The day after Ori brought down the squirrel-which had been inedible despite Bombur's best efforts and continued assurances that he knew how to cook squirrel, strange dark creature or no -Kíli felt even worse than he could ever remember feeling. His head throbbed, his eyes burned and felt sore, his limbs felt heavy and he couldn't seem to keep his balance. It was a situation that was only made worse by the fact that everything hurt. It was not just the places on his back that had been paining him; his very bones ached. He knew that he should tell someone, but as Fíli had rebuffed his efforts to get help, he doubted anyone else would care. So, rather than voice his complaints, Kíli stumbled along as best he could wishing the path would at least remain semi-level and that the trees would stop swaying in the wind that refused to reach him on the ground.
The others noticed, of course, but they assumed that it was just the fact that he had volunteered for watch again the night before, as he had the two nights previously. Not that they blamed him. Mirkwood didn't lend itself readily to a good night's sleep on any occasion and while it was easier to stay awake for watch that way it was even more difficult to get back to sleep afterwards—having seen all those eyes staring at you, knowing they could come at any time. Because of this, no one challenged the young dwarf. If he was able to walk, they weren't going to embarrass him by pointing out his clumsiness. There was, however, a consensus on the matter; there was no way he was taking a watch that night, regardless of his protests.
It wasn't until later that day, when Kíli stumbled and failed to get his feet back under him that they realized there was actually a problem. The young heir had been lagging as the day went on and Bilbo, Bofur and Ori had dropped back slightly to keep him company. At a strange noise from Kíli, Bilbo turned, just in time for the youngest heir of Durin to fall into him, knocking them both to the ground. The hobbit groaned at being slammed into the ground and pinned there, momentarily irritated with the dwarf for tackling him before he realized that Kíli wasn't moving. He was laying there, his brown-eyes open but unseeing, their gaze unfocused and his breathing too shallow and far too rapid.
"Kíli," Bilbo called, slapping him lightly on the cheek. "I would appreciate it if you would get off me. You are rather heavy, after all." Kíli didn't reply, and despite the hobbit's rather shrill voice being right in his ear, his eyes drifted closed. When it became clear that Kíli wasn't going to move on his own, Bilbo looked for help.
"I'm afraid I can't get out from under him on my own," Bilbo said with a wry smile at the others. "Would one of you like to help me? This position is not exactly comfortable, and he's quite hot. Between the weight and the heat . . ."
"Heat?" Thorin demanded, walking back through the company and dropping to his knees with a grimace beside his nephew and the hobbit. He held no illusion that he could lift Kíli off of Bilbo—his healing shoulders still wouldn't allow it—but he couldn't resist the urge to see if his nephew was alright. Despite the fear beating in his chest, he tried to be practical. Perhaps dwarves run warmer than hobbits. He thought desperately as his hand moved forward. That has to be it. We were built for the forges, after all. There was no way that . . . no. It isn't possible. I will not lose anyone else.
"Yes," Bilbo replied. "Almost uncomfortably so." Thorin reached forward to touch Kíli's skin and knew even before he did that his nephew was feverish. He could feel the heat radiating from him before his hand even made contact and once he did, he pulled it away quickly with a curse. He had been in forges that weren't nearly as warm. Though the contact had been brief, Kíli had moaned and tried to turn away from his uncle's fingers, the cold sensation uncomfortable on his feverish flesh.
"Óin?" he called, his voice a choked desperate whisper, habit of seeking help from his cousins breaking through his recent avoidance of them in his time of need. Even though it was the first time Thorin had spoken to him since Beorn's, the old healer came forward without complaint and placed his hands first on Kíli's face and then his neck, ignoring the lad's feeble protests at his actions. He pulled away with a sigh after only a moment. His temperature was much too high, even for a young dwarf that had been traveling. He gently grasped Kíli's arm where the Goblin had cut him, but the flesh there was no warmer than the rest of his body. It confused him. He had been sure that this came from infected wounds. Kíli had been exposed to no other source of illness. With another sigh, he forced the sleeve of Kili's coat up to his elbow.
"His wound is fine, Thorin," Óin said, unwrapping it to be entirely sure and seeing no sign of infection. In fact, though the knot had been clumsy and the dressing too loose, the wound appeared well tended. "It's not infected." He turned the arm slightly so Thorin could see for himself the pink, healing flesh.
"Something is not fine," Thorin snapped, irritated that the answer had not been so simple. "If not his wound then what ails him?"
"Fatigue?" the healer suggested, his tone revealing his uncertainty and his own agitation at not readily having an answer. "He has been taking many watches lately. Or perhaps the dampness of the forest. Maybe he ate something he aught not to have. I don't know, Thorin. But it's not this wound."
"So it's some fault with the lad himself, is it?" Thorin demanded, not liking one bit that Óin was implying that a weakness of Kíli's constitution was to blame for his present illness. Dwarves did not fall sick from fatigue or was an ailment of men alone. Dwarves were meant to endure all things like the stone from which they were hewn .
"I didn't say that, Thorin," Óin sighed, holding out his hands in appeasement. "All that I am saying is that I can't find a cause for this collapse. His arm is fine. It is healing beautifully. That rules out infection. All that leaves is exhaustion, or another illness."
"He's a dwarf," Thorin snapped, wincing as the force of his words caused his ribs to protest.
"Aye, and no one is saying he's not," Óin retorted. "All I'm saying is that he is not suffering from an infected wound and we need to look into other causes. If you have any suggestions, then I'm more that willing to entertain them but all I have to go on is that it's not infection."
"What about his back?" Fíli whispered, horror flooding his veins as he realized that this had been what Kíli had been talking about the night before last. He was actually seeking help, not just attention, and Fíli had rejected him. And now he had succumbed to fever. If Kíli died it would be his fault. He will have killed his brother through neglect.
"What about his back, lad?" Óin asked, lifting the young dwarf so Bilbo could finally scramble out from under him before laying him gently back on the forest floor, not liking in the least the way his head lulled as he was lifted. When no reply came, he turned to the other lad to see that Fili was staring off into nothing with a horrified expression. Confound the Line of Durin, the healer thought vehemently before calling the lad's name sharply enough to snap him out of it.
"What about his back, lad?" Óin repeated, hoping that he'd get a straight answer that wouldn't take him all day to decode.
"Th-the other night when we were on watch he asked me to look at it in the moonlight," Fíli replied, his eyes still distant and his words barely audible. "I told him that I would do it after we were done and had woke the next watch. He told me not to worry about it. Said he was being ridiculous. So I let it drop."
"Why'd he want it looked at?" the healer pressed, his tone edging towards exasperation. "What was going on, lad?"
"He said . . . He said it burned,"Fíli replied, trying to remember if Kíli had said anything else about them. "That they hurt more than they had before. He was . . . He was worried they were getting infected and I . . . I convinced him they weren't and told him to wait until after watch. He was right and I . . ."
"No one would have thought they were," Ori offered softly. "It's been a little while now. They should be nearly healed."
"Not if they were reopened," Dori corrected as Óin and Bofur set to stripping Kíli of his shirts. "Especially if they didn't bleed well enough to wash them out." Fíli and Dwalin both flinched at the memory of their rough treatment of Kíli in the past week or so, each wondering if they had been the one to lead to this.
After they had removed his coat and overshirt, Óin cursed. The lad's undershirt was filthy. Dried blood and grime covered it and, beneath the smell of unwashed body, the healer could smell illness. He couldn't help the anger that welled up in him at Kili for allowing this. Of course any wound would become dangerous if it wasn't kept clean. Every dwarfling knew that. He could only hope the bandage was in better shape, assuming of course that Kili had left one. A quick peek under the cloth revealed that, indeed, there was no additional wrapping; the wound was in direct contact with his undershirt.
"Foolish child," he muttered, sending up a silent prayer to The Maker that his folly would not be the end of him.
"We're going to need a fire," he sighed, turning to the company before lifting the final layer to reveal the wounds. The majority of the young heir's back was a sickly mottled yellow-green where the bruises were beginning to fade, however down the middle between his shoulder-blades, the flesh was angry red with white and yellow pus oozing from the tight skin. Still, Óin was relieved. Bad as it was, there were no streaks coming from the wound and it did not stink of rot.
"Is it . . .?" Fíli asked, creeping forward to look. Despite his guilt, he was curious. He'd never seen infection before, though he'd heard more than enough about the dangers of it to know that it could kill.
"Aye, that's exactly what it is," Óin replied. "He's lucky you remembered that. Might just have saved his life. May as well unpack, lads. We're not going anywhere until I'm done here." There was some uncomfortably shuffling at that. While they knew that he had spoken correctly, there was no doubt in any of their minds that things were still no settled between their king and his kin and didn't want to be seen taking orders from someone who might not have the favor of their monarch tomorrow.
"You heard him, lads," Thorin said, moving once more to Kili's side and brushing his nephew's hair back from his sweaty brow. "Make camp and try to start a fire. Giant moths be damned." At his approval, the company sprang into motion, gathering kindling from the edges of the path-careful not to truly stray from it as they had been warned against it-and setting camp.
"Bilbo," Thorin called, stopping the hobbit from going with Bofur for firewood. "Do you have more of those herbs that Beorn gave you?"
"I do," the hobbit replied, wondering why Thorin would be asking when he had refused to hear anything about them since they had entered the forest.
"Good," the dwarf king said, looking up a Bilbo with a pinched expression that the hobbit couldn't place. "Keep a bit of the water aside. He . . . The lad will be needing them before this is over." Bilbo nodded and hurried to rejoin Bofur, stopping only to tap Fili on the arm.
"Do you want to come along?" Bilbo asked, seeing the pain in the young dwarf's face as he stared at his uncle and brother and thinking he might like a distraction, no matter how small.
"I . . ." Fili started, wanting to tell Bilbo that he'd rather go to his brother. He couldn't bring himself to do so, both for fear of disappointing the hobbit and because he wasn't sure that he would be welcome with his uncle and brother.
Misinterpreting his reluctance, Bilbo added, "Your sharper eyes will help, even if your hand won't."
"Alright," Fili agreed, unable to argue that his eyes were not better in the semi-dark than the hobbit's were. "Let's go." With one final look at his family, Fili followed Bilbo down the path, his eyes scanning for firewood to help make right his mistakes. In his head was an endless prayer that Kili would not pay the ultimate price for his selfishness.
ooOOoo
And real life strikes again. We are now moved, the new baby is here and life goes on. Surprisingly, so does the story. I hope it was worth the wait and I understand that slow updates do cause a loss of interest. I apologize again that it takes time. It also didn't help that I lost a bit of my passion for this story for a bit after some . . . honest reviews on A03 that . . . well, they were true and revealed flaws in the character of the characters that I hadn't seen as THAT big of an issue until they were spelled out in black and white. It took others explaining to the reviewers (and me) that the flaws were what them interesting, even while being exasperating to make me feel good about them again. And it wasn't an ego thing so much as a "Wow, I've written some really effed up people here. What is wrong with ME that I could come up with this?" moment. I always welcome criticism especially when it makes me stop and think about what I'm doing and where I'm going. I now have direction and a solid plan to the end. Now to acquire a bit of time . . . Always one or the other, no?
stickdonkeys
