XXXV.

"Why is he not waking up?"

"We must be glad that he is still alive."

"I know. I am. But…" Kíli looked at the still form of his brother, the deadly pallor of his face, his hands on the blanket. He looked more like a body lying-in-state than a living being. Kíli swallowed the lump in his throat. "Why is he not waking up?"

"He will. Eventually. We must be patient."

"Patient?" Kíli laughed dully. "What do you expect me to do? Sit here and watch him wither away? Patient. Durin's ass."

"Kíli." The wizard's voice was gentle.

"You saved his life when he was as good as dead. Why won't you heal him now?"

"My dear boy." Gandalf sighed. "I cannot heal anyone. Nor can I bring someone back from the dead. I am a wizard, I cannot perform miracles."

"But you did. He was dying, you spoke to him, and he lived. Why don't you do it again?"

"Because he is not listening. It was different in the Throne Hall; he listened to me then. He listened long enough to look back instead of going straight into Mandos' Halls. He listened to me when I told him his time had not yet come. He looked back at his life, at his loved ones, and he turned around. But the doors to the Halls of the Waiting are still open; he must close them and choose life instead."

"Then tell him! Make him listen to you once more!"

"There is nothing I can do. He must find his way back from the shadows to us on his own."

Kíli ruffled his hair in frustration. "What if he won't come back? He has not opened his eyes once."

"Fíli is strong. His wound is healing just fine, his mind will too. In good time."

Gandalf patted Fíli's legs under the covers awkwardly, got to his feet and turned to leave. "Time…," he murmured, "…is a treacherous thing. We always think we have too little of it. But in truth we must only decide what to do with the time that is given us."

Kíli felt like throwing the jug of water at the door the wizard had closed behind him. Instead, he forced himself to breathe. Slowly. Steadily. To calm down.

"Fíli," he said, his voice raw. "Wake up. Please, nadad."

He took his brother's hand in his. It felt cold and limp.

"The little ones are here every day. Hrynn refuses to leave your side. I managed to send them to your quarters to get some sleep, but they will be back any minute. Mum is climbing the walls. Everybody worries about you. You are scaring us."

He placed the lifeless hand back on the duvet again, feeling like a coward. He could not bear to touch it and feel no response, no sign of awareness. It was like touching a corpse. A sob escaped his throat.

Hastily, he got to his feet and paced the room, angrily blinking away the tears. This was not about him.

And yet it was.

It was his fault.

He had seen it all beforehand in Galadriel's mirror. He should have come back to Erebor and prevent things from happening. He had even got a second chance when Gandalf had told him about those evil dwarves searching for him, about the black-bearded leader who had tortured an elf of Lothlórien to find him. The dwarf with the arrow-shaped scar. He hadn't even once thought of Katla then, despite the fact that it had been his attempt to get the orc arrow out that had given her the scar. She had been proud of it, had gloated that it looked like an arrow. Why had he never thought of that? Eyra had tried to tell him. The syllables the dying dam had managed to choke out – oss…an…la – made perfect sense now: Dwoss and Katla. Why had he been so stupid?

He had known Katla secretly wanted him on Erebor's throne instead of Fíli, but he had never suspected her to be capable of any evil. She had been his friend. Or so he had thought.

Now Fíli was paying the price for his naivety. Fíli, his wife, his children, Dís. Erebor.

He had managed to forestall any decisions regarding Erebor's future so far. Fíli should have the opportunity to set things right again. But the dwarves were starting to become impatient. The laws that had been written under the influence of Dwoss needed to be undone. A new Council had to be named. Even King Bain, loyal to the core to Fíli, was getting edgy. The taxes needed to be abolished, the roads had to be reopened, trade had to start anew. A decision had to be made what was to become of the Grey Mountain soldiers. Of Dwoss. As appealing as the idea might be, they couldn't be left in the dungeons to rot.

Time was running out. Stupid wizard and his stupid, enigmatic comments.

Kíli sat down at Fíli's bedside again and buried his face in his hands for a moment. When he heard the door open, he stood up and braced himself to face Hrynn and the little ones. Fynn and Freya carried little animals they had carved out of wood, even Floi had a sheet in his chubby fingers with something on it that looked like colourful footprints. The dwarflings came up to the bed and spread their presents out, while explaining to their father what they had made for him to get well soon. Kíli looked at Hrynn who was pale and puffy-eyed and didn't even manage a smile when their eyes met. He hugged her quickly and wordlessly and fled.

In so many ways this was even worse than Fíli being shot. They had been overjoyed when the healers had told them that, due to the ranger's knowledge of Athelas, Fíli would make a full recovery. His heart was beating strong and steady, and his wound was healing perfectly despite the considerable blood loss. But after a while the healers had begun first to frown and then to worry outright. The King should long have regained consciousness but had not opened his eyes once. Days had turned into weeks, and Fíli stayed motionless, pale, lifeless. Trapped somewhere between life and death.

Kíli walked away from the infirmary, his eyes burning, his heart heavy. He knew he should look for his mother, think about who might be appointed as a Council member, visit Dale, even Mirkwood. But he couldn't bring himself to any of these tasks. He didn't want to see anyone. He needed to breathe, needed to get away from this bloody mountain that threatened to take his brother's life once again.

He slipped into the small corridor that led upwards into the secret passage and emerged through the Secret Door. It was raining heavily, the wind-driven drops created water ripples on the puddles, the stone was almost black with wet. Ignoring the dampness that had already captured his neck and shoulders, Kíli began his slow descent on the slippery stairs. He stopped from time to time to let his gaze drift over the dark clouds that hid the Mirkwood and almost seemed to touch the surface of the Long Lake. At his third stop he saw someone standing at the doors to Erebor's necropolis and his heart sank even more.

The rain plastered his hair to his face, and his limp showed, when Kíli walked on the muddy ground towards the lone figure standing motionless at the mountain's foot. Two large stone soldiers with bowed heads guarded the giant stone gate on which the other dwarf's eyes were fixed. Thak's cloak was soaked, and his beard was dripping. His eyes were red-rimmed when he eventually looked at the newcomer.

"Is this the place?"

"Yes," Kíli answered softly. "You will find her in the small chamber to your right. It is one of many, the cave is large. A wide hall, the walls are glittering with ore. It is beautiful, a good place to Wait."

They had been lucky to find it when they restored Erebor after the Battle of the Lonely Mountain. They had needed a burial ground big enough for the remains of those who had died in dragon fire the day Smaug came. The King's crypt, in which Thorin Oakenshield had been put to rest, had been way too small for the number of bodies that had lined the halls and corridors of Erebor. It had taken weeks to remove the remains and bury them. Kíli remembered treading on bones when he, Fíli, Bofur and Oin had first entered Erebor. They had cracked under his heavy boots, and rustled like dry leaves. Mahal knew he had tried, but there had been no way to avoid stepping on the remains of their people. They were everywhere. Erebor to him failed to be what he always had imagined it to be; it wasn't the radiant kingdom of his ancestors, it was a dark tomb, it smelled of rotten things and dragon shit. Skeletons were piled up behind the Main Gate; some were still wearing partly melted armour, others were holding spears and axes in skeleton hands, bushy beards and hair covered bone. Kíli was fairly sure he hadn't been the only one who had been violently sick at the sight.

"She is allowed to Wait among your people? Although she tried to betray Erebor? After she poisoned you?"

"She was forced to. She never wanted to harm anyone. I'm sure she would have liked to stay at Erebor."

Thak nodded slowly. "Aye. That's one of the reasons why I'm grateful she was put to rest here, among your people. I know she would have wanted to stay. I've been to the library. Visited the open plains from where one can see the sky. It is not allowed at Ered Mithrin, but Eyra always loved to sneak out and look at the sky."

"You don't have to go back."

Thak smiled. "Oh yes, I have to. I need to resume my fight against the Grey Lords."

"How many soldiers do you need?"

"I know you said that before. But you would really send your soldiers into the Grey Mountains? After all that happened here? After your own forces are thinned out like that?"

"I would send no one. I'm going to ask for volunteers. And I am sure there will be plenty who would want to join you. We will still be able to defend Erebor."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because there's a colony oppressed by orcs. Because you risked your life and your health to help your people." He shrugged. "Because I consider you a friend."

"I consider you a friend as well. Despite…"

Thak let the rest of the sentence hang in mid-air. Someone at Erebor had obviously told him Kíli had taken a liking to Eyra once.

Kíli looked at his rain-drenched boots. It seemed to be a lifetime ago. Unreal. He couldn't even remember her face.

Thak put his good arm around Kíli's shoulder.

"You saved me from the Dungeon of Vardukanuk. You helped me to stay alive and more important sane. You want to help my people. And I know there was nothing between you and my wife to be concerned about. You are besotted with that elf." He chuckled. "She's alright, I suppose. Good fighter." Now he was laughing outright. "A prince of Durin's Line and an elf! She's not even pretty. Much too skinny. No facial hair."

Kíli failed to see what was so funny.

"Me being in love with an elf is one of the reasons all this happened. Why so many of our people turned against us. Fíli accepted her as his sister. He formed an alliance with the elves of Mirkwood that turned into friendship over the years. If he hadn't, he would not be in the infirmary now."

"From what I heard, your brother is smart and dares to leave old paths for new ways. You may walk these paths further than any dwarf before you, marrying an elf. But that was not the reason your brother reached out to elves and men. He did so because it was the right thing to do. Even I see that. I look at Erebor, and I see a dwarven realm that is prospering, full of new ideas, of life and laughter. I see children! I can't remember when a dwarfling was last born at Ered Mithrin. We merely exist under the orcs' heel until, one day, we will cease to exist." Thak shifted and turned to look at the outline of the Grey Mountains, partly covered in rain clouds. "You see now why I have to go back?"

"I would come with you, but…"

"I heard. You and the elf are having a baby. What do you call a child with a mixed parentage like this? A dwelf?"

"Funny. Never heard that one before." Despite the worn-out joke, Kíli had to grin. They had made a dwelf. And no matter how much everything got him down, the thought of their child that – the Lady Undómiel with her gift of foresight had assured them – was going to live a long and fulfilled life, always made the dark clouds disappear. But then he thought of Fíli, and his smile faded.

"Your brother's still unconscious?"

Kíli nodded. "What am I going to do?"

"The same you did in the dungeons. Never lose hope and find a way out of this mess."

Yeah, right, Kíli thought as he made his way back to Erebor through the rain, shivering in his soaked clothes. And since he was feeling miserable anyway, he went straight to the dungeons to see Dwoss.

The moss-bearded dwarf greeted him with a snarl.

"My Lord Prince. To what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

"Why Fíli?"

"You would have to ask your friend, the archer. It was she who shot him. But wait…" He bared his teeth in a grin. "You can't. She is in Mandos' Halls. I could take you there, my Lord. I know a potion that would bring you right into the Halls of the Waiting. If you ask nicely, I am willing to give it to you."

"Why did your elders send you to get him out of the way? What has he done?"

Dwoss stared at him from bloodshot eyes. "Are you really so stupid? The Dark Lord himself ordered Lord Ulrug to get Erebor under his command. Without the Lonely Mountain acting as stronghold for the free folk, the Grey Lords can conquer Rhovanion easily, maybe even the Shire, and the Blue Mountains. He knew Erebor's king would never work for him. So the king had to be replaced by someone who would carry out his orders. It had nothing to do with your brother. No one cares about him."

Kíli grabbed Dwoss by the throat and pulled his face against the bars. "I care about him. His wife cares about him. His children."

Dwoss choked and his face started to turn purple. Kíli loosened his grip a little.

"You lived at Erebor for many years. You were part of the Council. And yet you turned against us, you turned to the orcs. What kind of dwarf are you?"

"A proud one," Dwoss spat. "I honour my forefathers. We were the first-borns. Iluvatar took that from us. He held us captive so that his own children would be the first to draw breath, and the cursed elves have betrayed us ever since. Durin's folk shall never forgive nor forget that. But you and your brother welcomed them with open arms. You think working for the Grey Lords is detestable? At least they don't pretend to be our friends and stab us in the back like elves. Between elves and the Grey Lords? I prefer orcs. I do not care what they plan to do with Middle Earth. Sauron may rule aboveground as long as every realm under the mountains is ours."

Kíli bashed the offensive dwarf's face hard against the bars. Dwoss cursed and covered his bleeding nose with his hands.

"No-one from the House of Durin ever fought on the side of evil. That is what I am proud of. I should send you back to the Grey Mountains. See if you still prefer the company of orcs after they will have rewarded you for your services here."

"Lord Ulrug will spare me. He has too much need for my special skills," Dwoss spoke through his broken nose.

"Ulrug is dead." Kíli grinned maliciously. "And guess what? An elf killed him. The one I count myself lucky to be married to."

He left Dwoss to his cursing and whining and ground his teeth. He had been miserable before, now he was angry as well. He ought to send Dwoss back to the Grey Mountains, he thought bitterly. Let Thak take him back to the colony. Let the traitor meet those whose lives he had destroyed. Let them deal with him. Yes, he would do that. The sooner Dwoss left Erebor the better. To know that he had in some weird way succeeded in removing Fíli from the throne made Kíli's stomach revolt.

He entered the Royal Wing without even glancing at the guards that had been re-employed to watch the doors and pushed the door to his chambers open with his foot.

"There you are. I was beginning to get worried. You… Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! You are soaked to the skin!"

He brushed his sleeve against his running nose. "Raining."

"You are dripping!"

He looked at his feet where a small puddle was forming. "So?"

"You went out without a cloak or a hood?"

He glared at Tauriel.

"Come to the fire and get dry clothes."

He swatted her hands away when she tried to help him out of his leather jerkin.

"I am no child."

She stepped back. "Of course not."

"If I want to walk in the rain until I am drenched, I will do that."

"Of course."

"I am perfectly able to undress on my own."

"Of course."

"And if I choose to stay wet to the skin, I can do that!"

There was a little twitch at the corner of her mouth. Was she making fun of him?

"What?"

"And if you choose to behave like Fynn, or Freya, or Floi, you can do that too."

"Yes, I… Damn." He couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I can do that too. Anytime." And then he shook his wet hair that the drops were flying. She took a quick step back but was splattered with water anyway. Her eyebrow rose just enough to tell him she didn't find his little stunt amusing.

He pushed his still wet hair out of his face. "I'm sorry for my ill mood."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"No. I need some sleep." He shut the door of his bedchamber behind him, aware that he never before had shut her out.

He let his wet clothes fall to the floor, put another log into the crackling fire and crawled into his bed. He knew he should employ Dwalin's trusted technique to shut out unwanted images of Fíli's waxen face, but didn't have the energy to sit and concentrate. He was far too edgy anyway.

Sleep didn't come, of course. Only blackness. It crept up on him, whispered in his ear that he had brought this upon his brother, nagged at him, bit in his heart, tore at his flesh, and clouded his vision.

Kili pulled the blanket over his head and curled up like a ball, but was still far too vulnerable. Too much skin for all those pricking needles, too much soft flesh for all the teeth, too much delicate tissue for all those acrid hisses. He tried to shield his face with his arms but it was too late; the voices were already in his head, so many voices. Dís, Hrynn, the little ones. Dwalin. You came to save him. Look what you've done.

Kíli whimpered.

And then a cool and soft hand found his shoulder and pulled the blanket from his face. A body settled down close to him, fingers caressed his shivering skin and stroked his hair. And a voice started to sing, softly, beautifully; elven words that shimmered in the darkness. After a while, Kíli dared to loosen the achingly tight grip of his arms around his shivering body, and his breathing calmed down. Tauriel's fingertips brushed his forehead as she sang, and the angry hisses in his head faded away. The warmth of her body next to his, the touch of her hand, the silken tickle of her hair engulfed him like a cocoon.

Ed' i'ear ar' elenea! = By the sea and stars!