Here we are, day 13! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and please forgive any typos!

Chapter Thirteen: The Seer and the Dark

The Company Room had not seen so tense a scene in years.

The fire that crackled in the hearth barely seemed to warm the room, and its red light did little to lighten the mood. Thorin sat in his armchair, but other than Glóin and Bombur, no one else seemed able to sit down. Dori was pacing before the fire, throwing shadows across the room, and Balin was leaning over the table behind Thorin, pouring over his maps. Dwalin was leaning against the wall by the fire place, wreathed in shadows with a mug of ale in his hand. Óin stood behind his brother's chair, his trumpet jammed into his ear. Whenever anyone spoke, he would step towards them, unwilling to lose a single word of what was said. But no one was speaking now. There was absolute silence, save for the crackling of the fire.

Then, Thorin heard faint steps coming down the hall, and there was a knock on the door.

"Enter," he called, and a young, familiar warrior walked in.

"Your majesty," Ari said, bowing low. "My lords. We have filled the grain stores to their maximum, and are working with Dale to import more food into the mountain. If we are to survive a siege, more provisions will have to be made, but we are already importing hay and straw by the tonne in case herds must be kept in the mountain. The people of New Dale are themselves readying for war, and their women and children preparing to shelter here, when the time comes. Thus far, everything has gone according to plan."

"Thank you, Ari," Thorin said, though he wondered why the soldier had come to tell him this. Thorin knew most of it already, and though it was a relief to hear that everything was going smoothly, it was hardly news.

Moreover, Thorin had known Ari since he was born – he had held him as a babe, in fact – and the king had mourned deeply when Ari's parents passed two decades ago. The king had entrusted his late friends' children to Dori, who had helped Jari, Austen and Auden protect and nurture their siblings, which only further ensured that they were among those who could freely enter the company room and the royal wing, and among those deemed by Kíli as 'extended family.' But Ari had knocked, and addressed Thorin as 'your majesty.'

"What is on your mind?" he said, fixing the lad in his gaze.

Ari straightened slightly, his shoulders inching back a little. "I was wondering if you had heard from Austen and Auden yet."

Thorin's heart sank, but it was Dori who answered.

"No, lad," he said sadly. "You know you'd be the first we'd tell."

To his credit, Ari's posture did not break, but his eyes clouded over as he nodded. "Yes, of course. Of course. I am sorry."

"Do not apologise," Thorin said wearily. "You have done naught to be sorry for. Dori is right, we will tell you the moment we hear from your brothers."

"Thank you." Ari bowed.

"Come sit down," offered Dori – somewhat hypocritically, in Thorin's eyes – but Ari shook his head.

"I have guard duty tonight," he said, though he smiled at the dwarf who was once his guardian. "I will not forget tea tomorrow, though."

That managed to coax a small smile to Dori's face, but then Ari left the room, taking the smile with it. Dori returned to wearing down Thorin's carpet.

Thorin sighed, massaging his forehead. "We are running out of options. No reply to the ravens – and no word from Austen and Auden. And as for Gandalf…. His horse was swift, but I fear there was not the strength in him for such a journey. I fear for Bilbo, and for those with him.

"There's still time for them to send word," said Dori hopefully. "For Austen and Auden – they would have to have travelled on the backs of eagles to reach the Shire within two months!"

"But they were supposed to send word when they reached the Misty Mountains, and it troubles me greatly that they have not," said Thorin, and Dori's face crumpled. He returned to his pacing with twice the speed.

"But Gandalf could have reached them by now," Glóin argued. "He had a strong horse, if not strength in his arms, as you said. He could have reached the Shire a week or two ago. I'd have been surprised if the twins overtook him."

"He could have, but he did not look like he had the strength to travel at such a speed," worried Thorin, his heart heavy at the memory of the emaciated wizard.

Balin gave a soft smile. "Yet, he is as stubborn as we are."

Thorin sighed. "That is true. But in any case, I have made a decision. I believe it is time to send word to Rivendell."

He pronounced the worse like a curse, but it still caused the outrage he had expected.

"No," growled Dwalin, his eyes narrowing into glinting slits. "Thorin, no, surely -"

"Why Rivendell?" Balin sounded both insulted and confused. "Do you not trust the advice of those of us here? Of your kin?"

"If you think those prissy little tree lickers-"

"Do you know what those riders are?" Thorin demanded, and silence fell like an axe blow. "For they are not Men. We know not what they are, and we know less of their Master than Elrond does. I may not like any elf, yet Elrond has knowledge beyond our means, and more importantly, Kíli has had him wrapped around his little finger for two decades. If he can prevent harm coming to the Bagginses, he will. And-"

The door burst open, smashing into the wall with a thundering crash, and Thorin's hand flew to his chest as he turned to stare at the intruder. She was breathing heavily, her hair in wild, frizzy curls around her flushed, tear-stained face, and her eyes were wide with panic.

"Eyja?" Dwalin frowned, standing up from the wall as he stared at his young daughter. "It's gone midnight, you should be in bed, lass. Are you alright?"

"I was, can't, important!" she gasped, stumbling not to Dwalin, but to Thorin. The king's eyes widened as Eyja threw herself down before him, hugging his legs and resting her chin on his knees. "Uncle Thorin, Uncle Thorin!"

"What is it, lass?" he asked, his heart already racing. He leant forward, and she held on tighter. He patted her shoulder. "Breathe. Did you have a nightmare, uzbadnatha?"

Eyja gave a little sob, but then she spoke in a voice clear as a bell stroke. "Uncle Thorin, you've got to send someone to Rivendell!"

Even the fire seemed to be shocked into silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorin saw Dwalin's mouth drop open, wide as an open mine shaft, but he was not focusing on Dwalin. For a moment, all Thorin could do was blink, and open his mouth, and then close it again. Had she heard him talk of Rivendell before? But no – he had not mentioned it to anyone, not even aloud to himself.

Eyja pounded her little fist on the floor, clearly disappointed with the slow reaction. "Uncle Thorin, listen to me, you must listen, please-"

"I'm listening," said Thorin, brushing her hair from her cheeks. As he did so, he realised that tears were still falling. "What under the mountain makes you think that, though, Eyja?"

"It's Fíli!" she sobbed, clutching at Thorin's legs again. "The Darkness left here, and I was happy because it was leaving us alone but it's not a happy thing, it's not! The Darkness went to Fíli instead, it hurt Fíli and now the white wizard is sending him to Rivendell and you have to send someone to make sure he's alright!"

The pain and fear in her voice was so alien, that for a moment her words did not register to Thorin. But when they did, he felt as though she had plunged her little hands through his chest and into his heart. He leant over and pulled her up into his lap, motioning behind her back to stop the others from crowding her. Immediately, Eyja's fingers reached for his beard, tugging it gently – the first move that most dwarven children made when seeking comfort.

Thorin cleared his throat, and made his voice as gentle as he could. "What makes you think this happened? Did you hear some people talking, some grownups, perhaps?"

She shook her head. "No, no, I saw it! While I, while I was asleep."

Dwalin walked over slowly, crouching near the chair so that he could wipe his daughter's tears, but he said nothing. Clinging onto hope that this was all just some horrible childish nightmare, Thorin nodded slowly. "I see. So, you dreamt that you saw-"

"No," she said seriously, shaking her head again. "It wasn't a dream. Not even a dream at all. I know it wasn't."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I saw it. And I felt it here, like a, a coin was pushing in and in and in!" she said, pressing her thumbs into the centre of her forehead. For a moment, concentration carved her face, but then her brows rose, and fresh tears began to pool before her sea green eyes. "You must send someone, Uncle Thorin, you must! I know, I know it's true because it hurts and because I saw it and I wasn't even there. When you have dreams you're just always in them, but I wasn't, I just saw it. You've got to send someone, please! The Darkness stabbed Fíli, stabbed him so badly!"

Dwalin tutted gently, "Fíli's fine, lass, I'm sure of it."

"No!" she cried, tugging more painfully on Thorin's beard. "No, he isn't, he just isn't, Uncle Thorin-"

"You keep saying the Darkness?" Thorin said calmly, though he felt anything but. "What is the Darkness?"

"The Darkness that came to the door and looked for Uncle Bilbo," she said, tears dribbling off her chin. "It came and knocked on the gate, and it made me feel bad. In, in here-" she pointed to her stomach "-it was cold and wriggly and it hurt, like, like there was frozen rats scratching at my tummy. And I heard Ada tell Ama that the Darkness was looking for Uncle Bilbo. That Darkness."

"Lass," said Dwalin soothingly, reaching out towards her. "It's just a dream, alright? Let's get you back to bed – Ama can get you something for your tummy-"

"It doesn't hurt now!" she cried, smacking his hand away. Thorin's eyes widened – even as a babe, he had never seen the child strike at her father. That Dwalin did not even try to reprimand her was a testament to how worried he must be. "It hurt because the Darkness was here, but it's not now! It's away-away, it stabbed Fili on the dead hill, and the Light can't get back in. If he goes to Rivendell the Light can maybe come back in! The White Elves know how to make the Darkness go away, and the White Wizard man is trying to help but he's not very well, Uncle Thorin, he's not. And Fíli – we've got to know if Fíli's alright, I'm scared he's not, Uncle Thorin, I'm scared he's not!"

For the first time, Balin spoke. "What does the dead hill look like, nuthanuth?"

"Why's that matter?" she cried, but Thorin rubbed her back gently.

"It will help us know where Fíli is," he said. "What does it look like?"

Eyja swallowed, but closed her eyes and nodded shakily. "It's, it's tall and quite skinny, like the top of the mountain, but its smaller. But where it is it's tall, because it's on some low bits. There's all ruins on top, old rocks that just fall down everywhere, and there's a bit on the top that you can see all around from, all around. That's where – that's where – Uncle Thorin, I'm scared!"

"It could be Weathertop," Balin murmured, and as his eyes met Thorin, the king knew that they were both thinking the same thing. The sensation she had described of a painful pressure in the centre of one's head was often described by Seers, when they explained their experience to regular folk. For dwarves, it was rare to experience dream visions – it was far more common to have skill with Seeing Cards or reading portents – but it was not unheard of. Thorin had met only one in his life, and that was when he was little older than Eyja, but as his eyes fell on Óin, Thorin realised that Seeing ran in the family.

"I'm scared," she sobbed again, pulling his beard. "Uncle Thorin-"

Thorin ran his fingers through her hair, but he had made up his mind completely. No protests of the others could stop him sending a messenger now - not that he expected any protests now. "Me too, mizimith. I am afraid too. I swear to you, I will send someone to Rivendell. Does that make you feel better?"

"Yes…" She paused, and then her face crumpled. "And no. Because Fíli, Fíli's still stabbed! Right here!" She put her fingers over her collar bone and poked the soft skin above it – the skin that would be just accessible over the top of Fíli's mithril coat. "He can't breathe."

Thorin's head span, and he gripped the arm of his chair. He could not breathe himself.

"Eyja," Balin asked slowly, voicing the question on Thorin's mind. "Have you ever seen things like this before? Had dreams, that turned out to be true?"

She frowned, for a moment looking distracted. "Doesn't everyone?"

Pale as the marble floor, Dwalin snorted, shaking his head. "No, child. We don't."

"Is that why you don't believe me?" she asked, her voice rising dangerously back towards a wail.

"We believe you, Eyja" said Thorin, though he wished with his whole heart that he did not. "We do."

Inside, Bilbo was burning. His heart felt like it was caught in a red-hot vice in the forge – it was being crushed and burnt, crushed and burnt at the same time, and the pain was so intense that he could not breathe. Gnarled and knotted, his stomach was aching, and his throat felt so tight, so sore. His hands were shaking, and tremors ran throughout his whole body.

But Bilbo did not have time to be in pain. Because in his arms, Fíli was dying.

Fíli, his son, his wonderful, brilliant son was bleeding out in his lap. And now his eyes were closed, and he was not moving. Trying to stop himself from dissolving into hysterics, Bilbo tightened his arms around Fíli's chest and glanced at his wife. She looked like her heart was in a vice, too. There were tears streaming down her face, falling from her chin, and no sound fell from her open mouth. Her hands were clasped around Fíli's, and her eyes…

Her eyes were full of anguish, and her eyes were void of hope.

Dís did not move.

Between them, Kíli could not stay still. He was shaking worse than Bilbo, sobbing and rocking back and forward and back and forward and back and forward. His hands were clenched around Fíli's tunic, white knuckles, bloody knuckles.

Wordlessly, Gandalf crashed to his knees on Fíli's other side and began ripping his clothes away to reach the wound. The wizard batted Kíli's hands away, and the younger prince fell against Bilbo, reaching out to entwin his fingers in his brother's hair instead.

"Fee," Kíli keened, "Fíli… my Fee…"

When the tunic was gone, Fíli's blood spilled down over the mithril and onto Bilbo's hands, and Bilbo let out a sob.

"Bilbo," Gandalf said gruffly, "help me get this off him, I must see the wound, now!"

Nodding blindly, Bilbo unlocked his arms to lift Fíli up. Dís helped Bilbo to pull what should have saved their son's life over his head. Like he was an infant. Their baby. Bilbo had never known Fíli as a baby, and now he feared he would never see him grow any older. The moment that the shirt was gone, Bilbo wrapped his arms back around Fíli's waist. It felt as though maybe, just maybe, if he could hold onto Fíli he could keep his son alive. He could feel the dwarf's chest rising and falling, but it was just a little, so weak, so fast. So shallow. Fíli's breaths were so shallow.

"Gandalf," Bilbo tried to say, but his word caught in his throat. "Gandalf…"

The wizard held his hand over the wound and closed his eyes, murmuring slightly in a language that Bilbo did not know. Then his eyes opened, and he stared at Bilbo, and the hobbit's eyes filled with tears. He started to shake his head, slowly at first, but then more desperately.

"No, no, Gandalf, no, there must be something you can do, oh Mahal, Fíli…" Bilbo gasped, and Dís started to sob. Keening, Kíli dropped his forehead to Fíli's, before dropping to the side and hugging his brother's arm. "Gandalf," Bilbo choked. "Please, please, you have to do something. Please… please… There, there must be something… Oh, Fíli… Fíli…"

A tear trailing down his cheek, Gandalf held two shaking hands over Fíli's chest. He began to speak again in that strange language, and Bilbo held his oldest son just a little tighter. Fíli's blood was pooling against his arms, and it made his stomach churn. The hobbit bowed down to press a kiss onto Fíli's forehead, and then another on Kíli's. His younger son whimpered and pressed his face into Fíli's shoulder.

Fíli's breaths were getting weaker.

"Hold on, Fíli," Bilbo whispered into Fíli's ear, his words catching on his sobs. "Just hold on. Hold on. Don't you leave us now, my boy. Don't you leave us now, not now. Not now." There were too many tears in Bilbo's throat for him to continue, so he bowed his head and he waited.

And waited. And then, before he knew it, the sun began to rise. Gandalf sighed heavily and leant backwards. Bilbo jerked upright, and his heart clenched as he saw the wizard cover his bowed face with his hands.

"Gandalf?" Bilbo did not know whether he had gasped or sobbed.

"Don't," Dís choked desperately, tearing her gaze from her son's face for the first time in hours. "Don't stop, don't give- don't give up, please, don't give up on my baby."

"My lady," Gandalf replied, his own voice rather strangled. "I would never, ever give up on your son. Never. But the wound is severe, and we have lingered here too long already. My strength is waning, and I have only just managed to stop the bleeding."

With a jolt to his heart, Bilbo looked down. Sure enough, there was no fresh blood spilling from Fíli's chest, and the wound seemed to have closed a little.

"That," Kíli said, his voice hoarse, raising his head slightly, "that's good, though isn't it? The bleeding's stopped?"

"It has." Gandalf closed his eyes. "But the wound is severe and poison of a Morgul blade is fierce, and I have not the power to purge the poison straight away. All… all that I have done is offered him a reprieve."

"What?" Kíli demanded, horror and anger merging in his eyes. "Elladan and Tauriel fixed Bilbo, he was stabbed with a Morgul blade-"

"Kíli, I am weak," the wizard murmured, tears rolling off of his crooked nose. "My strength is not limitless, and my power is not omnipotent. There is only so much I can do, and the fight and healing have drained me. The blade pierced his throat from the inside, Kíli, and nicked a major artery. Such wounds are not easy to coax into healing, even for one as strong as your brother. If… if I rest, I might be able to muster the strength to stay the flow of the poison and stabilise his condition. If that works, we may yet make it to Rivendell on time. But now… I cannot do any more now, my dear Kíli. It would drain me of all my magic for days, and that is a risk we cannot take."

"Cannot take?" cried Kíli, his fists clenching. "This is Fíli, Fíli, he is worth any risk!"

"And if my power is spent, and we are ambushed again I will not be able to banish them," Gandalf said, his voice laced with fatigue and despair. "The same fate may befall me, and you, and your mother and father – who will save us then?"

With a gasping sob, Kíli looked down at his brother, the anger in his eyes dissipating. Then he squeezed his eyes closed. "F-forgive me, Gandalf. I, I…"

"I know, my dear Kíli," the wizard smiled sadly, and when he spoke the words seemed to pain him. "Believe me when I say that our best hope is to make for Rivendell with all the speed we have. We do not have long; some of the riders may still be out there. If we are lucky I may regain strength before then, and perhaps even find some herbs that may help us. Athelas, the like. And if we are lucky, and Fíli is strong, he may yet survive."

"Athelas?" Bilbo's eyebrows furrowed and his heart began pounding faster again. "Gandalf, we have some athelas, I've carried it for years, since the battle, it's in my bag!"

Gandalf's sharp eyes fell on Bilbo, and then his head snapped towards the east where the sun was rising. Slowly, he looked back at Fíli, taking the dwarf's hand in his own. Then he glanced back to the sky, the sudden flare of hope fading. "We have lingered too long already," Gandalf murmured, staring down at Fíli with an expression that could only be described as heartbreak, and suddenly Bilbo understood.

If they moved, Fíli would likely die. If they stayed, they would likely be run down by the rest of the Nazgûl. If they stayed, they may all die.

Not only could they all die, but the Ring of Power would fall into the hands of Sauron.

If they stayed, the whole world could die.

"We must move on," Gandalf said, as if drifting through a nightmare. "I- I cannot save him…"

Dropping his forehead to Fíli's, Bilbo felt his own body wrack with sobs, but no sound escaped his lips. The young dwarf's face was so cold.

But then, only a second after he last spoke, the wizard yelled with a ferocity that made Bilbo, Dís and Kíli all jump. "No! No. This will not end here. Not like this – not this time, not again." There was a fury in Gandalf's eyes that made Bilbo shudder, and for a moment the hobbit felt like he was a world away. The Ring burnt in his pocket. "They will not take another one! Not like this. Kíli, your father's bag, get it now!"

The younger prince was already on his feet, running down the stairs to their belongings and returning within a minute. He collapsed back beside his brother as Gandalf seized the bag, and Bilbo's heart felt like a blur in his chest. Even as he watched Gandalf tear open his medicine pouch with delicate fingers, even as terror and blind hope wracked through his body, Bilbo could not help but wonder what Gandalf was talking about. Another one?

Fíli's body jerked when Gandalf first touched the herb to the wound, but then the wizard began talking again, in the language that Bilbo could not recognise. Eyes clouded with worry and weariness, Bilbo did not see what Gandalf was doing.

What he felt was Fíli's stomach, rising and falling a little stronger. His breathing was getting just a little stronger. Just a little. Closing his eyes, Bilbo began to pray.

I hope that you liked that chapter! Please let me know what you think, and I will hopefully see you tomorrow for TWO FULL WEEKS of daily updates. Not bad for an infamously awful updater, hey? Anyways, until the next time, take care and have a good time :D