AN – Uhm, so, yea. Quarantine has been a good time for me to sit down and write, so here we are. I started this story about 8 years ago. It's drifted in and out of my thoughts pretty regularly in that time. In my absence, I've been scribbling down thoughts, moments, plots. I can honestly say the story is mostly finished, it's just a matter of editing and figuring out what I want to include and reordering events to make them chronologically correct(ish).

Anyway, I fully expect that most people who have been following this story are long gone, have moved on to different fandoms, and forgotten my words. I just want to see it through.

This chapter takes us part way through the quest, to Rivendell. There will be at least one more chapter before the conclusion. And probably two endings, haha.

Warnings: Violence, some swearing.


It's time.

He scans the room once more, ensuring that everything he will need for his journey has been packed. He'd made list after list and double-checked them all. He was prepared, he was ready, but he drew little comfort from that knowledge. As Dwalin had reminded him, there were no guarantees in the wild. He hurriedly paces his bedroom, scouring it for anything that he may have missed as worry claws at him.

It was time.

Not so long ago, he'd accepted that this day would never come, that Erebor would be lost to him forever. And now, now he was ready to walk out of the doors of the home he'd built in the Ered Luin, likely never to return. So much of his own blood, sweat, and tears had gone into establishing this home for his people. Nostalgia fills him; this was where he had raised his boys. There are thousands of memories here, most of them good, but the bad ones that clung around the halls like ghosts, catching him off guard when he least expected it, reminding him of all that had been lost.

But still, while he was proud of the life he had created for his people here, from practically nothing, he longed to bring them home. To let those who had fled Erebor with him walk among the halls once more. To let the children who'd only heard of it in stories gape wide-eyed at their homeland. To let them, all of them, know safety and security and belonging after being cast out and forgotten for so long. To let the stories or Erebor become real for Durin's Folk once again.

There's a soft knock at the door. "Come in," he calls, calming his pacing and busying himself with checking his bags one last time.

"Dwalin just arrived," Kíli says quietly, taking in his uncle's somber mood. He looks nervous, and Thorin can hardly fault him. This would take his boys far from the only home they'd ever known, across the expanse of Middle Earth to a home they'd only longed for because of him.

"Come here," Thorin requests, and his youngest nephew crosses the room with haste. He immediately pulls him into a tight embrace, feels the tension in his youngest nephew's back. "It is time, isn't it?"

He feels Kíli nod against his shoulder as the lad tightens his grip on him. "Be careful," he murmurs. Though his tone is soft, it is stern, and Thorin knows that his words are a command, not a request.

Thorin kisses his temple, squeezing him one last time before releasing him. "Come. We must not keep your brother and Dwalin waiting," he says, reaching for his bags. Kíli grabs one of them, carrying it with him as they leave the room. Thorin holds back, casting one last glance around, before following Kíli to the living room where Dwalin and Fíli are quietly conversing.

"Ready to go?" Dwalin asks cheerfully, clapping a hand on Fíli's shoulder. Thorin can tell that he's deliberately keeping the mood light to brighten his spirits, and he is grateful for it. His heart has longed for Erebor since the day the wretched dragon came, but even he cannot deny that parts of Ered Luin will always feel like home. It still feels impossibly hard to leave.

"Aye," he murmurs. "Should be able to make good time with this early of a start." He looks to Fíli. "Come here, lad," he calls, and wraps his heir into a tight embrace.

Fíli heaves a sigh as he hugs him closer still. "Please be careful," he echoes his brother's words.

"I will," he promises, dropping a quick kiss to his forehead as he shifts to hold him out at arm's length. "Take care of each other," he says, regarding Kíli as well. "I will see you in Bree." He pulls Fíli back into another embrace, reaching for Kíli as well.

He holds both of his boys tight, breathing with them to calm his nerves. He refuses to entertain the possibility that this will be the last time he sees them. "I love you both," he murmurs, throat tight at the admission. It isn't often that he voices his affection for the lads, and he feels both of them hug him tighter at his words.

"And I love this whole sorry lot," Dwalin confesses as he joins in, wrapping a bone crushing embrace around the three of them. Kíli lets out a rough laugh, one that shows just how tight with emotion his throat has become, and Thorin feels his heart lurch as he desperately squashes the dark visions creep into his mind again.

Dwalin gives another squeeze before pulling away. "Alright, lads, we've got to be off now." Thorin is fairly certain he sees the glimmer of a tear in his old friend's eye and knows that it pains Dwalin just as much as it does him to leave.

"Two weeks," Thorin says as they separate. "Oin and Gloin will be ahead of you; they'll send word if there are any signs of trouble. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur will be three days behind you." Thorin adjusts his hold on his pack, before reaching for the bag Kíli had carried into for him earlier. "Be careful, lads," he all but whispers, reaching for his nephews once more to touch his forehead to each of theirs. "We will see you in Bree." If his voice cracks, none of them comment on it.

"Good luck," Kíli says, his voice coming out overly loud in their otherwise stiflingly quiet home, and though he has put on a brave face, Thorin can see how his eyes are watering. A glance toward Fíli shows that he does not fare much better.

"Stay safe, lads," Dwalin says, speaking when Thorin finds himself unable to due to the lump that has lodged itself in his throat. He claps a hand on both of the boy's shoulders, squeezing them gently as he does. "We'll see you soon."

No one is able to find any more words as Thorin and Dwalin finish preparing to leave. They pause for one more round of embraces, and no one comments on the mistiness of all of their eyes.

Without a sound, Thorin and Dwalin depart the dwelling, with Fíli and Kíli trailing behind them, heading through the still halls in the early morning. Being up before most of the settlement makes their journey quicker than normal, and soon they reach the mouth of Thorin's Halls, where the early dawn light slips through the open gates.

Thorin turns to regard his nephews once more, taking in their faces and committing them to memory, just in case. Surprisingly, it is Fíli who blinks out a tear, so Thorin reaches for him first, curling his fingers around the back of his neck and knocking their foreheads together with a tenderness he was sure he had lost in the last few years. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dwalin do the same to Kíli, and once he is ready he breaks his embrace with his eldest to trade places. When they part, Kíli gives him a brave, albeit shaky, smile, and Thorin feels a wave of emotion wash over him.

He doesn't deserve these boys. He doesn't deserve their love, he knows, but he cherishes it all the same.

"We will see you in Bree," he says once more with a steady voice, willing himself to believe it. This part of the journey makes him anxious, when they will all be setting out at different times, following different paths before reaching the main road…he will not be able to protect them in the wilds, but he trusts that their training is enough to keep them safe.

He will rest easier once they are all reunited.

As he and Dwalin turn to greet the misty morning, he doesn't dare look back to the gate. He keeps his gaze forward, on to the port at the Gray Havens where he will meet with Dain's men, then to Bree to reconvene with the company, then to Erebor. He mustn't look back; not now. He's come too far for that.

His eyes are fixed on home.


It doesn't take long for them to set up camp for the night; he and Kíli are well practiced at it. But his brother is unusually fidgety and cautious, his eyes keep flitting toward the tree line as if the darkness itself is going to creep into their campsite. While Fíli has removed his scabbards and set his swords to the side for the night, Kíli's bow stays slung on his shoulder, and though his brother has laid his sword down, his hunting knife is still tucked into his waistband.

The camping is familiar; they've done it dozens, if not hundreds of times before on hunting trips. The setting is not. Kíli has never been this far from home, far enough that the Blue Mountains sit on the horizon and the trees are becoming sparser every day, giving way to rolling fields of tall, tall grasses. Thorin has taken Fíli on enough trips that the road feels almost comfortable for him, but Kíli is all jittery and full of nervous energy. With every day it gets slightly worse, and Fíli hopes that once they reunite with Thorin and the rest of the company that he'll settle down.

"Should only be a few more days until we get to Shire," Fíli murmurs, stretching his arms behind his back as he speaks. "And then maybe two more days to Bree. I can't wait to have a soft pillow under my head again."

Kíli makes noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, eyes still scanning the edge of the forest.

"Hey," he calls again, waiting until his brother's gaze turns to him instead. "Come here." He pats the ground next to him. "Boots off. Feet by the fire. Relax. I mean it," he adds when Kíli very nearly rolls his eyes at him.

Kíli settles in by his side, pressed too close as always, but Fíli takes advantage of this position to sneak his bow off his shoulder. Kíli shoots him a look, but just sighs and unbuckles his quiver and lays it next to his bow. He looks tired. Fíli wraps his arm around his shoulder, smiling when his brother instinctively lays his head down on his shoulder. "Maybe we'll even have an ale or two," Kíli murmurs sleepily, and Fíli's smile pulls even wider.

"I mean no offence to Mister Bombur, but the ale in Bree is much better than his," he says, chuckling at Kíli's feigned gasp of disbelief.

"Traitor," he teases, "I'll tell him. He'll only have you drink the skunked ale from here on out."

Fíli chuckles at him. "You wouldn't. I'd bring you down with me," he promises.

Suddenly, Kíli's head snaps up from his shoulder, and his dark eyes focus on the edge of the clearing. His hands reach instinctively for his bow, fumbling for a moment before he finds where Fíli set it down.

"What's wrong?" Fíli whispers, but is immediately hushed by his brother. Then he hears it, too, the soft crunching of underbrush in the distance.

Someone is coming.

Fíli immediately reaches for his scabbard and pulls his sword free, eyes intently watching his brother. Kíli has always been able to see better at night than him, better at using his senses to locate prey moving stealthily through the woods, so he knows it is best to follow his lead.

Silently, Kíli pulls an arrow and nocks it in his bow. The sound of snapping branches gets louder. Whoever is encroaching on their camp is making no means to be quiet about it. Kíli starts to draw, his eyes narrowed, focused on something that Fíli cannot see.

"Oy, don't shoot me, laddie!" Bofur's unmistakable tenor sounds through the woods, and Kíli relaxes, muttering a curse under his breath.

"Mahal, Bofur!" Fíli exasperates. "You nearly scared the life out of me!"

"Good thing he didn't hear you talking about his ale," Kíli teases, smirk playing at his lips even as his shoulders stay tense.

"Sorry, lads," Bofur says as he, Bifur, and Bombur finally reach the clearing. "Wasn't completely sure it was you all we were coming up on."

"You're supposed to be three days behind us," Fíli says, as he and his brother cross the clearing to meet the other dwarves, helping them deposit their supplies to set up camp.

"Got a raven the day after you left. Thorin wanted us to catch up to you and head to Hobbiton instead," Bombur explains, already digging in his pack for his cooking supplies. "Forgot to pack some of my spices in our haste to leave, but we should be able to make due until we can purchase more provisions," he says with a wry smile.

Kíli shakes his head and laughs at him. "Priorities, honestly," he murmurs, and then signs something quickly to Bifur in Iglishmek that makes the older dwarf laugh as well.

"Did he say why?" Fíli asks as they all settle around the fire, where Bombur has immediately taken to seasoning the rabbits they'd had roasting there. "Is something wrong?"

Bofur shakes his head. "Nah, didn't seem to be anything amiss, though it's hard to tell in a letter. Didn't use any of 'em code words, so I suppose it's all right." He reaches into the pocket of his overcoat and pulls out a piece of parchment, handing it to Fíli.

Before leaving, the company had settled on a few phrases that sounded innocent enough that Thorin was comfortable sending through the ravens, but held special meaning for them, and them alone. The ale's gone stale meant that Dain's men had crossed them, or This town reeks of tall folk meant that they were under threat of attack.

It doesn't surprise him at all when Kíli's head appears behind his, reading the letter over his shoulder. Bofur was right, there isn't anything off about the message, just that their meeting place had changed and they were to look for a door with a particular rune on it once they reached Hobbiton. Straight and to the point.

"Gets you to your soft pillow and decent ale sooner," Kíli murmurs, smirking at him when Bofur looks up in surprise.

"Oy! What's wrong with my ale, laddie?"


They wander the narrow trails of Hobbiton, passing a glance at each door they pass to check for the rune. Bofur and his kin had decided to refresh themselves at the inn before reuniting with the company (with some "decent ale," Bofur had teased), but Fíli and Kíli were anxious to see their uncle again, so they'd headed on.

"What if we're the first ones there?" Kíli asks, idly chewing on a piece of grass. They nod in greeting to a hobbit that passes them with a wide berth, giving them a peculiar look all the while and muttering something about strange folk in the town once they'd passed. From his lessons, he knew that Hobbiton was fairly isolated and wary of outsiders, so he paid it no mind.

"Then I suppose Master Boggins will have to entertain us for a short while," Fíli answers easily. "Though I should think Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin should be there already."

He pauses, and regards his brother with interest. "I thought it was Baggins?"

Fíli's eyes narrow in thought. "I'm fairly certain it was Boggins," he affirms. "Hey, do you see that?" he asks, pointing toward a house on a hill. There's a small thing at the base of the door, shimmering in the glowing moonlight. "That's got to be the mark, don't you think?"

Kíli nods in agreement, and they set off up the hill. "I hope he has food," he grumbles lightly, suddenly wishing he had stopped at the inn with Bofur.

"I'm certain he will," Fíli assures him. "No one in their right mind would host thirteen dwarves without preparing a proper meal first."


It's been raining for days. Kíli is certain that even his bones are soaked through at this point; he's forgotten what it meant to be dry. The entire company had been right miserable, Thorin most of all, as they'd continued trudging along, hoping that the rain would either let up or they'd come across a town with an inn where they could warm up and sleep.

Even Fíli's normally cheery mood had soured; he'd snapped at him earlier that morning for simply trying to start a conversation with him. It was early in the afternoon (at least, he thought it was; it was hard to tell with the overcast sky and the monotony of the road) when Kíli slowed his pony down and shifted to the back of their traveling party to ride next to Mister Baggins (oh, he would need to get his brother back for that one later).

The hobbit looked as miserable as he did, and so Kíli decided to ride by him in companionable silence instead of trying to force conversation.

"This is not at all what I was expecting," the hobbit – Bilbo – utters bitterly, furiously wiping rain from his face. "Not like any of my walking holidays at all! None of the adventures in my books talk about how utterly mundane this all is."

Kíli chuckles lightly. "I must agree," he admits. "Though I've never been on quite such a journey before. I suppose I didn't really know what to expect."

Bilbo adjusts himself on his saddle. "And these ponies! I much prefer the ground under my feet, thank you!"

He glances down toward the hobbit's feet. "Wouldn't that be painful?" he asks without thinking, forgetting his manners and Balin's teachings about the ways of hobbits. Were his teacher within earshot, he would have gotten a lecture for certain.

"You know, with as hardy as dwarves are supposed to be, you'd think your feet could handle some rough terrain," Bilbo replies, unbothered, a mirthful expression on his face that makes Kíli laugh and forget the rain for a moment.

Gloin tosses an irritated look back at them, clearly still disgruntled from the rain, which makes Bilbo downright giggle in response.

"The rain's making 'em delirious back there," Bofur teases good-naturedly, which only earns him a scoff from Gloin.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, and for a while, the rain doesn't feel so stifling.


Bilbo wakes with a start. He's not been too keen on sleeping on the ground in the first place, but it's made worse by the fact that he thinks there was something crawling on him just then. He fumbles out of his bedroll, dusting himself off where he swears something just slithered across his legs. The fire has burned low and is casting strange shadows around their camp, giving him all the more reason to feel anxious about a creeping visitor in the night.

He knows he won't find sleep anytime soon, so he looks to see who is on watch, thinking that perhaps he will keep them company for a while or maybe relieve them early if they're tired. It's Kíli that's watching him from where he is propped up against a tree trunk, a small little smirk gracing his lips that lets Bilbo know he saw his miniature freak out, and he has the decency to at least blush a little before he makes his way over to him. Fíli is asleep beside him, half curled into his side and using his little brother's leg as a pillow.

"Can't sleep, Mister Baggins?" he asks as soon as Bilbo sits beside him, a smile clearly evident in his voice. He likes Kíli, he knows. The young dwarf is always full of energy and is overly kind to him, which is something that could not be said for the rest of the company.

"No," he answers. "We don't all have the luxury of your brother to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, no matter where."

Kíli chuckles before glancing down at his brother, affection clear in his features. "A bit annoying, really. He tricked me into watch. Said he wanted someone to keep him company and then dropped right off."

Bilbo laughs as well; it does certainly sound like something Fíli would do. The lads had broken up the monotony of the journey by playing pranks on one another, much to the amusement of the company (he'd even seen Thorin crack a smile at their antics). "I could take over for you, if you want," he offered. "I'll be imagining things squirming around my bedroll for the rest of the night, I suppose."

Kíli gives him a light smile, but he notices how it doesn't reach his eyes. "I can't really sleep either," he admits, and there's something about him that just looks so off and vulnerable in that moment that Bilbo suddenly realizes how young Kíli must be.

Eventually he fishes out his pipe and fills it, offering some to Kíli, who simply shakes his head. He takes a long drag, tastes the Shire and home, and it brings a bit of peace back to him. He watches Kíli for a moment, notices how his gaze keeps flickering from one sleeping dwarf to the next, to the treetops and the stars, to the fire.

"How old are you, Kíli?" he asks eventually, curiosity getting the better of him, even if it may not be proper to ask such a bold question at this time of night.

If Kíli is surprised by his question, he doesn't show it, but his eyes do stop their wandering and eventually settle Thorin. "Seventy-seven," he answers.

Bilbo raises an eyebrow. He is only fifty, and hadn't imagined that Kíli could be older than him, but he thinks he remembers from one of his books that dwarrows live a good bit longer than hobbits. "When do dwarrows come of age?" he asks, and notices that Kili almost blushes, but it could be a trick of the firelight.

"At eighty," he answers. "The company had to vote to let me come or not." He swallows thickly, and Bilbo knows there's something else he wants to say, so he gives him time to speak. Eventually the young dwarf just sighs and shakes his head.

Bilbo lets out a long sigh. "I don't think I would have ever been able to convince my parents to let me journey so far before I was of age," he comments, searching for familiar patterns in the stars, silence stretching between them.

"My parents have been gone a long time," Kíli eventually murmurs. "It's just me and Fíli. Always has been."

Bilbo curses his boldness. There's a sadness in the lad's voice that he's not heard before, and he hates that his curiosity puts it there. Yet, it explained why the brothers were so close, much closer than any of the other siblings in the company. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Kíli doesn't reply, but Bilbo sees the soft smile that tugs at the corner of his lips. The dwarf isn't cross with him, which comes as a huge relief.

"I had forgotten that dwarrows live much longer than hobbits," he eventually says, breaking the silence and steering the conversation down a different path, puffing on his pipe thoughtfully. "But no doubt you've had plenty of time for adventures in seventy-seven years?"

Kíli gives him a lopsided grin. "I'm just as green as you, Mister Baggins," he admits. "Up until a few months ago, I'd never left Ered Luin."

Bilbo is quite certain that his jaw drops, drawing a light chuckle from Kíli.

"Well, sometimes Mister Dwalin and I would go on hunting trips, but they were never far away or for very long," he explains. "And I went out on patrol around Ered Luin, but still, not far."

"Oh," is all Bilbo can think to reply. The lad had seemed so at ease in the wilds; he had just assumed Kíli had more experience than most, especially having been chosen for such an important quest. Bravery must be in no short supply for dwarrow, he reasoned. "Well then, I hope you are at least not as afraid of everything as I am."

Kili's gaze flickered down. "I am," he admits quietly, and Bilbo wonders how in the world he can possibly be afraid, because he is always sent out scouting and climbing trees and hunting, typically with a smile and an eagerness not possessed by the rest of the company. But really, he realizes, Kili is still just a child, one who has never been away from home before.

"Is that why you can't sleep?" he ventures, and Kíli just nods. Bilbo offers him his pipe again, but he refuses again. "Well, I'll look after you if you decide to nod off. I can keep watch until morning."

That soft, kind smile returns. "Thank you," he murmurs quietly, and Bilbo can hear the sincerity in his words.

The comfortable silence descends over them once again, and Bilbo focuses on his pipe, idly humming fragments of a mostly forgotten lullaby from his childhood, the words dancing around his mind but flitting just out of reach. He wonders how he's forgotten the words but can hear his mother's voice clear as day, wonders if Kíli does the same with old dwarven lullabies. He turns to ask, but to his pleasant surprise sees that Kíli's eyes have slipped closed, his head resting back against the tree trunk, chest rising and falling with steady, even breaths, lulled to sleep by the pleasant smell of pipe smoke and Bilbo's humming.

Bilbo smiles, feeling immeasurably proud of himself as he settles in to keep watch for the next few hours.

He doesn't see the fire glinting from Thorin's eyes, who quietly watches him with a growing fondness.


Lightning cracks across the sky, followed by another booming rumble of thunder. He and Kíli are working quickly to get the rest of the ponies tied to some trees, to keep the spooked beasts from fleeing in the night. As it is, Fíli feels fairly certain that one or more of them will be missing before the dawn. He deftly ties the reigns of the last of his ponies, before looking back at Kíli to see if he's almost done. He cannot wait to be back under the cover of the outcropping of rocks they had found just before the skies opened up in this deluge.

His brother is on the last of his ponies, Minty, and Fíli begins to trudge over to help him along. Another bolt of lightning streaks the sky, bathing the entire wood in an eerie blue light, with the impossibly loud crack of thunder coming immediately after. Fíli sees Minty rear up in fear before sprinting off. Frantically, Fíli's eyes search for his brother in the suddenly dark wood, but he cannot see him - the place where Kíli stood moments ago is empty.

"Fee!" he hears in the distance, and with a sickening feeling he realizes that Kíli must be caught up in Minty's reigns, being dragged alongside her as she flees.

"We need help!" he screams in the direction of their encampment, before tearing off after the pony. Lightning illuminates the forest once more, and Fíli can see them, can see Kíli's arm trapped in Minty's reigns as his brother tries to pull himself free. He pushes himself faster, sprinting through the brush of the forest to catch them. Another flash reveals the stream they'd forded earlier, and with relief he realizes that Minty will likely stop at its banks - she'd been the most reluctant to cross it. He'll be able to catch them and get his brother loose.

He trips over a branch, falls face first into the underbrush, and hears a large splash from ahead.

"No, no," he breathes, scrambling to his feet. The next flash of lightning reveals Minty's head barely above the tumultuous waters as she frantically tries to cross, with Kíli nowhere in sight. "Kíli!"

He reaches the streambank just as Minty pulls herself up on the other side, reigns cut. Kíli must have managed to free himself, but he's still nowhere to be seen.

Panic grips at him as he scans the turbid waters, searching for any sign of his brother. Behind him, he hears someone calling out, but he can't focus on who it is or what they're saying. Another flash of lightning and he sees him, at least the blue of his hood, farther downstream. He sprints down the bank, his boots sticking in the mud, slowing him with each step, but he keeps his eyes on the hood, terrified that he will lose sight of it and his brother will be lost for good. When lightning flashes once more, he is relieved and horrified to see an outcropping of rocks blocking most of the stream flow, water rushing over and around them in their quest downstream. The rocks should stop him, and Fíli will be able to catch up.

Without thinking, he leaps into the rushing water, frantically moving forward, the water pushing him along with unforeseen might. He smashes into the rocks, his hands gripping wildly for his brother. Finally, he feels Kíli's solid weight just under the surface and he pulls.

"Here, laddie; we've got 'em," he hears suddenly, and he looks up to see Bofur and Bifur with their arms extended. He lifts his Kíli up as well as he can, and the brothers grab him to pull him the rest of the way up. Kíli is deadweight, unmoving, and Fíli's heart lurches in his chest as Bifur carefully carries him across the rocks and to the riverbank.

"Now you," says Bofur, and Fíli reaches for him, grateful for his help in getting out of the stream as his legs have turned to jelly and he's not certain he could have done it on his own. He leans heavily on the innkeeper, trying to find his brother in the darkness.

"He's not breathing," he hears someone say, but he can't quite place their voice. He abruptly realizes how cold he is. Lightning flashes again, but it seems so dim. Why is everything so dark? "Someone get Oin! He's not breathing!"

He feels the mud of the bank under his feet, but his legs give out when Bofur relinquishes his hold to let him stand. He hears thunder, and everything goes dark.


"Move!" Bilbo commands, startled by his own forwardness. Dori obliges without comment, stepping aside from Kíli's limp form, face clouded with worry. Kíli looks like hell, practically blue. Bilbo sinks to his knees beside the lad, shaking fingers brushing the hair back from his face, alarmed at how cold he is. Gently, he adjusts the lad's head, trying to recall the rescue breathing his Brandybuck cousins had taught him ages ago when they were just children. When he pulls his hands back, he is dismayed to see them covered in blood.

"Do you know what to do?" Dori asks from behind him.

Dimly, he nods. "I think so, at least," he admits, suddenly unsure of himself.

"Need some help over here, lads!" Bofur calls, and Bilbo looks up to see him struggling to support Fíli's weight. Bifur rushes to help carry him, throwing Fíli's arm over his shoulder to hoist him up. "Dori, get Oin. We'll be right behind you." He fixes Bilbo with a stern look. "You've got him 'til they get back?"

"Yes; now go!" Bilbo orders, confidence returning as his fingers feel for the boy's pulse along his neck, finally finding it sluggishly pounding along. He takes a deep breath, pinches Kíli's nose, then breaths into his mouth once, then twice. The lad's chest rises with each breath, something he vaguely remembers as a good sign, but he can't for the life of himself remember why.

"C'mon, Kíli," he murmurs, before breathing for him again. And again. And again. Watching between each breath for a sign of life from the lad. And again.

It can't be like this. Not Kíli. Kíli who was so kind, and listened to his stories, and found ways to make him laugh on the darkest days of their journey. He breathes for him again. Watches. Nothing.

And Fíli! Was he alright? In shock, no doubt, from the icy chill of the water. He breathes again. Watches. Surely he would be okay, but without Kíli? Breathes again. He can't fathom it. He'd only known them for a short time, but they were practically two souls sharing one body. Again. Again.

Again.

Kíli suddenly coughs, spurting up water as he does, before taking a rough, heaving breath. His body spasms violently as his consciousness comes back to him, grating, gasping breaths shake his entire form.

"It's alright," he soothes, stroking his hands along his face, his shoulders. "You're alright, Kíli; we've got you."

Oin suddenly appears beside him. "Said he wasn't breathing?" he asks. "You did this?"

"My cousins taught me rescue breathing after one of them nearly drowned," he explains hastily. "I think he has a head injury," he adds, holding up his still bloodied hand as evidence.

"That arm might be broken, too," Oin says, gesturing to Kíli's right hand, which is already bruised and purple, swollen around his gauntlet. "C'mon, lads," he says, and Bilbo looks up to see Gloin and Dwalin, their faces stricken with worry. "Let's get him to the fire; Mister Baggins' fine work will be for naught if we don't get him warm."

Numbly, Bilbo follows after them as they carry Kíli's still sputtering form, hurrying through the downpour to get him under the safety of the outcrop. After what seems like an eternity, he spies the campfire in the distance. As they get closer, he can see the dwarves wrapping Fíli in furs. He's cradled against Bofur's chest, next to the fire, mumbling incoherently as he comes back to his senses.

Thorin is positively frantic, which strikes Bilbo as odd. He is immediately at Kíli's side while Oin strips him of his soaking clothes, and it is Thorin who gathers the lad into his arms and wraps him tight under his furs, lips pressed close against his temple as he whispers words Bilbo cannot hear while Oin prods at his head, searching for the wound.

He feels like an intruder, like he's watching something deeply private infold, so he slips away.

Silently, he trods off to the other side of the fire, to sit beside Fíli and Bofur. Fíli seems to have regained some of his strength - he's not leaning on Bofur quite so much, and his eyes are focused on his brother across the fire. Bombur has placed a warm bowl of stew in his hands, and he's cradling it gently, the tips of his fingers white with cold.

"He's breathing?" Fíli asks as Bilbo approaches, his voice a stammering slur of words.

"He is," Bilbo confirms as he settles himself, warming his chilled hands by the fire. Thunder rumbles again, making him jump. His adrenaline from being able to help has faded; now he just feels worried and cold. "What even happened?"

Fíli clears his throat. "I'm not quite sure," he admits, his voice trembling. "We were tieing up the ponies. I looked over and one of them bolted, and I don't know what happened but Kíli was...he was caught somehow...and…"

"His arm looked injured," Bilbo said softly. "It must have gotten tangled in the reigns."

Fíli chokes on a sob. "He went under and I couldn't find him," he murmurs, and Bilbo glances over at him, dismayed to see the tears pooling in his eyes. "I couldn't help him."

He reaches over and pats Fíli's arm, trying his best to soothe the lad. "You did help him, Fíli. You got him out of the water. And now Oin will take good care of him."

At that moment, Kíli lets out a pitiful wail as Oin tends to the wound on his head. Fíli starts to stand, but Bofur grabs his arm to keep him seated. "Rest, laddie," he commands. "He's in the best of hands."

"I'm not leaving him alone," Fíli asserts, and when he staggers to his feet, Bofur doesn't stop him. Bilbo watches in barely concealed amazement as Thorin opens his arms and allows Fíli to settle into his opposite side, gingerly taking his brother's arm into his hands to examine it. He's never seen Thorin show a lick of affection to anyone in the company (and certainly not to him), and this raw tenderness...it's a side of the dwarf king he hadn't seen before.

His musing is interrupted as Bombur hands him his own bowl of stew. "It's supposed to be a secret," Bofur says after a moment, "but I think you've earned our trust."

Bilbo regards him oddly. Their trust? Did he not already have it when he agreed to come on this blasted quest?

"They're his nephews," the innkeeper says, voice quiet, buried under the commotion of the camp.

"His what?" Bilbo asks, incredulous. Slowly, the pieces click into place, his conversation with Kíli from a few nights ago catapulting to the front of his mind. Being orphaned, having to rely on his brother, being brought on the quest even though he wasn't of age…

"He doesn't want anyone to know because they're his heirs - could wipe out the entire line of Durin at once if some evil sort wanted to," he continues, still quiet. "Aside from Erebor, he loves those boys more than anything in the world. Raised 'em himself. They may as well be his sons."


Kíli finally feels warm again, from where he is pressed against his chest. Thorin watches him as he sleeps, the subtle movement of his eyes beneath his eyelids. The fact that he is sleeping relatively peacefully is a gift that he won't take for granted.

He truly thought they had lost him. When Oin and Dwalin had brought him back to their encampment...he was too pale, streaks of red blood on his face and neck, his arm impossibly swollen…and Fíli, his sweet Fíli, soaked to the bone and utterly terrified that he'd been too late to help his brother.

He'd been ready to scold the lads about being careless when tending to the ponies, but all of that anger, all of his appearances dissipated the second he'd heard Fíli's frantic scream in the storm. The second he'd seen his frightened face…

He swallows thickly. Nightmares for his past swirl around his mind, horrible visions that he hoped would never come to pass. He regrets bringing them, both of them, but they're too far gone to turn back now.

Oin had worked quickly on Kíli, finding and stitching the gash on his head, bracing his (fortunately unbroken) arm. The lad had been nearly delirious, from pain or cold or both, and Thorin had focused on talking him through what was happening, on distracting him with stories from his childhood, keeping him awake so Oin could assess the severity of his concussion. When Fíli had stumbled over he couldn't help but gather him into his arms as well. Kíli was certainly in a more dire state, but it wasn't lost on him that Fíli had nearly lost his life as well. If Bofur hadn't heard his call...if he hadn't rushed to their aid…

He couldn't let himself dwell on that.

Holding them both so close had reminded him of when they were children, when Kíli was horribly afraid of storms and Fíli was afraid of sleeping alone, and they would both clamber into his study (where he inevitably was still up, pouring over his maps and books) and curl up on the settee together until they calmed enough to go to sleep.

But they weren't children anymore, and they weren't in the comfort of their home. They were in the wilds, on a quest that Thorin had no right to bring them on, no right to even ask them to come on.

The guilt gnaws at him, and he curls his arms tighter around Kíli's sleeping form. He catches Fíli's eye across the fire, where his heir is heating some water for the herbal tea Oin had given him for his aches. Fíli gives him a gentle smile, but Thorin sees the sadness and fear that still linger in his eyes. Thorin had held him close last night as he'd cried out his fears and blamed himself. But from the sounds of it, it was all a freak accident. No one could be blamed for this, not truly. Perhaps Minty, but the beast was only acting on instinct, and now she and her supplies were lost.

Kíli stirs slightly. Thorin peers down to be met with clouded, confused brown eyes. "You're awake," he says quietly, and Kíli's brow furrows.

"Wha-" Kíli starts, his voice raspy. "What happened?"

Fíli rejoins then, smiling slightly when he sees that his brother is awake. He takes the tea he'd brewed for himself and presses it into his brother's hands. "Minty took you for a late night swim," he says, light tone belying the fear of the night before. "Drink this," he adds, helping his brother lift the mug to his lips. "It'll help you feel better."

Kíli frowns. "Wha's wrong with my hand?"

"Got tangled up in her reigns, I'm afraid." Fíli explains, and Thorin is immensely grateful for his calming presence. A lump has lodged itself in his throat, and he doesn't trust himself to speak. "Oin thinks it's just a sprain," he adds. "Should be right in a few days."

Kíli quietly sips the warm tea, a soft hum of appreciation slips from the back of his throat. He lifts his head from Thorin's chest to look around, but quickly grimaces and screws his eyes shut, letting his head fall back. "Ah, shit," he grumbles, making Thorin chuckle, loosening the knot in his throat.

"Oin thinks your head will be off for a few days yet," he explains. "Maybe sooner with the teas, but you'll need to take it slow until then."

"Thought you always said I had a thick head," Kíli grumbles, drawing a bark of laughter from Balin nearby, which tugs a small smile to Kíli's lips.

"Good thing, too, laddie," Balin says, laughter still bubbling in his voice. "A knock that hard to any of the rest of this lot would have then out cold for days." He casts a glance over to his brother. "Except for Dwalin, of course."

Kíli laughs for real then, and Fíli joins in. Thorin feels immensely relieved to hear them sounding so much like themselves; it dissolves some of his guilt and frustration, reminding him that although they are but boys, they are strong, and loyal, and kind. It reminds him of why he included them in the company, even with his reservations, of their worth to this quest, of the rewards they would reap in Erebor.

And despite the terror of the night's events, he feels more sure of himself than ever.


"I don't care what Uncle says about elves," Fíli sighs contentedly, sinking into the huge, cushiony covering of the bed they'd been lent for the night. "So long as I get to sleep on this divine bed, they're alright in my book. They're even more hospitable than the poor hobbit was!"

"Bilbo," Kíli reminds him. Having grown close to the hobbit during their adventure, he'd learned that he was particularly annoyed at being referred to simply as "the hobbit." ("I have a name," he'd grumbled after Dwalin had dismissed him easily. "A perfectly good name that he'd be kind to remember!") Since then, Kíli had tried to use his name as often as possible.

"Yes, Bilbo," Fíli amends. "Speaking of, what do you think of him?"

Kíli adjusts the sleeves of the robe the elves had lent them while they tended to their clothes, rolling them to keep them from covering his hands, before clammering up onto the bed with his brother. "I don't know how he'll fare as a burglar," he admits, settling into the delightfully comfortable bedding. "But he is kind and honorable. A good man."

"Mmm," Fíli murmurs in agreement, practically falling asleep. It had been a long time since they had gone off to bed with a full belly and all of the comforts of home (though, to be true, the luxurious halls of the elves were a far cry from their modest upbringing), and Kíli would be lying if he said he wasn't pleased with the turn of events. Elven culture was dramatically different than their own, but seeing a semblance of home, even if it wasn't his home, had been deeply comforting.

A thought occurred to him, one that he had tried to squash down many times before, moreso now that their journey had started. He'd never properly voiced it aloud, not even to his brother.

What even was home? Ered Luin had been the only home he had ever known, but being raised by Thorin it was always treated as a temporary solution. His days were filled with stories of Erebor, of their real home, but that's all they were to him. Stories.

Now that the quest was proceeding, he felt a distinct fear gnawing at him. Would he even like Erebor? Thorin always spoke of the great, winding halls that carved deep into the mountain, but Kíli hated being underground for long stretches of time, much preferring the rolling, open fields or the comforting canopy of the forest. (Elf-bred indeed, his brain mocks). If Thorin were restored to his throne, certain...responsibilities would be expected of him. He wasn't sure he would be able to fulfill them. Fellow dwarves would be depending on them, and he was right terrified of letting them down, of not being up to the task.

He knew in many ways Fíli felt the same way - that their upbringing precluded him from being a suitable heir to Thorin's throne, that he also feared not being adequate for their people. But Fíli didn't see himself the way Kíli did - the way their fellow dwarves in the settlement saw him. He was assured and just and kind. He was skilled on the battlefield and had proven his worth as a soldier and general in his time on patrol.

And then there was the unspoken truth about his birth - he was the spare. Part of him didn't even dare to hope that he would ever even see the halls of Erebor, which is maybe why he couldn't picture where he would fit. He'd already nearly lost his life thrice already - most recently this morning, when he'd covered the company as they'd fled the band of orc hunting them, jagged arrows narrowly missing him. Then there was the business with the trolls, and not to mention how he almost got himself drowned (purely on accident, at that!). The wizard had alluded to the fact that the danger would increase the farther they traveled - that Rivendell would be their last safe sanctuary for quite some time.

He drew up the map of their road in his mind. Idly, he wondered at which point he would meet his demise.

"You're not sleeping," Fíli groggily mumbles, arm blindly flopping around to find him. "Go t'sleep."

Kíli rolls, curling up against his brother's side, squashing down his dark thoughts once again. Fíli already has so much to worry about; he doesn't want to burden him further, especially knowing how much theorizing about his own end distresses his brother.

He focuses instead, on happier memories, in particular on a foraging trip he had taken with Fíli and Dwalin through the woods surrounding Ered Luin on a perfect autumn day, the leaves swirling around them in reds and golds in the crisp breeze. They were just children, unburdened by the worries of their people. Carefree. Happy.

The sound of Fíli's soft snoring and the comfort of their bedding eventually lulls him into a dreamless sleep.


AN - I'm wrapping up the next chapter (currently rewatching the films for reference - my dumb self forgot about the whole ~arkenstone~ thing...oops).