And here's the second! Enjoy!

Chapter Sixty-Five: The Battle for the Beornings

Mounted on his wolf between his brother and Nori, Fíli took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The uruk-hai were so close he could smell them, now, their stench made worse by the tang of smoke and blood. Beneath them, their wargs were panting and howling, snarling with open jaws. He opened his eyes. Their ugly faces were almost close enough to see now, and for Kíli and the sparse handful of Beorning archers, they were almost, almost, in range.

Fíli took another slow breath. He had to clear his mind, to banish his fears to the back of his mind. They would only slow him down. This he had learnt after the Battle of the Five Armies. Dwelling on the horrors that you were about to face would not help you deal with them. Fixating on the mortality of your kith and kin would not help you to focus. It was far easier to accept that battle was coming, and let the thrill of the fight course through your veins and lend you the strength to gain an edge over your foes.

It was hard to do when the odds were so deeply against you. They were an army of seventy – a hundred, if you counted the thirty odd eagles that would join the fight. The Beornings had lost nearly thirty people, and there were half a dozen folk too injured to fight. They were a few hundred yards back, hiding as best as they could in the trees of Mirkwood, were the injured Beornings, but they had nothing in the way of a camp. No one could be spared to guard them. If the uruk-hai reached them, they were on their own.

There were at least four hundred uruk-hai, and easily the same number of wargs. Though they were coming from the south, they certainly had the high-ground – even a child could see that the Beornings were tactically vulnerable.

To both the right and the left of the Beornings was Wilderland – vast and rocky, uneven and coarse. They would not make it far fleeing that way – there was nowhere to hide, and the terrain was too rough to build up any speed. They had nothing in the way of shelter on either side, and behind them there was only Mirkwood. It was not burning here – not yet at least – but the woods were far from friendly, and would offer little protection. If the orcs of Dol Guldur came behind them, they would get no shelter from the trees.

On paper, it was a recipe for death.

But if he was to die here, it would be a fight he was proud to die in. From the grim defiance in the eyes of Kíli and Bragi and Ehren, Fíli knew that they felt the same. Looking at them made it harder to concentrate, though, so he turned his eyes back ahead. Took another deep breath.

Resolve rippled through him, tempering his fear. He would do everything to protect his brother, and anything he could to protect his friends. If his life was the price he would pay it, without a thought.

He took another deep breath.

The army ahead of him stopped.

A large, ugly uruk stepped forward, and drove a banner into the ground. The flag of the Beornings hung sadly from its pike, torn, and stained with blood, but then the uruk raised his hand, and Fíli's stomach tumbled over itself. Beside him, Kíli moaned and looked away, and from their right, Jago let out a roar that shook the earth.

The leader of the uruk-hai was holding Thana's severed head.

"Look at them!" he roared, a horrific grin on his face, "All lined up to die. 'ave at 'em, boys!"

With an overwhelming chorus of battle-cries, the mounted army dove forward, charging at the Beornings, and fury charged through Fíli's veins. So these uruk-hai did not even think the Beornings worth bandying words with before battle.

"For our kin!" Grimbeorn bellowed, and then he dove forward, changing into bear form in mid-air, and rending the air before him with an ear-shattering roar.

The Beornings threw their voices to the air, and the ground shook beneath their battle-cries as they charged forward to meet the uruk-hai. Arrows shot over their heads and embedded in the necks of the uruk-hai archers, Kíli and the other Beornings hitting almost every one of their marks, before sending a volley to the uruk-hai's rear guard.

Fíli raised his swords high in the air as Sokka shot forwards, bearing them both toward battle with a speed Fíli could never achieve on his own, but they were not the first to meet the uruks. There were ten bears amongst them, many larger or stronger than Grimbeorn, but it was Grimbeorn that streaked ahead of all of them.

He launched himself into the air, a fully body-length ahead of the others, and with one swipe of his paw he struck aside the spear of the leader of the uruk-hai, sending shattered splinters shooting through the air. His other paw struck the uruk in the shoulder, sending him off of his mount and careening to the ground. Before even the leader's warg could come to his defence, Grimbeorn's great jaw closed around the uruk's head, and tore it clean from his shoulders.

Half a second later, the armies collided, and Fíli and Sokka flew into the fight. Twenty years ago, Fíli would have never imagined choosing to fight on the back of any beast, but he trusted Sokka as deeply as he trusted Bragi or Ehren, and they moved together like one being, twisting and dodging and slashing their way through the battle.

In a matter of seconds, Fíli knew that it was one of the fiercest fights he had ever faced. The uruk-hai seemed to feel no fear or pain, and if you severed a limb they would simply keep fighting with a fire that rivalled Smaug. A glee was on their faces, a sick, twisted surety that they would win, and enjoy every second of it, and it drew Fíli's swords straight to their smug skulls.

Three he beheaded, and two more he felled with blows to the head. Thoughts of morality and mortality bled out of his mind, and he became the warrior that Thorin had trained him to be. A dancer, a machine. A dwarven soldier.

A high-pitched yelp of pain tore through Fíli's ears, and Sokka was wrenched into the air. Frantic, Fíli twisted on his back to see a warg's jaw clamped over his wolf's rump, and he bellowed in rage, striking it again and again and again until it relented, and tossed both wolf and Fíli through the air.

They crashed through rows of fighting warriors, skidding to a halt by the forest's edge, and Fíli felt the skin tear from his cheek and hand. It was barely enough pain to register, and he untangled himself from Sokka, putting a hand on the wolf's shoulder. He looked down at the bite marks on Sokka's hips and swallowed, unable to keep his rage from shaking his voice.

"Can you get yourself out of here, boy?"

Sokka gave a small nod and a whine, reaching out and licking Fíli's fingers. A lump in his throat, Fíli stroked the ears of his good little wolf, and then patted his shoulder gently.

"Then go," he ordered. "Get out of here, get out of here now! Go to the injured Beornings, stay with them."

Whimpering, Sokka nodded again, pushing up onto his shaking legs and disappearing away into the forest. Fíli spent a precious second sending a prayer to the Valar, begging them to let his loyal little wolf reach safety. Then, he turned, and flung himself back into the fight.

He was level with the faces of the wargs now, but he dodged their snapping jaws with the same skill he dodged the swords of the uruk-hai, and he felled them without mercy – until he saw a warg with a bloodied jaw, and a familiar uruk sat upon its back. His rage grew again, swelling like a great wave, and he charged, thrusting his sword into the beast's eye. It howled with pain for a moment, until the sword sank deep into its brain, and it crumpled to the ground. Even as he ripped his right sword free, Fíli stabbed up with his left, and the uruk rider was dead before he hit the floor.

"That was for Sokka," Fíli snarled.

A blow struck across the back of his shoulders and he was thrown forwards, but his mithril coat held true and he rolled with the momentum, crashing into the legs of a nearby orc and taking him down. Twisting, Fíli wrenched his sword through the creature's throat for good measure and then sprang back up with a snarl.

An elbow struck the side of his head, but the pain was manageable, and he shook it off. He blocked a sword on its way to a young Beorning and drove his own sword into the uruk's face, throwing his foe away and driving onwards.

It was not until a few minutes later that Fíli realised he had fought right into the middle of the battlefield. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ehren and Bragi, and on the other side Nori and Kíli were fighting nearby. They were each holding their ground, and littering the field with the corpses of their foes.

But for every uruk they struck down, three more took its place. They were limitless, and the Beornings were being pushed back, further and further from the dwarves. A few of the fiercer fighters were still close – Grimbeorn and Jago, another couple of bears, some men and women and several wolves – but the others were crumbling, being pushed further and further towards the woods.

Fíli's rage tempered slightly, and he paused. He had to get back there – he could not push forward further when there were children dying behind him. Yet even as he turned, a strange horn blew in the woods, a horn he could have sworn he had heard before. Cold fear pooled in Fíli's stomach, and despair tried to creep up towards his throat. They were already losing – they were already being driven back, with nowhere left to retreat or run.

If the horn announced reinforcements for the uruk-hai, they were all doomed.

Breathing heavily, Fíli stared at the trees, but around him the uruk-hai paused too, and Fíli thought that he glimpsed confusion on their faces. He looked back to the trees, and saw an army burst out from the darkness of Mirkwood.

Shock rippled through him, and a wild laugh tore from his lungs.

The elves of Mirkwood had come.

"Yes!" Kíli yelled, from somewhere on Fíli's right, and he grinned as Ehren and Bragi added their voices to the call. "Yes! Du bekar!"

Led by a fiery haired warrior that could only be Tauriel, the elves sprang out from between the trees in full armour, their swords aflame with the light of the sun, and their eyes blazing with a fury that paused the uruk-hai. In the time it took for Fíli to raise his swords again, the elves had leapt over the Beornings and set upon the Isengarders, and Fíli could feel the battle turn around them. Almost at once, the strikes of the uruk-hai became more frantic, more careless, and Fíli felled three in a single swipe of his sword.

He did not know how many elves there were, but they were flooding through the ranks of Saruman's soldiers, and another wild laugh bubbled out from Fíli's chest. They were not going to die today. Not today.

But then he heard a yelp, and he looked to the left. He could see Bragi, on his back on the ground, and there was a warg lurching for his head. Dropping his guard, Fíli ran forwards, but Bragi threw a ferocious kick to the warg's face and hurried away, spinning back into the battle with his usual finesse.

Fíli paused, relieved, but then pain exploded in the small of his back, and he was thrown to the ground. A scream met his ears – the only scream that could stop his heart in that moment.

"No!"

Kíli.

Fíli rolled over, just in time to see the uruk above him bring his sword down, and there was no time to move away –

And the tip of the sword hit his chest –

And a blur crashed into the uruk, and the sword slid down his side, leaving nothing but a bruise, and the blur stabbed the uruk until it stayed down.

"Fíli!" Kíli gasped, crawling over and grabbing his arm. "Fíli, are you alright?"

Fíli grinned, grasping Kíli's hand. "Thanks to you."

Kíli did not smile. He was pale as death, and his eyes were heavy. "Your back?"

Rolling his shoulder blades, Fíli's grin grew. "Shiny shirt, still working. I'm fine."

"Be careful, Fíli, please," Kíli begged, his eyes darting between Fíli and the battle that thundered around them. "You're being reckless again, not watching your back. Please, Fíli-"

"Alright, alright!" Fíli promised, holding up his hands. "I promise, Kíli, I'll be fine."

Kíli glared at him. "I said be careful, not just 'fine,'" he grumbled, but then he managed to shoot Fíli a weak smile of his own. "And back into the fray?"

"Back into the fray," Fíli agreed, and they burst back up into the battle. Despite himself, and his promise to Kíli, Fíli could not help but look over again. Bragi was on the ground now, bent over a bleeding Beorning, and Ehren was at his back, an ever-vigilant guard with eyes ablaze, but it should not have been Ehren.

It should have been Soren.

Rage and grief swelled anew within him, and a blood-red haze descended over his eyes. With a roar of fury, Fíli lurched forward, hacking at every uruk-hai he could reach. He did not care who they were, where they were going – they were the allies of those that killed Soren, and they had killed so many innocent Beornings, and they were going to pay.

He could no longer see where he was going, or hear the clamour of war. The battle-cries and shrieks of pain and clashes of metal no longer met his ears, and he no longer smelt smoke or sweat or blood. All he knew was the next target, all he heard was the rush of blood in his own ears.

He barely noticed the battle bleed away. He did not realise that it was over until he saw that there were no more necks to hew. He had ended up in the middle of the field, separated from all of his kin.

There were no uruk-hai left standing. Each and every one of them had been slaughtered, and their battered corpses littered the ground. Beside them and beneath them were Beornings, some in human form and others in the shape of an animal. Some were breathing, short, shallow breaths that came far too weakly, but most were not so lucky. Most were dead. Scanning the battlefield, Fíli could see maybe thirty of Grimbeorn's followers standing, if that. He could see Grimbeorn himself, stumbling over to thank the elves, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

A shiver danced down his spine, a prickle of fear, and Fíli turned to look toward his friends. They were gathered beside an enormous boulder on the left side of the battlefield, a rock so big that it could almost be called a hill. There was Ehren, pressing his hands against the bleeding chest of a young fox. Bragi was nearby, binding the arm of another fighter. Behind them was Nori, pale as death, leaning against the wall of the boulder. His arm was pressed against his side, but when an elf approached him, he waved them off, towards the injured Beornings.

But Kíli was not there.

Frowning, Fíli twisted around, scanning the stumbling survivors' faces, but none of them were his brother. A great weight closed around his ribs, squeezing his lungs, and Fíli stumbled forward. His toes hit a body, and he froze.

For a moment, he could not look down. He could not move. If that was Kíli, if that was his brother beneath him –

Swallowing, Fíli glanced down, and two lifeless, brown eyes stared back up at him. It was another of the Beornings – a girl not yet fully in her teens.

Fíli looked up, blinking back against the hot pain in his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. "Kíli! Kíli!"

Kíli did not yell back.

A wrenching cry of grief and fear and pain ripped through the air, and Fíli's heart froze. Burning cold, it shattered in his chest as he saw one of the triplets lead Grimbeorn to the body of a large, dead bear.

Jago.

Aeron would be an orphan after all.

Tears broke their way onto Fíli's cheeks, and he filled his lungs again. "Kíli? Kíli!"

The post-battle chorus was filling the air, moaning and shrieking and sobbing, and amongst it all, there was still no Kíli. Fíli forced his eyes to the ground, turning on the spot once more to search the faces of the dead.

They were so young, and their fear was carved into their faces.

No Kíli.

They were old, wrinkled beyond measure, too old to be cut down like this.

No Kíli.

They were parents, brothers, sisters, men and women who had taken up arms as a desperate last hope.

No Kíli.

"Kíli!" Fíli's yell tore from his throat like sandpaper, and he began to stumble back towards Bragi and Ehren. Towards the last time he had seen his brother.

Bragi stood up as he approached, blood on his hands and his face and his hair, but none of it seemed to be his. "What's wrong?"

"Kíli, have you seen Kíli?" Fíli grasped Bragi's arms desperately. "I can't find him!"

The colour drained from Bragi's face until it was white as his hair, and he shook his head. "No. The elves are here now, I'll help you look. Ehren!"

"Already here," said Ehren gravely, "we'll find him, Fíli."

Unable to speak, Fíli nodded, tearing away to scour the faces of the injured on the ground. No Kíli, no Kíli –

"Fíli? What's going on?"

Nori – not Kíli. Impatient, Fíli ignored him, leaving Ehren to explain what was going on. It was getting harder for Fíli to breathe, harder for him to think.

A wet nose and hot breath nuzzled at the back of his hand, and Fíli glanced down. His heart stumbled over itself – it was Luno. His muzzle was matted with blood, both red and black, and he was covered in bites and vicious gouges from the wargs, but he was standing, and breathing normally. Fíli dropped down onto his knee and stroked the wolf's cheek gently. "Luno! Good boy, good boy, do you know where Kíli is?"

Luno whined, backing away and limping as quickly as he could around the great boulder. Fíli hurried after him, and then stopped, dismay rising up so quickly that it blocked his throat. Luno had not brought him to Kíli. He had brought him to Grimbeorn, and to Jago.

Jago had not gone down without a fight. The great bear's body was slumped before the boulder, its head and limbs pointed towards the rock. It was almost as though he had been curled around something, protecting something, before he died.

There had been nothing there to protect him. There were three broken spears, two black swords and half a dozen arrow shafts protruding from Jago's back, and dark blood seeped from each wound. He had been alive for every blow – it had taken them all to knock him down.

But they had knocked him down in the end.

Beside him, Grimbeorn was sobbing freely, his knees shaking beneath him, refusing to let him rise. Seeing Beorn's son struggling to get to his feet beside the corpse of his brother-in-law did not help Fíli.

"Luno-" he choked, but the wolf had not stopped. Instead, he was limping around Grimbeorn, around Jago's body. He whined, and gestured with his head for Fíli to follow.

"Kíli-"

Luno whined again, more desperately, and disappeared behind Jago's head. Desperate, Fíli followed, squeezing Grimbeorn's shoulder as he did. Jago's arm stretched right up to the rock, and Luno clambered over it into a small space between the bear and the boulder. Fíli hesitated for a moment, but Luno let out a sound like a dying puppy, and Fíli stepped over Jago's leg, into the space. Luno was lying down, his head on the ground, and Fíli almost screamed from frustration, until he noticed what Luno was pressing his nose against.

A hand.

A pale, dwarven hand.

"Kíli?" Fíli whispered.

The hand did not move.

"Kíli!" Fíli collapsed to the ground and threw himself against Jago's body, pushing with all his might. The great bear was nearly five times his size, and his weight was immense, but Fíli steeled himself and shoved, until he could see his brother's sleeve beneath the bear.

"What are you doing?" moaned Grimbeorn, his voice thick with tears. "Leave, leave him alone, please-"

"Help me!" Fíli grunted through gritted teeth, pushing harder. He could see Kíli's hair now, but he could not see his brother move. "Please!"

Grimbeorn whined like a wounded wolf, but he crawled over to see what Fíli was doing, and then he gasped. He surged forward, into the space between Jago and the rock, and he threw his arms beneath his brother-in-law, lifting his lifeless body up until Kíli's whole body was visible. Fíli seized his arm and tugged, pulling Kíli out from beneath the bear. Grimbeorn lowered Jago back to the ground, shifting him a little further back to give the two dwarves a little more space, but Fíli did not notice.

All Fíli noticed was that Kíli was limp as a rag doll, and face down, and unmoving. With a strangled sob, Fíli wrenched Kíli onto his back, desperate to see his chest rise and fall.

"Come on, Kíli, come on, come on, come on, breathe, Kíli, breathe!" he begged, pressing his palm against his brother's face and holding his own cheek over Kíli's mouth. He felt Kíli's breath, shallow and weak but unmistakeable, and his own breath left his lungs.

He was breathing. Kíli was breathing.

But his eyes were closed, and he was pale as a corpse, and he was not moving. There was a great bruise on his forehead, black and red and swollen, a mark the size of a fist above his right eye, but Fíli could not see any other obvious injuries. He ran his hands over Kíli's chest and arms, searching for blood, but there was nothing, nor were there wounds on his legs.

"Kíli, can you hear me? Wake up, Kíli, wake up, come on, wake up," he pleaded, shaking Kíli's shoulder. His brother's head lolled to the side, and Fíli swallowed, his fingers rising to brush over the bruise on Kíli's head.

How hard had Kíli been hit? Was he concussed? Was it worse? What had happened to his baby brother?

Why was he not waking up?

A shiver ran down Fíli's spine and he paused, a horrible thought dawning on him. With trembling hands, Fíli reached beneath Kíli's body and began to run his hands down his brother's back. And when he reached the base of Kíli's spine, by his hips, Fíli felt it. There was swelling there, a lot of it, and when his fingers ran over it Kíli jolted slightly.

Fíli knew what that meant.

"Oh, Kíli," he whispered, lowering his forehead onto his brother's. He felt, rather than heard, Bragi and Ehren run over, and Ehren choked behind him.

"What happened?" demanded Bragi, hurrying around to kneel by Kíli's side. "Fíli-"

"His back," Fíli croaked, raising his head. "I think he's hurt his back, I think it's bad, Bragi."

Bragi's eyes bulged. "His back?"

Fíli nodded, and Bragi dove forwards, gently running his own hands beneath Kíli. Horror dawned on his face as he stared at Fíli, shaking his head slightly.

"That… that feels broken to me," he said, in a voice that was as weak as Kíli.

"Why won't he wake up?" Fíli begged, running his hands through Kíli's hair. He longed to pull his brother into his arms, to rest his head on his lap, but he was terrified that any more movement would make things worse. "Bragi, why won't he wake up?"

Bragi shook his head, his hand on Kíli's shoulder. "Ehren, go get the elves. We need a healer and we need one now."

Without a word, Ehren turned and fled. Vaguely, Fíli noticed that Grimbeorn had moved Jago's corpse aside, giving them more room, and opening up the rest of the battlefield to sight. Fíli could not look at it. He could not look at anything but Kíli's face.

And then Kíli's eyes twitched, moving beneath their lids, and Fíli's breath caught in his throat. "Kíli? Kíli can you hear me? Wake up, Kíli, that's it, come on, wake up, please, come on, please!"

Kíli gave a soft moan, and Fíli's heart stumbled.

"Come on, Kíli, come on," he whispered, and Kíli's head shifted slightly. His eyes flickered, and Fíli stroked his hair, and Kíli's eyes slowly opened. "Hello, Kíli," Fíli said, a lump in his throat. "Easy, brother."

Hazy brown eyes met Fíli's and focused, and fear kindled within them. "F…Fee…"

"I'm here," Fíli promised, unable to stop the smile from creeping onto his face. Kíli was breathing, and awake, and talking –

"Fee, I – I –" Kíli gasped, his eyes growing wider, and Fíli squeezed his hand.

"Shh," Fíli breathed. "It's alright, I'm here. Just breathe-"

"I can't, can't feel my legs," whimpered Kíli, his fingers wrapping tighter around Fíli's, and his words wiping the smile from Fíli's face. "I couldn't – couldn't breathe – it was, was dark, so heavy – I couldn't breathe – I can't – can't feel my legs!"

"It's alright," said Fíli, though his voice shook. "You've hurt your back, nadadith. Just lie still, lie very still. Ehren's getting the elves, they're going to fix you. I promise, Kíli, you're going to be just fine."

"My back?" Kíli started to lift his neck to look down, but Bragi laid his hand on Kíli's forehead and gently eased it back down.

"Careful, lad," he said softly. "If we're right, it's best you keep your spine still."

The colour seeped from Kíli's cheeks, and he glanced between Bragi and Fíli. "Oh…"

"Can you tell me what happened?" asked Fíli, stroking Kíli's hair back. "It might help…" As he spoke, his hand brushed over the bruise on Kíli's forehead, and his brother winced. "I'm sorry, Kíli."

"Don't be sorry," Kíli mumbled, tilting his head slightly. Fíli returned to stroking Kíli's hair, keeping clear of the bruise, and Kíli closed his eyes. "I was… I was trying… trying to protect the… the little ones. The uruk-hai were – were closing in… I didn't…" his eyes opened, and fixed on Fíli. "I didn't know where you were. I was afraid."

A lump rose in Fíli's throat, and it took him a moment to be able to speak. "I'm sorry, Kíli. I wouldn't – I shouldn't've – if I'd – I shouldn't have left you, I should never have left you, I'm sorry-"

"I was afraid, so afraid, for you," said Kíli, his lower lip trembling, just like it had when he was a child. "I thought – you've been – reckless. Too busy protecting… everybody else."

"I should have been," Fíli moaned, guilt beating on his chest. "I'm sorry, Kíli, I'm so sorry."

"No, you, you were doing… what you were s'posed… to do… What I – asked you t'do…" Kíli paused, grimacing. His eyes squeezed shut and his hand tightened painfully around Fíli's. He choked, and then choked again, turning his head to the side and gagging, and Fíli's stomach dropped.

Panic flooded Fíli's mind, but Bragi dove forward, easing Kíli's shoulder ever so slightly off the ground and shifting his head and neck, and at once Kíli's choking turned to retching, and then vomiting. Fíli did not breathe until it was over, and Kíli was breathing again. Slowly, Bragi lowered Kíli back down, supporting his neck with a care that could not be faulted. As he did so, he bellowed, "Ehren! Hurry up!"

Fíli nodded his thanks, and pulled his sleeve over his hand, wiping the vomit from Kíli's cheek. His breathing was rattling now, and he was trembling, badly.

"It's alright," Fíli soothed, tucking Kíli's hair back behind his ears and pretending that he was not terrified himself. "It's alright, we're here, we've got you."

"Might add concussion to your list of maladies," added Bragi softly. "But you're going to be just fine."

Kíli shuddered, looking up at Fíli. "Was… a – a warg… Got me in the chest, with its paw – it threw me…"

"Threw you?"

"Into the, the rock," said Kíli, opening his eyes and looking towards Bragi, and the boulder behind him. As soon as he moved, Kíli turned yellow, and Bragi had only a moment to catch him and ease him back over to throw up again. Fíli held Kíli's hair back, and his eyes wandered up the rock.

Up close, he could see that it was rugged and sharp, and far from round – it was as though it had tried to branch out and grow, with sharp sections of rock reaching out from the main boulder. If Kíli had been thrown into that by a warg, that could easily explain the swelling in his back.

And why Kíli could not feel his legs.

"Alright," Fíli said slowly, calmly, as Kíli managed to stop gagging. "It's alright."

"Jago-" Kíli broke off to cough, grimacing as it rocked his body. Bragi and Fíli helped hold him still, and Kíli shuddered again. A thin sheen of sweat was glistening on his pale forehead, and he was turning almost grey. "Jago – tried to help… to protect… but they got me, got me with… think it was… blunt end of a spear… My head – I thought it was going to explode… Then… I woke up – I was being, being crushed. It was so hot – so heavy – I couldn't breathe – I don't… don't know what… what it was… Where's Jago?"

Fíli's throat closed, refusing to let him reply to Kíli's frightened, imploring eyes. He hung his head and squeezed his brother's hand, wishing that he could pull him up into his lap or throw his arms around him without hurting Kíli more.

Once again, Bragi came to Fíli's rescue. "He fell, Kíli," he said gently, glancing over at Grimbeorn, who had moved on to help a skin-changer who seemed to be caught between human and canine forms. "I'm sorry, Kíli, but he was what was crushing you."

"He's dead?" Kíli croaked, tilting his head towards Fíli. "Dead?"

With a heavy sigh, Fíli nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry."

"He… he saved me…" Kíli shivered, and closed his eyes. "It's… very cold…"

Fíli glanced at Bragi and swallowed, seeing his own fear reflect back at him. Neither had a cloak or a coat, or anything that they could easily drape over Kíli – all of that had gone forward with Dís and Bilbo, or been left behind on the roadside to shed weight.

"I'm back!" Ehren panted, skidding to a halt beside them. There were two elves on his heels – Tauriel, the Captain of the Guard, and a stranger, and beside the stranger there was someone else. Someone who shoved both Tauriel and the stranger out of the way to charge to Fíli's side. Someone who Fíli did not expect to see here – someone that Fíli had never been more happy to see.

Bilbo.

Fíli almost sobbed with relief at the sight of his father, and he reached out his hand like a child. Bilbo grabbed it tightly and fell to his knees beside him, his face torn into the very picture of fear.

"Kíli, oh, my lad, what have you done?" he breathed, running his hand through Kíli's hair.

Kíli's eyes grew wide and round, childlike, confused and vulnerable, but hopeful and trusting. "Bilbo? Bilbo, what – how-"

"It's me, Kíli, it's me, my lad," Bilbo murmured, stroking Kíli's head gently. "I'm here, my little one, I'm here."

"How?" Kíli choked, letting go of Bragi to grab at Bilbo's arm. "Amad-"

"Is safe, in the Woodland Realm, with Vinca and Glóin and all the little Beornings," soothed Bilbo. "Bofur is with me, though – he's with Nori."

"Is Nori alright?" asked Kíli. Fíli could see his eyes starting to lose focus, and the shivering was going worse. The relief that had flooded Fíli at the sight of Bilbo bled away, and he tightened his grip on his brother's hand.

"He'll be just fine," promised Bilbo, as the elves crouched down on either side of Kíli.

"Hello, Kíli," said Tauriel gently. "We really should stop meeting like this."

A tiny little half smile was coaxed onto Kíli's cheek, but it disappeared as his eyes slid between Tauriel and Bilbo. "I can't feel my legs, Bilbo, I – I can't move my legs – I feel sick, very sick and my head – Bilbo, it feels like they're still hitting me. I'm scared."

Bilbo swallowed, hard, and Fíli's fingers burnt beneath the intensity of the hobbit's grasp. "I'm here," Bilbo choked, "I'm here."

Kíli shivered, and closed his eyes, tilting his head ever so slightly towards Bilbo and Fíli.

"Now, Kíli, keep your eyes open, please," said Bilbo, his voice shaking. "Look at me, lad, look at me."

Kíli groaned, but he opened his eyes obediently, staring up at Bilbo. Bilbo offered him a weak smile, but there were tears in the hobbit's eyes, and he was shaking almost as much as Kíli. Fíli tore his own gaze away, looking up at the elves. Tauriel was staring at her companion, a grave look on her face, and Fíli hung his head.

This was his fault. He should have been more careful, he should have looked after his brother. He should never have left Kíli's side. Guilt flooded through him, and Fíli closed his eyes.

His baby brother was broken, and it was all his fault.

I hope that you enjoyed that chapter! So – where did the elves come from? Where did Bilbo come from? What do you think's wrong with Kíli? Please do let me know, I love hearing from you! I'll try to update next week, but I'm still away so I can make no promises.

Until next time, take care!