ingrained instinct to obey his uncle's commands, sitting rigidly still as Thorin worked the worst of the knots from his hair with practiced ease. He then proceeded to braid it, just a single plait down the back of Kíli's head, before reaching for the cord that hung about his neck. How Bolg had not espied it and robbed him of it was a mystery, and one he was not of a mind to solve. Carefully working the clip free of its chain he placed it where his sister's had once sat in her son's hair. Kíli stiffened the moment he felt the extra weight, raising a hand to touch the clasp, before turning to look over his shoulder at his uncle with a look that was both tentatively hopeful and sharply wary.

"The emblem of the House of Thráin should be worn by his kin," Thorin answered his unspoken question. "I have never regretted a moment of my life more than that where I denied you your place as my sister-son. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, Kíli, so I will not. Know only that I am sorry, that I would give every last coin in that accursed mountain for the chance to undo what has been done."

It was undoubtedly the furthest thing from what Kíli had been expecting, and Thorin watched, waiting, as a myriad of emotions swept across his nephew's visage. There was disbelief there, born of remembered grief and pain, the self-same hurt he had inflicted, and it manifested in words that did nothing but add to the wealth of regret he was already feeling.

"No," Kíli said at last, shaking his head slightly as he struggled to comprehend what he had been told. "It was my fault. I stole…"

Thorin silenced that train of thought with a look. "Nothing that has happened has been your fault, Kíli. Not a single thing, and I will not allow you to bear the blame for any of it. I wronged you, and nothing you did then or since can change that, or lessen the remorse I now feel. Do you understand that?"

"The Arkenstone..." Kíli began falteringly.

"Was not worth losing you."

And he meant that. Meant every word. He had been bewitched by the mountain's treasure, cast beneath the same foul spell as his grandfather, and it would have driven him to destroy the most precious thing in his life all for the sake of a stone. For that was all the Arkenstone was, in the end. Beautiful and priceless, but still just a stone that's worth dwindled to nothing when weighed against the value of his kin. He could have lost them. He could have lost them both through no one's fault but his own, and that knowledge had shaken him to his very core.

The young dwarf frowned, unconvinced. "But I..."

"You forget that I was there when Thror lost himself to the sickness, Kíli," Thorin interrupted again, gently, for this was a nightmare they now shared, even if the outcome had been vastly different this time around. "I know what it is like to watch."

Kíli blinked sharply, and Thorin could almost see the haunting memory playing out behind the archer's dark eyes, as it had in his own so many times before. He had so desperately wanted to spare Fíli and Kíli that same burden, but instead he had inflicted it, and he could not take it back no matter how dearly he wished to.

"I'm sorry that I took it," Kíli whispered at last, struggling to hold Thorin's gaze. "I know what it meant to you."

"More than it should have," he retorted sharply. "The day I hold a family heirloom, Arkenstone or not, in a place of more value then my own kin..." He shook his head again. "I should never have raised my hand against you, Kíli. No matter your actions, such punishment was undeserved. I hate to think what might have happened had Gandalf not been there."

In truth, the possibility all but haunted him, Before the wizard had spoken he had had every intention of bringing his blade down, of ending Kíli's life then and there. He would have spilled the blood of his own kin in the halls of his home, and only once the deed was done would he have returned to his senses. It was a nightmare he would not soon forget, and he shuddered at the very thought.

Kíli noticed the motion, a frown forming on his face as he raised a hand, stopping just short of making contact. "Uncle..."

Thorin smiled, and Kíli broke off, visibly uncertain.

"I was beginning to fear you would never call me by that again," he explained softly, only to watch a shadow return to his nephew's expression.

"You told me I no longer could."

"I know." And what he would not give to have never said those condemning words. To have never seen the devastation that all but tore the younger prince apart. "But my words above the front gate that ill fated morning were no more my own than my actions. You know this, I hope?"

"Balin said you had revoked them," Kíli answered without answering, doubt evident in every word.

"And you did not believe him?" Thorin guessed.

"I did not know what to believe," Kíli admitted, his composure cracking as the weight of all that had happened suddenly came crashing down upon him. Thorin had known it was coming, had expected it, and still found it no easier to watch. "I woke after the battle to the news you were both gone and that I was the new heir. They said you were dead. Dead. I was so afraid that it would be too late. That we would find nothing but… nothing but…"

Thorin had seen enough, and it was instinct to reach forward, to enfold his nephew in his arms and crush the youth against his chest in a fierce embrace. Kíli did not resist his hold, trembling fit to simply fall apart, and Thorin shifted to place one hand between his nephew's shoulder blades, the other resting on the back of his head, gently but firmly keeping him in place. He did not at first realize Kíli was still speaking, the young dwarf's voice muffled against his shoulder, but when the words did reach him they all but undid him.

"Please don't send me away. I can't… Not… Please don't send me away."

"I'm not sending you away, Kíli." It was more than a promise, it was an oath, made to himself and his nephew and anyone he could trust to hold him to it and never, never allow it to be broken. "Never again."

Kíli did not accept the words at face value, expressing a lack of faith Thorin could not blame him for, not when he had been the cause of its occurrence.

"Not even if I've robbed you of your throne?" the archer asked tremulously, the words falling from his lips like water over stone, and Thorin stiffened, fearing the implications of that question, but his voice remained compassionate.

"Not even then," he promised, and breathed a silent sigh of relief as some of the tension drained from the young dwarf's frame. There was still a tremor there, though, the aftershock of all that happened, and something that still needed to be addressed. With that thought in mind he spoke again, his words an open offer to air all that had not yet been said. "Tell me what happened in Erebor."

~The Heart of Erebor~

"Tell me what happened in Erebor," Thorin said.

Intending to obey, Kíli attempted to pull back, but found his uncle's arms to be unmoving. Realizing he was going to have to stay where he was until the elder dwarf saw fit to release him, Kíli took a deep breath and began. He told Thorin of what he had seen of the battle, of the hard won victory the united peoples had achieved. He told of the restoration already underway in Erebor, and the masons at work in the ruins of Dale. He told all, and yet he told nothing, and Thorin was far too perceptive not to notice.

"I hear a great deal of Dain and the others in all this," he stated plainly. "What of you? What part did you have to play?"

That of the maddened survivor, Kíli thought bitterly. The exiled Heir of Durin who allowed grief to take him and others to shoulder burdens that should have been his. He had shamed his family with his selfish actions, and he could not think of a single contribution he had made that would satisfy his King.

"I..." Perhaps it was a mercy that he was pressed against Thorin's chest. That way he would not have to see the disappointment in his eyes. "I did nothing. What was accomplished was done without me."

"And yet you are here," Thorin observed pensively. "And Fíli and I both have your presence to thank for our lives."

"Bilbo helped," Kíli reminded him subduedly. "And Gandalf. And others, too. Without them we would all be dead."

"Indeed," Thorin's interest was clear, but he did not press for details. "And what of the rest of the Company? Where are Dwalin and Balin? Where are the others? Why did they not come?"

"They... they couldn't," he stammered, groping for an adequate response. "They had work to do in Erebor and…"

"You have never been overly good at deceiving me," Thorin interjected, finally allowing Kíli room to pull back so that their gazes met, though the older dwarf's hands retained a grasp on his arms just above the elbow.

Unable to hold Thorin's stare, Kíli lowered his own to the floor.

"Kíli." Thorin's tone was still gentle, but there was a familiar, sharp edge that he knew better than to ignore. "I would have the truth."

"They…" The words choked him, and he struggled to retain his composure as he recalled how he had begged and pleaded all for naught. "They would not come. They said you were dead, you and Fíli both, and that the fallen should be allowed to rest in peace. They said…"

They said he had taken leave of his senses. That grief had brought upon him the madness that had taken so many of his bloodline. That he was a hysterical child unfit to rule and unwilling to accept the truth. The words had held no sway over him then, his resolve so complete the bodies of his dead kin could not have convinced him to abandon his quest, but recalled now they stung. Stung terribly, and he could not tell Thorin the shame he had brought upon the family name.

"And you did not agree?" Thorin ignored his momentary lapse.

"I knew you were not dead," he answered fiercely. "I knew, and I could not just leave you."

Thorin smiled at him, though there was sadness in his expression as well.

"Loyalty," he quoted softly. "Honour. A willing heart. You have all three in abundance, my nephew, and I could not be more proud."

The words were a balm to the ragged wound in his heart, but he could not so easily accept them as truth. Not when Thorin had not yet heard all that happened. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Thorin was swifter.

"And do not tell me to wait until I have heard the tale in full," he said sternly. "Whatever happened, Kíli, whatever you did to try and save us will not change anything. You are an heir of the line of Durin and my nephew, and that will never change."

"Then…" he hesitated, then forged on. "Then I should tell you that you may not yet have a kingdom to rule. Dain governs Erebor now as its rightful king because I… I revoked my claim."

Thorin gazed at him in silence for a long moment, digesting that knowledge, and Kíli waited, tense again in readiness for the expected anger, only to receive a single, gentle word instead. "Why?"

"Because I did not want it," he answered in low and desperate tones. "Because it was not mine. Because I thought you were dead and yet I knew that you were not. Because I thought I was mad. Or dead. Or both. I do not know."

"You were beside yourself, Kíli." Thorin's hold on him tightened slightly, a reassuring squeeze, and Kíli took comfort in the grounding contact even as he feared it would still be taken away. "You were forced to watch something that nearly destroyed the people of Erebor seize a hold of all your companions. Your attempts to save them were perceived as treachery, and you almost died for a king more than undeserving of your loyalty. You were grievously wounded and deeply grieved, and yet you still managed to believe in Fíli and I, and yourself. You came a long way to save us both, at great cost to yourself. Muddled your mind may have been, but not by madness."

Kíli swallowed sharply, ducking his head. "I was afraid," he confessed, but did not elaborate. Thorin could guess well enough on his own.

"I gave you every reason to be. If my reaction to the Arkenstone was so terrible, what would I do when told Erebor could be denied to us? I am sorry I ever gave you reason to think such thoughts."

Kíli nodded, but could not stop himself from asking the question lingering foremost in his thoughts.

"Why are you not angry?" he whispered, searching Thorin's face for some sign of what he had expected to find there all along, yet could detect no trace of. Thorin did not answer at once, his expression considering, his words, when they did come, thoughtful.

"Perhaps because I never thought I would see Erebor again. I expected death when I marched into that battle, and more so when Bolg took us both." He hesitated, then added more, "Or maybe it is because I am beginning to realize what a danger Erebor poses to me. I lost myself to its treasures once, if I return there to rule, it could easily happen again."

It was a disturbing thought, and one Kíli did his best not to dwell on. Thorin was here, alive, comparatively well, and free of the curse. He wanted only to be grateful for that, not to fear that every promise that had just been made to him might still be broken when they returned to their reclaimed home.

"But I think," Thorin continued, breaking through his reverie. "That, more than anything, it is because I have come to realize a home, no matter how grand, is worth nothing at all when you have no family to fill it."

~The Heart of Erebor~

Fíli awoke in pain.

This was, in his considered opinion, a great deal better than not waking up at all. And he had been almost certain he wouldn't. When those jagged teeth closed about his limb and did not let go he had been so convinced he was going to die. To wake, then, was wholly unexpected, and more than a little uncomfortable, but welcome regardless, even if his mind and body did not seem entirely in accord on that last thought. He groaned as he surfaced, hyper aware of every last, agonizing muscle in his body, then paused as a familiar voice addressed him in tentative welcome.

"Fi?"

That… he knew that voice. That was Kíli. But it couldn't be. It couldn't be Kíli because Kíli was not here and safe and his little brother was not going to be Bolg's next plaything. That thought drove him onwards with all the momentum of a careening horse, and he opened his eyes long before they were ready for such an adjustment, his momentum stuttering and failing as he abruptly realized 'here' was not where 'here' had been before.

"Fíli?"

His brother's voice was still cautious, probing, and so he convinced his unwilling neck muscles to turn his head, and blinked in somewhat bewildered surprise as Kíli all but fell out of his chair.

"You're awake!" Kíli exclaimed as he crashed to his knees at Fíli's bedside, one hand raised as though to grasp a hold of his brother, though it never made it quite that far, lingering instead just shy of touching. "You're awake, you're awake!"

Even in his half-aware state Fíli recognized the note of hysteria in those words, the almost crazed relief in his brother's eyes, and knew that whatever had passed in the time he had been unconscious had surely been the cause of that look. He needed to know where he was. He needed to know what had happened. To himself and to his brother. He needed to find out where his uncle was. He needed… he needed… he needed to know why Kíli was wearing a set of clothes that looked like they belonged in nothing less than a royal setting.

"Kíli." He was thirsty, and it was a struggle to get the words out, but he was determined. "What… what in Durin's name… are you… are you wearing?"

Kíli's laugh was one of wild abandon as he hurled himself forward onto Fíli's chest, one arm wrapping around the prone dwarf as he buried his face in his elder brother's shoulder. The jostling caused by the motion aroused a dozen aches Fíli had been quite happily ignoring, but he simply gritted his teeth and bore pain that was undoubtedly being dulled by some form of medication at present, more concerned by the fact he could feel the tremors wracking his sibling's frame, the leftover remnants of a fear he knew all too well.

"I'm alright, Ki." He was soon to be drifting again, he could already feel exhaustion rising to claim him, but he managed to raise one arm in defiance to the weariness that seemed to have come hand and hand with his pain, weakly returning Kíli's one-armed embrace. "I'm alright."