A/N: This is an apology.

The authors have seriously considered feedback from valued readers, and have decided to revise previously posted chapters with the intent of making the story less grief-heavy and more pleasant to read. As important as it is to explore themes of death and grief in a safe environment, we hadn't before considered the effect of the whole story, and realize now that the narrative has become unbalanced toward grief and misfortune.

With this in mind, we have removed the death of the youngest Durin, and will proceed with more mindful and positive intent from that point.

Revised chapters to be posted in upcoming weeks.

Thank you for your dedication and input.

Thirty Six

Kíli wasn't sure what to think when an elf approached and offered a small white envelope to him. It had been so long since he'd heard from anyone outside the Valley that he was beginning to think that maybe the world outside had just stopped existing. Hesitantly, he took the envelope.

"Who's it from?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't know," replied the elf with a faint smile. "I didn't read it."

Kíli found himself filled, alternately, with curiosity and dread. The news could be anything - could be word of his uncle's death. Or Billa's. Or a report of Saruman's triumph.

Instead, it was a simple note, in neat, flowing script. Gwínir had reached Mirkwood safely. Little else, save a brief report of a narrow escape. Roving bands - orcs and men - were evidently lying in wait, harrying any and all they could along the road. Saruman's bidding, no doubt.

Kíli looked up, lowering the letter, slightly confused.

"Why was this brought to me? Surely Lord Elrond would more appropriate."

His answer was an eloquent shrug. "The messenger specified that it was for you and your companion." The elf made a gesture at dwarf height, then corrected himself. "The Lady Ori."

Hearing Ori referred to as "Lady" was still somewhat amusing to Kíli. He looked down at the letter to hide a smile, and noticed a rougher scrap of paper on the floor near his feet. He picked it up and unfolded it - a note from Dori, written in hasty, spiky runes. He and the group from Ered Luin, who had passed by Rivendell without stopping, were well on their way, and would arrive at Erebor before the snows set in. He had included a warning to Ori not to worry about them. The rest was more of the same. Orcs and men, brigands and thieves, a caravan of Men rescued along the way.

Kíli folded the note once more, tucking it into Gwínir's envelope.

"Thank-you." He gave a quick bow, bobbing the letter indicatively. A strange feeling of dread settled within him, odd considering the neutrality of the news. It was a peculiar pinching feeling he couldn't shake, like the barest hint of actual physical pain.

"You'll excuse me," he said, stepping away. Tauriel would be glad of the news, at least. And Ori would certainly cherish the note from her brother.

Thoughts of a hot bath and a lie-down momentarily distracted him, and he questioned the impulse. If he was anxious, stewing alone with his fears was the last thing he'd resort to.

Tauriel was where he'd left her, sitting cross-legged on the lawn near the guest chambers, her back against a spreading oak. Cradled in her arms, their tiny boy slept soundly, curling and uncurling his chubby little fingers. Small yellow-white bubbles gurgled from one side of his mouth, a testament to a recent, and evidently very satisfying meal. Ori sat nearby, cradling the other sleeping infant and reading. Both looked up at Kíli's approach, though only Tauriel seemed to immediately sense he'd had news.

The dwarf dutifully relayed it, voice hushed so as not to wake the babes. Discussion afterward was subdued for the same reason. Ori read Dori's letter and blinked away tears of relief. Silence returned, and Kíli settled beside his wife, leaning into her side.

Contentment, for a time. Moments like this could not be tainted by the doom of armies far away and the fates of kingdoms and thrones. The kiss of the breeze rustled the leaves overhead, carrying with it the fragrance of the Valley - water and light and agelessness, soft earth, thick grass, and day-lilies. He knew he didn't deserve it; Tauriel would've said he was a fool for thinking in such terms. He leaned in, pressing his lips to her cheek. She laughed softly, turning to nuzzle him best she could without moving too much.

Ori looked up, giggling behind the letter.

"You two," she whispered, shaking her head in playful admonishment.

"You don't have to watch," teased Kíli, grinning as he put an arm around his wife, careful not to jostle their son. The phrase still held a measure of wonder for him, every time he thought it. Their son. He looked at the infant, the soft fuzz of his hair, the peace in his face. The dwarf almost didn't notice the way his vision blurred, and rubbed his eyes to clear them. The motion didn't seem to help.

Distracted, Kíli shook his head and blinked hard. He could feel Tauriel's attention shift toward him before she spoke, her voice low and concerned.

"Are you alright?"

Kíli nodded automatically, not wanting to alarm her. "I'm fine." Perhaps he was tired, or on the cusp of some minor ailment; he'd felt something like nausea after reading the letter. A vague sense of dread, a heaviness he still couldn't explain.

Tauriel's concern was not eased. She studied his face carefully, tension pervading her previously placid features.

Kíli felt a certain sense of guilt at having been the one to dispel the happy mood, the reason her smile had all but vanished.

"It's nothing, Tauriel. Honestly." He waved a hand, forcing a cheeky grin he knew she'd never believe. It was worth a try anyway. "Just tired. A night's rest, and I'll be good as new."

"I can walk with you to the room," she offered quietly, and Kíli watched her concerned eyes blur and refocus in front of him. The more he felt of this - whatever it was - the less he liked it. The heaviness descended gradually into his gut, and he shook his head again, though whether in answer to her question or to clear his mind, he wasn't sure.

"I don't think..." He shook his head again, feeling disoriented and a little dizzy. "Okay. I guess it wouldn't hurt anything to lie down for a bit."

He saw Tauriel turn her head and assumed she was trading looks with Ori.

"Ori, can you keep an eye on the twins for a minute? I'll be back once Kíli's settled."

The dwarrowdam agreed, carefully taking the sleeping infant from his mother.

Kíli climbed the small flight of steps with difficulty, disoriented and weak. This didn't make sense. He'd been fine a scant half-hour before.

Tauriel, evidently sensing his suddenly fragile state, took his shoulder supportively.

"Almost there, my love. I'll prepare a bath for you."

Kíli nodded mutely, struggling to hide just how difficult it currently was to keep his balance. His head felt hot, but his fingers were cold and pale. He squinted at them hard, but it was too difficult now to bring them into focus.

"T- Tauriel," he said softly, bracing himself in the doorway of their room. "I don't... I think maybe I'll just rest." He wanted a bath, but had a suspicion he wouldn't be able to stay awake for it. Or upright, if his head continued to spin so.

These words, as he knew they must, seemed to worry her all the more. Kíli saw, in the pale blur of her face, Tauriel's dark eyebrows draw together, and her gentle hands took his elbows once more, supporting him. He sensed that she might say something, but the elleth was silent as she helped him to the bed. His footing was uncertain as they crossed the open space, and if she couldn't feel his dizzy swaying then she was blinding herself to it.

"Rest, Kíli. I will go find Lord Elrond-"

"No!" Kíli sat up. Or he meant to. The room spun sickeningly around him and he felt clammy sweat break out across his face as his gut churned almost painfully. "I'll be fine, Tauri." He tried to sound convincing, but even in his own ears, the dwarf's voice sounded frighteningly weak. What was happening? Why now? And why here, in the House of Healing? It made no sense.

The look with which Tauriel fixed him was all too familiar; she would not be prevailed upon.

"This is not natural, my love." Her tone was gentle, but firm. "Lie down, or risk my extreme displeasure."

Kíli had little defense when she put it that way, and at the moment, he was liable to fall backward with or without his own consent. The elleth tucked him under the blankets, sweeping his fringe back from his forehead. Her fingers felt cool against his skin.

"You're feverish."

Kíli swallowed, working not to crease his brow, despite the pain. It no longer seemed isolated to any particular part of him. Fever and chills. Ache and nausea. His mam would've told him to bear it without complaint; dwarves were hardy, and kept on amidst what other races couldn't endure. A passing illness, that was all. He mustn't make too much of it.

"Just a night's rest, love," he murmured, shutting his eyes. "I'll be fine in the morning. You'll see."

He suspected she wouldn't believe him. When he opened his eyes again, he knew he'd been right. The light had changed. How long he had slept, he wasn't sure. Everything seemed dim, but overhead, he could see a smear of black above a pale face, and to his right, a smear of red.

He tried to speak, but his throat clenched around the words, and he coughed weakly instead. A cool hand passed over his brow, leaving a trail of dampness that felt icy against his skin.

"What is it that ails him, my lord?" Tauriel's voice, oddly distant in his ears.

"I don't know." The deeper, soothing tones of Lord Elrond. Someone pressed a cup to his lips and Kíli drank, swallowing what he could in spite of the fire in his throat.

"This is unlike anything I've encountered before." Elrond's words seemed very far away, but Kíli squinted, thinking they were only just above him. Was there something wrong with his ears, now?

"It just doesn't feel... natural." Tauriel again. "It came on so suddenly. I don't understand."

A sigh. Kíli could sense, in some distant, detached way, how the elf lord was troubled by his own powerlessness.

"He worsens rapidly, my lady. I believe... its true nature may be as you also have guessed. If so, he may be beyond our help."

The grave pronouncement didn't initially register, but when it did, Kíli felt, rather than vehement denial or disbelief, a level numbness setting in. Panic and self-preservation instincts required energy and effort he simply didn't possess. Maybe that was for the best.

"T- Tauriel," he murmured, vaguely surprised at the exertion such a simple task as speaking required.

The blurs that were his wife and Lord Elrond still refused to come into focus, much as he wished they would.

The cool hand returned, this time wrapping firmly about his hand. His sense of touch, at least, seemed unhindered. He could feel her slender fingers, still strong and sure, stroking the back of his hand from wrist to knuckles. It felt nice.

"I'm here, melleth nin." It might have been whatever was affecting his hearing, but Tauriel's voice sounded thick, as though with tears. He didn't think that was the case. Tauriel was strong. He had only seen her shed tears... twice? That sounded right. But maybe it was only once.

Knowing he didn't have the energy for many words, he sorted through what to say. In a way, he didn't really believe this could be the end. On the other hand, was it worth the risk to lose his chance to say goodbye?

"You worry too much." Not exactly what he'd meant to say, but it felt right.

There was a sound like a sob, quickly subdued. Poor Tauriel. She'd be left alone to care for their children. He couldn't allow that. They were still so young, so vulnerable.

He had to make it - for her, for the twins. He'd be going contrary to everything he believed if he didn't fight harder. He couldn't leave like this.

"I'll see he is made comfortable, Lady Tauriel." Elrond. Quiet. Resigned.

Kíli forced away the despair threatening to drown him. The pain was fading, for which he figured he had Elrond to thank. But the weakness... he just didn't have the strength he knew he required. It had all but vanished.

"Please... don't." That was all he could manage, for now. It meant many things, things he couldn't convey as he desperately wanted to.

Don't give up on me.

He wasn't ready. He couldn't leave them. If he did, it might be the last time he ever saw them, saw her. Tauriel, his One. She who walks in starlight.

But she was an elf, and he a dwarf. Across the Great Divide, there were no guarantees. They might not be reunited in the end. This bolstered his resolve, made him half-desperate.

Please don't give up on me.

A muffled voice, further away than the others, spoke from somewhere beyond Tauriel. The door, he thought. He couldn't catch the words, but he could hear Tauriel's reply, still thick with emotion.

"I'll be there in a moment, Ori." Something about the twins, maybe. Kíli thought of them, of Tauriel, and tried to fix the wild determination in his mind. He wouldn't leave them. He refused.

"Don't leave without me," she whispered in his ear, and pressed a kiss to his temple before she stood. If Elrond heard her plea, he didn't comment. Tauriel laid his hand gently on his breast, stroked it once more, then released him, moving out of his limited field of vision.

I'll do my best, love. The promise tightened in his chest, determination in spite of the weakness threatening to steal all his desire for life.

The room was very quiet, or his hearing was simply fading away. He might've been shivering, but couldn't be sure. His limbs were cold and numb, his breathing shallow. He felt Elrond shifting his pillows, tucking his blankets.

Maybe he would go soon to his library, find a cure for the malady in some long-forgotten tome. But that seemed to Kíli a desperate hope, like falling slowly and clutching at snapping roots along the way.

"If you've the will, Master Kíli, fight as long as you can. You are needed here."

Kíli didn't think he had the strength to speak. The previous effort had left him drained and weak, but he mustered enough determination to nod slightly. He understood, and he wanted Elrond to know he wasn't going to give in.

With the pain lessened, it was easy to slip back into sleep again. He woke periodically to drink, but could take no food. Tauriel was there, more often than not. Elrond's voice pierced his daze several times. When Kíli opened his eyes to complete blackness, he thought at first it must be night. But he felt a shadow pass across his face, and heard Tauriel's voice, faint in his ears.

"How do you feel?" There was hope in her tone, he thought. Her hand rested on his shoulder, and he noted that it no longer felt chill against his skin. The fever, he reasoned, had broken, though the pain still lurked in every bone and joint, and he felt weaker than ever.

Kíli blinked several times, trying to clear his vision, but the darkness stayed stubbornly where it was, and he could see nothing.

He raised a hand. Reached out to her. Or at least, he meant to. The command issued, but his limbs refused to obey.

"I do not think he can see you." Elrond's voice again. Grave, but calm. Perhaps he was wary of clinging to false hope. "He may not be aware of his surroundings."

"He knows I'm here," the elleth protested. "I'm sure of it."

Kíli tried harder, ordered his hand to lift, his arm to extend. The best he could manage was a faint twitch of his fingers, which he could feel against his stomach, where his hands were folded. Tauriel must have seen the movement, for her long fingers laced between his and lifted his hand. He felt her lips press against his knuckles.

"I'm here, Kee. You're going to be alright. Your fever is gone. You'll get better soon." The words were fierce, almost angry in her determination. Kíli blinked again, trying to let her know he could hear her. His lips moved when he tried to speak, but there was no sound. He felt like a prisoner in his own body, trapped and helpless.

Tauriel squeezed his hand. Kíli wanted more than anything to return the gesture, to give her all of what life remained within his deadened limbs. But it was useless. He simply couldn't summon the strength.

"I sense his exertions, Lady Tauriel." Elrond again, concern and caution in his voice, though the words swam above Kíli, wavering as though heard from watery depths. "You must let him rest. His spirit weakens."

"I cannot leave him." Determination, though not untinged by concern. "Don't ask it of me. Please."

Whether he wanted to or not, rest was exactly what he was going to get. His internal struggles, though they hadn't shown outwardly, had exhausted him.

I don't want to leave you, Tauri. Don't give up on me.

As though she sensed his thoughts, he felt his wife's hand on his brow, her breath against his cheek, sweet with something floral. Tea, maybe.

"I will stay until there is nothing to stay for. I am bound to him. This was my choice." Her voice lowered to the barest whisper, or seemed to in his ears. "It was my choice, and I wouldn't choose otherwise."

A pause, as Elrond seemed to consider.

"As you wish, Lady Tauriel. I will see the twins are looked after until..." He trailed off, probably carefully choosing his words. "Until circumstances change."

"They will change," the elleth insisted, tone infused with fierceness: mingled anger and desperate hope. "He'll get better." Perhaps she took a different sort of meaning from the elf lord's words than he'd intended, but Kíli was finding it increasingly difficult to note such things.

The two elves spoke a bit longer, their conversation blurring together, tension-charged. Maybe Tauriel was arguing with Elrond, accusing him of giving up on her husband. Maybe Elrond was offering her an account of the situation she simply couldn't accept. In any case, the elf lord was gone soon after, and Kíli alone once more with his One.

"I know how strong you are, amralime." Her voice was softer now, just for him. "Fight. Stay with me. Our little ones... we all need you here."

Kíli would have given anything to give her a message, a sign, something to let her know that he understood. That he didn't want to leave them. He could feel the unyielding pull of sleep, now more than a temptation - it was a demand. His body was failing, nevermind his spirit. The simple act of breathing seemed like too much to bear.

If time passed, he was unaware of it. Lucidity came less easily as the ache in his bones defied Lord Elrond's ministrations. Not an ache, even. A burning, like fire in his marrow. Or maybe it was ice. Tauriel's voice pierced the fog of sleep and blindness. He couldn't hear her words anymore. Too faint, too far away. But he heard the rhythm and her tone, and decided she must be singing. Pity he couldn't hear it properly. She had a beautiful voice.

But even that awareness faded. All senses were stripped away. He was floating, disembodied. Engulfed in darkness and silence so complete, he could taste them. But that was a silly idea. Wherever he was, it lacked description of any kind. It was... nothing.

"Why don't you give in?" said a voice.

The clarity startled him. It wasn't muffled or muted, as the others had been. It was distinct, low and resonant. An old voice, full of power and surety. But the question held a certain curiosity, even beneath its mocking tone.

Kíli didn't answer. He wasn't sure he could, even if he wanted to.

"It is useless to cling to life," the voice went on, unhurried and leisurely. "I offer you rest, free from all cares. Do not fight it. Let go."

Free from cares? That sounded nice. He remembered sitting in the sunshine with Tauriel and the twins. He remembered the soft, warm weight of his son in his arms. He remembered Ori's laugh as he kissed his wife.

I have to hold on, he thought vaguely. I have to stay. The unfocused feeling around him made it hard to concentrate, so instead he let his mind dwell lazily on the smell of his beloved's hair, and the feel of sunshine on his skin.

The voice chuckled darkly, and Kíli had a disconcerting idea the speaker could read, or at least sense, his thoughts.

"That memory is a lie. A deception. Like all mortal joy, it is not to last. Leave her now. She will find happiness again."

That made Kíli angry. Angry enough that he dared to speak. "Who are you?" The words sounded strange, weak and hollow compared to the strength of the other's speech.

The voice laughed again, haughtily, pleased it had gotten a reaction. "One who will have all, ere long. You needn't concern yourself. Your time is short." A brief pause. "Your line will fail. Your uncle, your brother... they will follow you." Kíli could almost see the satisfied smile on the other's face. "Your mother... has already gone."

His mother? He could see her face, the fierce light of joy in her eyes as she worked the forge. Feel the strength of her hands as she taught him the life of a dwarf. Fury filled in him like a landslide.

"You lie!" His voice sounded stronger now, but he felt the drain of effort.

"See for yourself," was his answer. "You will be reunited in a moment. Go on, prince. Go to her."

Obstinate resolve joined his fury, and he had a mental image of digging in his heels like a mule. "No," he hissed. "I'm needed here."

A scoff. "You think it's yours to decide? Fool. Durin's blood ever was stubborn and prone to folly."

The words struck like arrows thudding into a bale of hay. Stubborn. Folly. Kíli fought harder, straining back toward the distant memory of light and warmth. He thought he heard a muffled cry from somewhere far above.

"Tauriel!" He couldn't be sure it was her. It was too far away. But he had to get back to her. "I'm coming!"

"Give in, fool. Your life gives way, even now. A tenuous thread. Give in and lie down to rest, son of Durin." But the resonant voice was less persuasive now, less smooth. It was giving orders, and it had no right to.

Then things changed subtly. Kíli felt... something like a warm breeze. A breath of fresh mountain air. Strength returned to him like gentle sunlight warming a cold stone. As it seeped deeper into his bones, he realized his struggles had been little more than an infant's flailing in the dark. He stood firm now, and felt a hand in his own. A slender hand, a warm hand. He flexed his fingers, and felt the hand respond, lacing her fingers through his. Tauriel.

"You have no right-!" The voice in the darkness faded, and Kíli had the interesting impression that these last words had been directed, at least partially, at someone else.

Tauriel was not one to weep, and never loudly. She was strong, stable, rooted as the forest for which she was named. But Kíli recognized the sound of her tears. He felt them dropping gently onto his hand, warm and soft, each a tiny kiss. Each an expression of love he still scarcely felt he deserved.

He tried to open his eyes. Tried to banish the memory of the darkness into which he'd lately been plunged. He could sense the light now, like the barest hint of dawn breaking over the mountaintops after a long and cold night.

He was again confined in his own body, but his senses were alive once more. He could hear Tauriel's breathing, and feel her warmth, and smell the air. It was a titanic struggle to open his eyes, and eventually he succeeded. The world about him was faded, foggy and washed out, but it was there. He could see a smear of red near to his right side, and felt another tear splash against his hand.

A moment later, his eyes closed again, but not before the elleth shifted. Her grip on his hand tightened suddenly. "Kíli," she breathed, the name nearly lost in the tight anguish that throbbed through her. He could almost feel it himself.

A soft huff was all he could manage. He felt so weak. So tired. But he was alive. He had stayed. Tauriel sprang to her feet without releasing his hand, turning toward the door with a strangled noise that might have been a call for aid. He heard a flurry of movement, felt the gentle wash of murmured words, tasted sweet tea pass over his tongue, and knew no more.