Hello, you wonderful readers! Here is the après-Easter chapter, which is a little monster just like the previous. Many thanks to all those who read, followed and favourited the story this week!

biddle29: Yes, they're finally together again! Although one of them might not be fully conscious to realise it.

draegon-fire: I'm a drama queen, mind you, and couldn't have any other way than have Arya make a dramatic entrance! Captain America 3 will be out in 2016 from what I've heard and I couldn't be more psyched about it!

dorina16able: Hahahaha, I swear that I did a little dance after the GoT episode came to an end, so I totally sympathise with your cheerful disposition! Here is the angsty reunion I promised you, although one of the participants will hardly have any connection with his surroundings ;)

ThatAwkwardCrazyAuthor: That I did, my dear. One of the best scenes in the movie, in my opinion!

Guest 1, Bobby land, thearrowsoflegolas, Nack3490, Baby doll, ClemmieCole, DanaFruit, MaxRideandPercyJackson4ever, Hiding in the Shadow, Furionknight, BBMonkey, Applejack456: Thank you very much for the reviews, you guys!

Ye be warned, the 'f' word is making a guest appearance.

The night is dark and full of terrors

Joining a band of dwarves and going on a quest had its ups and downs. More downs than ups, if anything, going by the callouses on Bilbo's feet. Whoever heard of a hobbit with callouses on their feet, and the grandchild of Old Took at that? That was outrage; a scandal.

Bilbo was pondering precisely on these thoughts as they trailed along the deserted, barren, and seemingly endless land till they reached the top of a large hill. Just when he thought they'd take a few minutes to catch their breaths, he saw the cliff below and sighed with frustration, for it meant only one thing; more walking—and climbing. Just as he took a moment to catch a breath, his gaze fixed on something peeping through the clouds that looked like walls. It was the remnants of a small city; one that surely must have been glorious in the days of yore, before the dragon descended.

At least, Bilbo could imagine it as such; green trees, houses rising high to two, maybe three floors, streets and alleys vibrant from life and lots of people strolling around with kind smiles on their faces. And what was only left from that joyful picture now was an abandoned place, full of rubble and wooden debris, here and there covered with frozen snow. Even under the light of the midday sun, the scenery seemed dark and gloomy, and there was an ever so slight sense of doom wafting through the chilling breeze.

"What is this place?" he wondered, more to himself than the others, not having realised that every single one of the dwarves had come to stand along with him near the edge of the large rock.

"It was once the city of Dale," Balin said with a sad sigh. "Now it is but a ruin..."

The dwarves shared the look as they reminisced about how active and boisterous the city once was.

"The desolation of Smaug," the white-bearded dwarf then said heatedly and everyone felt their guts twinge come the realisation of their proximity to the beast.

Only Thorin was quite impatient and too drowned in his own thoughts to keep up with the discussion, and he nervously glanced around for a way that would lead them down the hill and closer to the Mountain. "We have no time to spare. We must find the hidden door before the day after tomorrow. Come," he urged as soon as he noticed a less uneven path hidden among the numerous sharp boulders, "this way."

"Wait," Bilbo lingered with a questioning look, feeling something amiss. "Is this the overlook?" The dwarf did not answer and the hobbit sensed he was right. "Gandalf said to meet him here. On no account we were–"

Thorin took a slightly threatening step closer, hissing impatiently, "Do you see him here? We have no time to wait upon the wizard, we're on our own." His look hardened further. "Move, quickly."

And there the first bells of worry started to ring warnings in Bilbo's head. The strange gleam in Thorin's eyes seemed all but good. Something had changed, a shadow shrouding the dwarf king's soul and forbidding the light and reason to shine through. Also the fact that Gandalf had yet to reach the meeting point didn't do much to ease the tension either. It later occurred to him that there was a dragon laying ahead and he would have to enter the Mountain unseen to find who knows what.

Half the day they had spent on the road, hopping and sometimes tripping over small rocks that lay beneath their feet. Everyone was exhausted but they were so very close. Only the short distance till the Mountain made their souls and spirits endure the arduous trek, but hope was steadily worn out as the realisation of the proximity to the dragon inside dawned upon their faces.

Wherever he turned his head, Bilbo would see either dwarves trying to catch their breaths, others wincing from a slight fear that overwhelmed them, a grumbling Thorin nervously scanning their surroundings to orientate according to the map, or finally vast landscapes with huge rock formations that resembled dwarf warriors. Bilbo had never seen something of that size in his life before. His mind could not process how those people, given their short stature were able to have built this.

They avoided passing close to the practically demolished main gate at any cost, out of fear that the dragon might catch their scent or, even worse, decide to go out for a walk. Thorin was leading them directly to the north-western spurs of the Mountain since the map pointed that the door was at this side.

Every now and then a faintest vibration shook the ground, but most of the company brushed this fact aside, thinking that it was just their imagination. Only Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Gloin shared looks of worry among them and a shadow enveloped their hearts even at the thought that the dragon was apparently alive. When Bilbo dared to inquire about it and Balin informed him that it must probably have been the dragon sleeping and snoring, the hobbit felt his legs weaken. If Smaug could shake the earth beneath their feet with one of his snores, Bilbo didn't want to imagine what would happen if he came back from the dream world.

Only after Thorin wisely decided that by splitting up in small groups they would have greater chance in finding the door, fate smiled at them. The scouting parties has scattered about, with eyes wide open to find something, anything.

Yet all had grown rather fidgety that they had yet no luck as the sun started to sink lower in the horizon. And Durin's day was drawing dangerously near.

Bilbo barely held himself from squeaking like a mouse when his eyes took in the sight before them and he did a double take to ensure that he was not hallucinating. Right in front of him, where one of the two giant statues stood formidable and —surprisingly enough— intact from Smaug's violent attack all these years ago, there were steps carved in the stone. Their intricate design could easily be mistaken for a simple artistic detail if someone did not pay attention from a short distance.

"Up here!" the hobbit yelled excitedly.

Despite the distance they might be in, the dwarves' heads snapped at his direction and ten pairs of eyes saw the hobbit waving his hands about and pointing somewhere. When they all followed his directions and came to stand beside him, they too saw the steps that led to an upper part of the mountainside and hopeful smiles split their faces.

"You have keen eyes, master Baggins," Thorin praised with a broad smile and lightly tapped the burglar's shoulder.

Something more than pleased with himself, Bilbo received several congratulatory pats on his back. Yet his smile gradually disappeared when another thought came to mind. They had to climb the stairs to reach the place it led to. Hence, more walking.

Stars have mercy on his sorry hide. It was all what Kili could think as the pain came and went, increasing in severity, and he groaned for the millionth time.

So this is how it'd end. With cruel irony.

He wouldn't even get to glance at the Halls nearly everyone in the company longed to see again; the Halls which they'd got into this whole mess for in the first place.

Kili had been determined to ignore the growing pain in his leg and look as though nothing had happened, but Thorin had made him stay behind to recover anyway. From there on, everything went down the pan. They literally had to drag him all over Lake-town in a call for aid that no one responded to, and eventually rely on the bargeman's goodwill. Had it not been for his brother and Oin's pleadings, Bard would doubtfully accept him in his home. But apparently his pitiful state was enough to move a string in the man's heart. And although Bard apologised and reassured that it was his duty to offer help to whomever needed it, deep inside Kili could not bring himself to trust his words.

He still felt unwelcome; felt that he had disappointed his uncle, his mother, his father, his brother, himself even. A pathetic creature, a burden, this was all he was now.

Almost every inch of his body ached. The injury wasn't getting and wasn't going to get any better. Not only he could feel it —it was like being tossed into a furnace— but he could also see it in the eyes of those who stood around and nursed him. Even his brother, who had been adamant to not leave his side even for a moment, had now withdrawn to a far corner of the room and stared out of the window, probably waiting for the inevitable.

Another burning wave of pain shot through him then and made him almost yelp, his entire aching body doubling up from the force of it. Groaning, he turned over onto his side and winced when darkness swarmed at the edges of his vision, the room started to sway and an acrid taste filled his mouth. He hardly noticed the few drops of blood that stained the pillow as he coughed, the route from his lungs up to his throat easily rivalling a flaming road that led to the devil's doorstep with no intermediary stops.

"Kili?" he heard his brother's worried voice call from the other side of the room, where he stood until now that he rushed back to the bedside. "Oin, he's coughing blood!"

The brunet tried to avoid his brother's eyes as he caught a glimpse of him walking away from the window that looked east, towards the Mountain, and now held his shoulder. He felt angry and terribly ashamed of himself; he had robbed his brother the chance to prove himself worthy of being Thorin's heir; worthy of being the future King.

With furrowed brow the dwarf healer wiped the blood around the prince's mouth and shot the blond a worried look, ever so slightly shaking his head.

"Go away, Fili. Both you and Oin," Kili croaked, his throat straining from the effort. "Run away. Far, far away. Join the others at the Mountain. There is nothing but death here–"

"We are willing to risk it," Fili said dryly. "Now, stop. You never were one for drama."

Under other circumstances Kili would laugh, but even that simple action seemed too painful and energy-consuming at the moment. He heard the bed's boards creak and felt the mattress move as Fili sat down beside him.

"How are you feeling?" the blond inquired as he took a cold compress off Tilda's hands and pressed it over Kili's forehead. That blasted fever would just not go down.

"Just bury me already," Kili groaned. "And see to serve salted pork and malt beer in my funeral, please." Mahal, salted pork. His stomach churned just at the thought of it.

But the blond did not appreciate this sinister turn of his brother's humour. "Kili, shut up," he commanded. "There's no salted pork and beer lying around. You do have roots and plants at your disposal, so make do with those."

Kili's eyes went wide as he recalled the taste of the root Oin had given him earlier. To say that it was disgusting would be an understatement—orc flesh surely tasted better than that. He shook his head furiously in denial, prompting the world to fall off its axis again and darkness drag him out of reality.

Eerie silence.

The stars were veiled and a chilly breeze made most of its residents seek the warmth of their homes' hearths. Hardly anyone walked outside at this late hour, save a bargeman who was in search of supplies that could help the injured dwarf in his house, another dwarf who had almost drowned and was now recovering from the shock sprawled on a dock somewhere in a dark alley, a bunch of bloodthirsty orcs and, last but not least, a dark hooded figure who was chasing the latter around.

It wasn't long ago that the Ranger caught glimpse of the deformed figure jumping high above her head from where she was hidden under a house's staircase. For once she was glad for their accute sense of smell; it would take a hell of a lot less time to find out where the dwarves were. She was prowling alone under the balconies of the large wooden houses, stalking shadows through the light layer of fog in the air with the hope that she'd catch a familiar face.

No orc was near, at least from what she could see. They favoured the rooftops over the bridges and alleys and Arya counted her blessings for the small advantage. She dived behind a few barrels, then slid quietly behind a thick pillar under one of the houses the orcs had ended up gathering around. They sat there waiting. To her dismay, their numbers seemed to have dwindled, which only meant they had scattered to the docks as well. Arya cursed. There was a staircase directly in front of her leading to the door, but she'd risked have her cover blown if she moved. She gritted her teeth in annoyance, mind spinning to concoct a plan as her eyes followed the shadows on the roofs. They circled and crawled all over the house like ants in the sand.

Suddenly the aforementioned door opened and out stepped a young girl. Arya nearly lost it right then and there, holding her mouth from screaming at the girl to get the hell out of there just barely. The Ranger looked around wildly. There was a quite dramatic double take when she spotted the lid sealing the barrel behind her.

Innocently, Sigrid mistook the creaking sound outside for her father returning—he'd already been gone long enough. Tearing her gaze off the dwarf that lay on the bed and writhed in pain, she walked out, expecting to see her father and squinting in confusion when she spotted no one.

"Father? Is that you?"

No answer came and, deciding that she had probably misheard, she was ready to go back inside. Then a noise like feet stepping on the boards came from directly behind her. Before she could even make a complete head turn, she was screaming at the nightmare standing literally inches away from her face. The creature went for her neck, but his hand froze mid-air. A sharp blade and the sound it made as it cleaved through skin and bone in one strike as if it were green wood, detaching the creature's head from its shoulders, made Sigrid's scream drown in her throat. Blood splattered on her face and she let out a terrified gasp when the head rolled off of the body, falling literally onto her feet and rolling away towards the edge.

A dark form appeared behind it and, before the head could fall into the water below, a boot kept it in place. Arms deposited the rest of the body silently down so it wouldn't collapse and Sigrid felt sick in the stomach. Although the intruder basically saved her life, she couldn't help recoiling in fear. And then the figure grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, dropping the hood back.

Everything happened in the span of a breath. And it was a damn long breath. The first arrow hit the wall right where Sigrid was standing not a moment ago and the next one was wedged right onto the barrel lid the unknown figure used as a shield for them both. In all this mess, she barely registered it was a woman.

Arya could feel the girl's arm shaking like a leaf in the wind, but there was no time for this. "Hide, quickly!" was all she managed to breath out before shoving the dumbfounded girl through the door, as another orc jumped off the roof and landed on the balcony only a few feet away.

Two wide strides and he was already charging at her. She ducked, avoiding the blow, and hit him right in the face with the barrel lid, throwing him off balance. The sound of the nose breaking was unmistakable. He charged again with renewed fury. Her block did save her face from the punch, but the barrel lid was hurled away from her hand, ending up in the waters below with a splash. Having left his right side unguarded, Arya shoved one dagger in his middle, slashing across it, then took it out and cut his throat. Just to make sure. A fountain of black blood spurted out of it, staining her face and neck. She spat it out.

And then hell broke loose. They started jumping in from every direction to besiege the house. Arya didn't know where to head first. She was no god—couldn't be at two places at once. The decision was taken in the spur of the moment. She stepped on the railing and jumped up, hauling herself up onto the roof. The door could hold a little longer if the others inside had the prudence to barricade it.

Once on the roof, there was a moment she reevaluated her choice upon taking count of how many of them were there. Before she could even contemplate on it, one was coming her way. She took the second dagger out and dived left to ram one of the daggers in his back before he could stop and turn, kicking the body to the side. It rolled down into the lake, while more swarmed towards her.

It was one of those times that the fragility of life became full blown reality. On this night she did fear for hers. That momentary distraction was enough for one to creep up behind her and attack, ready to drive an axe through her skull. She caught the movement from the corner of her eye and leaned to the side just in time to see the axe whizzing past her bruised nose and retreating for a second blow. Arrows flew over her head, missing barely, and she swiveled to face him hoping she wouldn't lose her footing on the steep rooftop.

Well, that was close.

Her eyes took in her opponent. The bastard was easily twice her size and ready to attack, harder than the first time. Her defense proved meagre compared to the force of his hit and only resulted in having one of the daggers fall from her hand down on the roof tiles. No matter how agile she was, this one would be difficult to get away from. She stepped on the ridge board and went to trip him up before it'd get truly dangerous, but it did get dangerous. Between tangled limbs and arrows whizzing past them, he ended up squeezing her neck with his arm and knocking all the breath out of her. The nails of her free hand dug into his forearm so viciously, it almost took some skin off, but it made no difference.

Time suddenly seemed to stretch. She had vague recollection of the dagger in her other hand, yet despite mustering all her power, the limb was immobilised several inches away from her body by a foul-looking, muscly arm, leaving her front completely unguarded. She spotted another on the opposite rooftop with a bow and arrow, aiming directly at her.

Her captor forced her hand up as though it weighed no more than straw, in what he thought to be a final mockery to escort her to death. "Wave goodbye, you little cu–"

"Finish that sentence... and I will open my pocket," she growled through clenched teeth, trying to resist the pull of her hand. "And you really don't want me to open my pocket."

"Fuck you!"

She let out a hiss as he pulled her head further to him, bending the neck backwards to a painful degree. "Those are your last words, 'fuck you'?" she rasped. "Come on, you can do better!"

The grip he had on her neck tightened and her lungs ached from the lack of air. In the numbing haze she was sinking into, the dagger fell from her hand on the rooftop just like the other and she heard a sniff directly behind her ear.

"...oot-golgi kurv–"

His voice had been rich and guttural and his tongue was like the crack and boom of rolling thunder.

This musn't register on an emotional level. Too bad it did. Arya gritted her teeth almost punishingly. With a wild snarl she snatched her hand out of his grip and pulled his away from her neck just enough to bite off his thumb and make him loosen the grip. The orc growled when he felt teeth sinking into the skin viciously, noticing the back of her head going for his face a little too late.

Several things happened at once. The momentum of the headbutt made him totter backwards, dragging the woman along and, by some tragic mistake, saving her from the arrow his comrade was aiming her with. Had he been only half a second late the arrow would be now exiting the back of her skull and not whizzing past her head as they took a spectacular tumble backwards that resulted in a hole on the roof.

Right after Sigrid had stepped out thinking Bard had finally returned, the creaking sounds became noticeable by all. Sets of concerned eyes looked up and Fili was ready to follow the girl and bring her back inside.

Before he even moved Sigrid tumbled into the house, yelling about something and wildly trying to keep the door shut. She held her own until a large sword jammed the door, almost cutting her arm in half, and made her stumble back. Bain and Tilda jumped to their feet, startled to danger, and the dwarves' eyes went wide.

The door opened and an orc hurtled inside, wielding a blade inches away from Sigrid's terrified face, while Bain pushed Tilda behind his back until they hit the wall.

The orc shoved Sigrid and she ended up sprawled over the chairs, eventually landing under the table with her siblings rushing to her side. Before the attacker could even reach them Fili had darted forward like an angry predator and pinned the orc on the wall, repeatedly punching his ugly face until his nose was crooked to one side. Oin was fighting his own with another one a few feet away, using his bare hands as weapons, as well as mugs and pots and plates, which proved more efficient than he would have imagined.

It wouldn't be exaggeration to say that almost everyone was certain they would not come alive out of this.

And then the most unexpected thing happened.

Kili had lost count of time. Slowly and steadily, his mind had sunk into incoherence, only taking short breaks back into reality. His fever induced, delusional state was interrupted by a series of strange noises—yells and growls mingling together and creating a deafening noise. Monstrous faces seemed to barge into the house one after the other and he saw Bard's children throw plates at them and hide under the table. Blasted orcs, he cursed. His breathing swallow as he tried to lift himself off the bed and be of some use to the others, the effort only resulted in him wiggle a bit, groan louder from the pain and feel even more disoriented.

His head slumped back into the pillow. A second later, he could hear wood break, then something heavy fell on the floor with a dull thud. There were some quite creative curses and a few painful gasps, which were followed by more cursing.

The dwarves apart from Kili, who was barely holding onto the edges of consciousness, gawped at the cloaked figure sprawled atop the orc that first spat out blood and then half a finger, of all things. Fili could vaguely feel his left side go numb. Oin was too stunned to think or feel anything. The children only doubled their efforts to remain hidden under the table and had shoved themselves further under it, wishing for the floor to swallow them right then and there.

Immediately following the freefall, Arya felt herself touching the wooden ground. Well... touching the wooden ground was putting it nicely. In truth, part of her body landed on the orc and the rest of it on the ground, and the stinging pain in her bum was there to prove it.

She sat up quickly, taking in her surroundings only for a moment before the orc's enormous frame locked around her. His hand reached backwards, and Bain shouted for Arya to look out just as the assailant reached for something that had fallen on the ground along with them. He managed to take it, the blade catching the firey light from the candles in the room as he swung it upwards and made to impale it on the side of her head, but she wrestled herself out of the way. Sadly —or not so much— for his amputated hand, she gripped it and squeezed the fingers together so hard, Bain swore he heard the bones break over the orc's growl of pain. The dagger fell on the ground again, not so far for any of the two to reach but not close either. Quick as a whip, Arya snatched the knife from the pocket of her boot and stabbed into the creature's gut, twisting and curling until all sorts of entrails poured out in rivers.

Fili couldn't tear his gaze away, jaw hanging ajar as he watched his once-deceased friend shove the dead orc on the ground, spitting out the bile from her mouth and shaking most of the blood off of her knife. For a great long minute they just stood there in silence, the two of them working to understand just what it was that happened.

Until the moment passed and she jolted upright like a lightning bolt, kicking the corpse to the side. "Take the daggers!" she commanded.

Despite being reduced to stunned silence, the growls and roars of numerous others that barged into the house through the hole in the roof or the open door snapped the two dwarves out of it. They gathered the daggers from the floor, putting them in immediate use, while the Ranger grabbed something that hung from the wall and twirled the knife in her hand. Kili's groaning voice caught her ear at one point, and she briefly turned to see him sprawled upon a bed in the corner of the room, drenched in sweat and writhing in pain. His skin was the colour of ash and his lips were purple, whereas a huge stain of blood adorned the pillow next to his mouth.

Shit. Shit.

She was too late. The onslaught of guilt and fear was enough to make any sane being give up, but the adrenaline kept her going. And to top it all, there was that filthy gobshite lunging at the table with the children behind it. In retrospect, it was pretty much at that moment where any said being would lose it.

The orc never got to the young ones; or the table, for that matter. Halfway there, he collided face-first with the back side of a pan that materialised out of thin air and was forced to a halt mid-stride, staggering backwards with surprise and a rightfully earned disfigured nose—even more so than usual.

More blows followed that first one. Each came with a vengeance so enviable, it was a wonder how the bottom of the pan hadn't taken the shape of the orc's face yet.

Fili and Oin, being closer to Kili, had taken as many as they could in an attempt to drive them away from him, but were mercilessly outnumbered.

Moments later Arya caught glimpse of a blond blur somewhere beside her. She turned and saw the Elf Prince, Thranduil's son, of all people, materialising almost as fast as the pan did earlier, in a blink of an eye, starting to take down orcs like flies. Certainly the bow and arrows helped him many, in contrast to her meagre armoury consisting of one knife and a resilient pan, but it was no time for luxuries.

He had chosen to take them by surprise by way of the roof, whereas his companion favoured the door.

Every other noise faded in comparison with Kili's cry the moment one of the orcs snatched his leg. It caused several people to lose their concentration and turn to him. Arya went on a rampage. She watched in slow motion all over again, too far to reach him in time, yet the fates were kinder this time. Tauriel leapt to rescue, throwing her dagger at the creature and pinning it on the wall behind, away from Kili.

The latter had been struggling to free his leg from the grip, thrashing about until the orc released him, but he still ended up tumbling onto the floor. In his trance he thought he caught glimpse of that redhead elf, the Captain of the Elvenking's Guard, standing two feet away, though his eyesight wasn't trustworthy anymore. What on earth would the elf doing in Lake-town?

The table in the middle of the house had been toppled and Bain jumped up to defend his sisters as a bunch of hideous faces and a respective number of swords swarmed in. He lifted the long bench and with all his force threw it against the orc that was coming right at them, only for a dwarf to block his way and push him behind his back along with Sigrid and Tilda.

"Get down!" Fili yelled and set himself as shield between the three children and the enemy, making the best use of Arya's dagger, even though he was not used to this kind of weapons—it was terribly light in his hand.

Shortly before the orc she was trying to hold back with one arm would be taken care, for she had her eyes set upon another one in her front, Tauriel saw a hand roughly shove a knife into the orc's side and a body crash against it. A breath hitched in her throat when the young dwarf she'd had a conversation with in the dungeons collapsed on the floor along with the filth of a creature and cried out in pain, a violent spasm racking his already battered body.

It was during her struggle with one of them that Arya recognised the agonising scream. Without taking the eyes away from the orc and watching as he moved to grab a handful of hair of one of the two girls who were struggling to crawl as far as possible, she felt her gut physically twinging at the sound of Kili's yelp. The pan in her hand collided viciously with the orc's face, sending him reeling backwards against the wall. Then she tossed it away and clutched his neck, impaling the knife in his chest until the point scraped the wooden wall. Her body started to tremble from the surge of anger that washed over her and she hadn't realised the guttural growl that hurt her ears had come from her own throat. Only when the knife was pulled out of the creature and he crumpled on the floor, body twitching in the throes of death, did she swivel around to face three pairs of wide eyes staring at her in genuine horror. Surely, she must have been a sight from afar. Oh well.

And suddenly, as though someone had cast a spell of silence over the room, no voice could be heard except from pants or wheezing breaths. The house had ended up a pile of debris; there was a hole in the roof, the door was broken, and most of the furniture was tipped over if not crumbled into pieces. Not to mention the orcs' corpses that were scattered around the place.

Bain hauled himself up from the toppled table and tried to let the situation soak in, warily staring at the people around the room and trying to avoid glances with the crazy woman next to him. "You killed them all..."he breathed out in disbelief, his voice almost drowning in his throat.

"There are others," Legolas said solemnly and dashed outside as swiftly as he'd appeared in the first place, his desire to wipe the orc filth burning like flame. "Tauriel, come."

Kili was sprawled on his back upon the floor, breaths coming out in ragged pants and mouthfuls of blood pouring out of his mouth with every painful exhalation. Fili was the first to his side.

The brunet was walking the line between unconsciousness and reality. He was positive that he was hallucinating seeing as the redhead and also the blond elf were dwelling in this warped version of reality. He caught the blond calling the other to go. "T– Tauriel?"

The words were too low, but enough to be heard by those standing close. The Captain wavered. Never before had someone uttered her name in such a manner, as though he was aware what awaited him, and extended his arm to grab her boot. She would have suggested to carry him back to the Halls and have a healer take care of him, but it was simply too far and Thranduil would have none of it; most likely, the dwarf would be locked up in a cell again.

"Tauriel," Legolas repeated more insistently, giving the side-eye and a nudge to his friend. They were here solely for the orcs. No business they had with the dwarves anymore.

Her face did a bad job masking her hesitation. Tauriel exchanged glances with her friend and, after a look of genuine guilt at the injured dwarf and the other two around him, as well as locking eyes with the Ranger for a brief moment, she complied and followed him.

Unfortunately Arya had been a witness to the entire scene. To her chagrin, she acknowledged a clear sign of interest in the elf's eyes towards the dwarf that lay wounded on the floor, and a lump stuck in her throat. She hit the very pinnacle of self-pity the moment Kili called the redhead's name and tried to stretch out a hand towards her, yet the woman left to follow the Elf prince and Kili slumped back unresponsive, eyes rolling backwards.

"We're losing him!" Oin's urgent voice snapped her out of it and made her bones melt.

Steady fingers fumbled with something in the pocket of her boot and pulled out a small pouch. She inwardly thanked her cousin's prudence to provide her with efficient supplies, even though she'd hoped the need wouldn't arise. "I need boiling water," she ordered as the sealed pouch was opened, revealing the dry leaves of a weed that were sheltered inside, "quickly!"

The dwarves were shocked to stunned silence yet again.

Arya clapped her hands together, yelling, "Are you deaf?"

The irony wasn't lost on either of those present, seeing as Oin had been standing before her with his pressed trumpet placed in his ear, yet they elected to dismiss it in favour of more pressing things.

Fili shook his head in disbelief. "Aren't you dead?"

"What?" she said in confusion. "What are you talking about?" Fili received a smack on the arm as proof. "See? Perfectly solid. Now, bring me the damn water!"

They obeyed immediately.

Arya knelt beside Kili and wiped the sweat off his brow, as well as the blood around his mouth with her hand, her heart practically pounding under her chest when he did not made an attempt to speak or even look at her. He was only groaning and pushing his eyes tightly shut, wriggling around like a worm, with hardly any consciousness of the environment. Now was certainly not the time for thoughts like these, but it surprised her how much she'd missed him the days they were apart. And it pained her to even think that there was a chance she'd miss him even more lest he died.

Her eyes stung with unshed tears, but she shook it off and clutched him tighter. "Focus on my voice," she commanded, her tone much more desperate than the stern one she initially aimed for. "Stay awake and I promise, I'll let you braid my hair, damn you."

She kept her lips pressed upon his sweaty brow and began humming an almost inaudible prayer under her breath. If only one prayer and the promise would be enough to save him. He was still for a second or two before he frantically tossed and turned in her arms again, and she made an effort to tear her gaze from him.

It was then that she caught from the corner of her eye the two children sunk in a corner, tightly hugging each other, while the third one —the older probably— had rose to her feet and bustled about the kitchen along with Fili. She did not fail to notice the expression on the girl's face which was as blank as an empty piece of parchment, clearly still in shock, and made a mental note to do something for her and her siblings later.

"We must move him," Arya exclaimed, eyes urgently staring at the dwarf healer at her side and face almost distorted from worry, while trying not to let her hope and composure abandon her heart. "I need to see the wound."

Fili approached in a hurry, at some point registering an absentminded nod from Sigrid that she'd take care of the water, but he wasn't sure. Bain seemed to recover a bit faster than his little sister as he pulled her up to her feet and sat her on a chair, before he and Fili brought the toppled table to its original position and along with Oin and the Ranger carried Kili and laid him upon it.

With every scream or cry there was a pool of blood coming out from the wound and also his mouth. Arya quickly turned him on his side so that he wouldn't choke, and began wiping the blood away from his mouth to let him breathe again. As soon as his breathing came in ragged swallow pants and not pure spits and puddles of blood, she turned him on his back and threw all the bandages away from the festering wound, feeling the hairs on her neck bristle as she faced the puncture and the black rancid flesh around it, as well as the oozing pus that gushed out of it like a fountain. Her mind spun feverishly regarding what on bloody earth was the arrow that poisoned him—heavens above, the barb had torn the muscle from the bone. Her gaze swiftly travelled back to his face, where his skin had taken a sickly hue of ash to the point that blood vessels became rather noticeable, and his eyes seemed to lose the battle with life, rapidly turning glassy as their warm hazel colour had given up its place to a sinister black. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that he looked like a ghost.

Her eyes searched for Fili and she gave him a scolding glare for no apparent reason—though, probably because the one who should receive it was dying right now. "Your mother is right," she spat out angrily, "he is reckless!"

The last thought that crossed Fili's mind right then was to produce a coherent answer. There was so much happening in an extremely limited amount of time, therefore what only existed in his head was a huge blur and the thought of how Kili would be saved.

Sigrid did not linger further in the kitchen as soon as the first bubbles made their appearance on the surface of the water and covered the distance till the table in three wide strides. She deposited the small pot down and immediately saw the woman crush a few leaves of a weed with her fingers and then throw them into the hot water.

"What are you doing?" Oin dared to ask, setting aside all his confusion about the Ranger's comeback from the other world and focusing on the task at hand. "What is this?"

Arya met his gaze, seeing his brow furrowed and etched with worry as he kept Kili's head slightly lifted from the table to prevent him from choking. "Athelas," she said blankly. He only narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Kingsfoil people around old Arnor and Gondor call it."

At this, Oin's face scrunched up in even more confusion. "Kingsfoil? But it does not–"

"It is known to be powerful in the hands of the roya–" She stopped mid-sentence, covering her lapse with a small cough, surprised that her mental faculties hadn't abandoned her entirely in this hour of need. "Elves have other uses for it. My mother said so."

Oin was aware of said herb, but rumour had it that it was only used for its nice fragrance; nothing about healing virtues or something of that sort. And indeed, as the weed was soaked into the hot water, it gave off a refreshing scent that filled the room and cleared and calmed the minds of those present. The scent also varied regarding individuals who smelled it. It did much good to the three children as well, the dwarf healer noted, for the previously drawn from their faces blood began to circulate again.

Four people rushed to hold the dwarf down on the table the moment the Ranger pressed a handful of the newly formed paste from the crushed leaves directly upon the wound in his leg. She grabbed his thigh to keep it still and not let the greenish salve slip away from the wound, gesture that made his whole body twitch with violent spasms.

The numerous arms struggling to keep him pinned on the table were lost to Kili and, not being coherent enough to realise that, he left the floodgates of pain open. In between the furious thrashing and growls of pure agony, he took hold of something that was near his hand —and seemed to cause him even more pain— so he could swat it away.

Fili'd breath was caught in his lungs. A sense of hopelessness enveloped him as his brother continued to convulse as though someone was sawing off his leg, face covered in a thick layer of sweat mixed with blood.

He saw Arya's moves falter and her arm twinge the moment his brother crashed her palm in a death grip, although she was brushing it off like it was nothing. The echo of the pain intensified through the grip. He let her feel all of it. Elbereth save him. Her head wiggled furiously to remain focused; she couldn't allow herself to make a mistake. Considering the situation, it could prove fatal.

Sigrid and Bain had taken hold of the writhing dwarf as well, while Tilda stood somewhere beside them and watched the scene unfolding with trepidation. The woman's eyes were closed as she tried to focus on something that Tilda couldn't for the life of her figure out. No words she spoke, so the girl could only tell that she must be in pain, judging by the wince that made her forehead wrinkle and the way her hand spasmed inside Kili's.

Fili was at a loss. He had absolutely no idea what Arya was doing or what this salve she pressed onto the wound was, but he really disliked how it made Kili flail and thrash about the table, as though ten swords pierced his flesh all at once.

Kili, for his part, simply waited for darkness to envelop him. All his senses were attuned to the feeling of pain and the world had turned into a flaming, dark blur that he was ready to welcome with an open embrace if it meant putting an end to this torture. His very bones and veins were sizzling, as though someone had skinned him alive and put him over a fire to be cooked.

Goodbye world.

Inside the darkness there was something tingling one of his senses and drawing it away from the overwhelming feeling of pain. Before he could find what that was, his eyes were blinded by a sudden surge of light that filled the place he was in and triumphed over the darkness. He found that he was completely limp, for he couldn't even twitch a muscle.

And in this boundless space filled with light, another form appeared above him, whose face did not belong to any of the people he had met before. He idly turned his head to take a better look at it, even though the light did its best to hinder his efforts. The equally luminous as the light frame of the strange figure was there and they did not make a move to budge or even blink.

Who was that, Kili struggled to think, for he had absolutely no memory of that face. And he was fairly known for his good memory. No, he decided in the end, he had definitely not seen that person ever before.

As his mind fell in a whirlpool of dizzying thoughts, which he was trying really hard to sort out, he took in the detail of the unknown person's form; long, black hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a small curvy nose above full lips and... a pair of pointy ears that poked out of the hair.

This was an elf, Kili thought decidedly. Who in Mahal's name was she, though? What was she doing in his state of death? Even if this truly was the Halls of Mandos, it was known that the dwarves were separated from the rest of the souls there. So how could that elf be there with him? And if this was some kind of a dream, how could he see her in it, if he'd never encountered her in real life?

Questions, questions and even more questions. Damn all the questions. Why even death had to be perplexing and wearing? Why couldn't he just close his bloody eyes and see nothing?

They weren't so eager to cooperate with the mental command and close. The next thing that hit him was the pair of striking grey eyes on his opposite, upon the unknown elf's face. He tried to open his mouth and ask who she was and all the blasted questions that tortured his poor mind all this time, yet his voice made no sound. She made no move to speak to him either. She merely stood there, facing him, motionless, solemn, with those sparkling, soulful grey eyes staring directly into his own, as though she could read his mind. They were like bubbling clouds that were ready to unleash a storm upon the world.

He didn't know why, but the sight pained him. He couldn't help but continue staring at her in the hope that she'd say something, anything, to ease his torturing notions.

But she didn't.

On the bright side, even if those notions did not ease off, the pain did. It gradually subsided, so that he felt almost numb after a while.

He thought hours had passed while staring at her and an absurdly odd idea was planted in the depths of his mind that he somehow knew the intensity of that gaze before, even if he didn't recognise the eyes that held it. He tried to give a name to it, to conjure a memory, a name, anything, but came up blank.

Suddenly the unknown elf moved, holding out a slender hand toward him, as if beckoning him to heed her.

He was not as startled as he would've been under other circumstances. Without rhyme or reason, he sensed he could trust her.

"Remember your promise," she whispered.

Kili heard the words as if she had spoken them inside his head. He promptly stretched out a hand to catch hers. She made no move to withdraw. The moment he was about to touch her, however, she disappeared; popped into thin air as though she was a bubble, not a solid form, a mere product of his imagination and nothing more.

Poor Kili. The song I could totally associate with his predicament is 'Comfortably numb' by Pink Floyd. Having it play at full blast while writing that last part certainly helped. Also, before anyone takes a dig at me, the healing involved no magic at all on Arya's part.

As for the orcish curse: Oot-golgi kurv = half-breed whore. I highly doubt that it's correct, but after two hours of search it was the best I could find.

There has been a small disturbance in the Force, so there will be no update on the next Friday. See y'all in two weeks' time and don't forget to review!