Apologies for the delay again! It's been another busy week. Thank you for the lovely feedback from those of you that had the time, and as ever please forgive my inevitable typos.

Chapter Sixty-Eight: The Aftermath of Battle

The elves would not let them near Kíli. Tauriel had taken only a moment to assess the situation before declaring that it was too dangerous to move him, even to the safety of the Woodland Realm. Instead, she had called on three additional elven healers and ordered Bilbo and Kíli away.

"We need space, you are in the way," she had said, "I promise you, I will call if anything changes, but you need to give us space, and time. Make sure that the area is secure, and you will do more to help Kíli."

But the area was secure – the elven army had formed a living wall of guards around where the battlefield had been, and inside the ring, their healers were attending every injury they could find. Even Nori had received some elven attention, receiving a bandage and a vial of pain tonic injured arm, and he was regaining colour, and back on his feet. He was helping Ehren, Bofur and Bragi to collect wood.

And to build the funeral pyres.

The rest of the elves were helping those Beornings still on their feet, collecting the bodies of the dead. Bilbo and Fíli helped where they could, putting pressure on wounds and stacking wood, but Bilbo could barely think straight, and he was sure that Fíli was doing little better. Fumbling through fear, Bilbo tried to make himself useful, but his mind and heart were with Kíli, and the terror of not knowing that was happening to his son was eating Bilbo whole – though at least he knew now that he had made the right decision in turning back.

It had been the very first group of evacuees from Wilderland who had raised the alarm. After a skirmish with a pack of orcs during their flight to Mirkwood they were not content to wait beyond the fourth path, and instead sped to Thranduil's halls with all the haste they could muster. When he heard their plight, the elven king sent out an army to retrieve the other refugees, and a battalion of five hundred to assist the Beornings. Tauriel had been their leader, and they had met Bilbo's party before the edge of Mirkwood.

The hobbit had had five minutes to make up his mind as to whether he would march with the elves or accompany Dís to Mirkwood, and it tore at his heart to have to choose, but she was as certain as he was that he had to find their sons. He had to find their boys, and bring them back. So he had left Dís in the care of Vinca and Glóin and the elves, and allowed himself to get swept up into the ranks of the elves, with Bofur ever loyal at his side.

And they had been too late. They had reached the battle too late for so many of the Beornings, and too late to save Kíli. The thought that Kíli could still perish, that he could become paralysed or comatose – it did not bear thinking about, but Bilbo could do nothing to stop the thoughts from haunting him.

For hours, the elves worked on Kíli, keeping his family away, but at last they called Fíli and Bilbo over. Kíli was lying on a stretcher, beneath a heavy blanket, his eyes closed and a look of peace on his face. Bilbo's heart tripped over itself as he fell to his knees at Kíli's side.

"Why, why is he asleep?" croaked Fíli, his voice raw. "He's concussed, he shouldn't – he shouldn't be sleeping."

"It's alright," said Tauriel, kneeling on Kíli's other side. "We have administered a draught that helps to ease concussion, he is not in any danger from that. The blow to his head was severe, yes, but it no longer threatens him with death. If we are able to continue with the draught I spoke of and the poultice we've applied, it is likely that the head wound will case him no lasting trouble."

Bilbo sighed, relief rising within him as one of his worries was eased. But the greater worry swelled within him, and at his side Fíli began to tremble.

"What…" Bilbo cleared his throat, but still his voice was shaking. "What about his back? Tauriel…"

She bowed her head in a slow nod, looking sadly down at the young dwarf. "It is broken. The bone itself has certainly been broken, and perhaps some of the nerves within the spine as well. We do not know. This… this will be hard to hear."

Fíli looked up quickly and Bilbo shivered, squeezing his older son's arm tightly.

"Is he going to die?" Fíli whispered, desperately, "Tauriel, please-"

"No – at least he will not unless something else goes wrong. But, it seems that his legs are paralysed."

"Paralysed?" whispered Bilbo, unable to understand though he well knew the meaning of the word.

"Yes," said the elf softly. "I am so sorry. It may be caused only by the swelling around the wound – in that case he could regain feeling in a matter of weeks, and movement in months. But it could also be more severe than that. If the spine itself is broken, only the Valar will be able to tell if he will ever walk again."

Fíli made a noise like a wounded beast, an odd mix of a sob and a groan and a wail, and he buried his head in his hands.

But despite the tears in his eyes and the anguish in his heart, Bilbo did not cry. Instead, he took a deep breath. "Perhaps he might not walk – but he will live? He will survive this?"

Tauriel nodded, a tearful smile of her own pulling into place. "Yes, I believe he will." She pulled back the blanket that lay over Kíli, revealing that he had been bound tightly to the stretcher, his arms pinned at his sides. "This is all we can do to stop his back from moving before we get to Mirkwood. It is crude, but it will hold. There are splints beneath and between the bandages, to keep him straight and still. But they cannot be loosened or removed. If Kíli's back is twisted, or moved just a fraction in the wrong way, he could lose feeling and mobility in every limb – or worse. We could lose him entirely."

Fíli whimpered, leaning into Bilbo's side. Bilbo's arm wove around him, and he pressed a hand to his own mouth.

"As I said, I do not think that that will be his fate – we have bound him well, and he is very strong. But we must be careful. Very careful."

The sun began to set, spilling blood red light out over the mountains. Across the bloodied battlefield, the elves were still tending to the last survivors of the Beornings. There were around fifty of them, including those who had been too injured to fight, and who had spent the battle hiding in the woods. Less than half of those who had dared to join the lighting parties and set fire to the forest had survived, but of the seventy who had fought in the battle there were yet forty odd fighters alive.

Thirty had been slain, but to Bilbo's amazement, that the majority of those who survived were the youngest of the warriors, those too young to be there by any rights. Then he thought of Jago, and his amazement drained away into sorrow. There was nothing more like the Beornings – and nothing more like Beorn himself – than protecting those too small to protect themselves. Bilbo did not doubt that many a warrior had been felled that day when he might have survived, had he not used his body as a shield for the young ones.

The bodies of the dead had all been gathered now, and Bragi, Bofur, Nori and Ehren finished their labour of creating four great pyres.

A hush descended on the field as Grimbeorn stood up, transforming almost silently into the form of a bear. He crouched down, sliding his great arms beneath the corpse of his brother in law. Then, Grimbeorn lifted Jago up, stumbling but unflinching as he strode step by step to the pyre. He laid Jago's body upon the waiting wood, and then let out an echoing roar of aching grief that pierced all who heard it.

But then he stopped, and stood back, and returned to the form of a man. One of the elves offered him a cloak and he took it, draping it over his shoulders. Turning, he drew his shoulders back and his chin up high, and for the first time Bilbo saw him as a leader, and not as a brave but frightened teenage boy.

"This day feels darker than any I have ever felt," he declared, his voice rolling loudly over the clearing. He captured the attention of every coherent soul, and Bilbo found himself holding his breath as the young skin-changer spoke. "We have lost so many today. My sister, and my brother. My cousins, my friends. We have lost warriors and we have lost children, and we are mostly children ourselves. Or we were – I fear childhood will not long outlast the memory of this day. We have seen more death and blood and destruction than our fathers and mothers every wished us to see, and we have known despair greater than anything I have ever dreamed of knowing. But as dark as it feels, this is not a dark day."

Beside Bilbo, Fíli raised his head, an incredulous look on his face, and it seemed that his incredulity was shared in the murmurs that ran over the crowd like the water of a shallow lake lapping over your feet.

"I promise you," said Grimbeorn, his voice trembling with emotion. "It is not. For this day, despite all the odds that we knew, despite all the fears in our hearts, we won the fight. Our friends came to our aid, our allies come to our sides with an army larger than we could ever have asked for. Today, we destroyed the wolves of Isengard, and we crushed every living soul that Saruman sent our way. Today, we survived a massacre intended to kill us all. Today we learnt that our children and our injured are safe – that every group we sent north has arrived safely in Thranduil's halls – that the elf king has offered us sanctuary. Today we discovered that our people will survive. We found out that we will not be stamped out of history, that our country will not perish in its infancy! We are not a warring people, and we do not seek out battles or glory, but we are warriors all the same and today we have won our right to live in this world – this world that we were born into, that we live from. This world that will not be overrun by darkness and despair. Not today. Because today we are alive, and while we mourn we will know that those who died gave their lives for the greatest cause. Those who died have bought the safety of our people. Our children will live, and remember this day. Because of this day, they will have a chance to have children of their own. We will carry the legacy of our dead not as a burden, but as an honour. They will not be forgotten, and history will show that even after the death of Beorn, the Beornings live on."

A great roar burst from the crowd, a sound so loud and raw that it was impossible to tell man from beast, but it was a roar that sent a shiver down Bilbo's spine, even as his own sound of agreement was blocked by the lump in his throat. Around him, the Beornings punched the air and stamped their feet, showing even more support for the young leader than Bilbo had seen in the walk up to battle. They loved him, and had loved his speech – indeed, Bilbo had thought that it was fantastic. Rousing, heart lifting. But it broke Bilbo's heart that a man so young had been forced to give such a speech, on a field of war that had claimed his parents and his siblings alike. It broke his heart that there were children among the dead and the injured, that his own son, though not a child, was lying among them.

His own son, who might never walk again.

"Come now," Grimbeorn declared. "It is time to lay the dead to rest, and light the fires to guide them on. Then we must leave, but I swear it will not be forever. We will grow, and grow strong in the mercy of our allies and the iron in our veins. Years it might take, but there will be a day when we are strong enough to reclaim our home – a day when our soldiers are warriors by choice. For now, we will shelter in the hospitality of the elves. We cannot afford to delay. Let us say farewell to our kin. Then, we must go."

A ripple of assent ran over the crowd, a muted murmur beside the bellow of before, and people began to move, slowly carrying what bodies they could towards the fire. Some, Bilbo realised, with a twang of pain, would remain behind, dead on the paths they fled down. Thana, and the people that had followed her. People like Edith, the fox triplet that had joined them at Dol Guldur. Her siblings were nearby, hollow eyed, but they had smiled a little, and roared with the others at Grimbeorn's words. As Bilbo watched, they both took knives to their hair, cutting several long locks, which the laid upon the pyre beside Jago.

Beside him, Fíli took a deep breath and stood up. His hands were shaking, and he was still pale, but resolution wrought his jaw.

"Grimbeorn is right," he said in a low, shaking voice. "We cannot fall apart. It would be an insult too those who weren't so lucky."

Bilbo looked up, a little surprised at this. He had been fully expecting to have to scrape Fíli up off the ground when the time came to move on. For as long as Bilbo had known him, Fíli had been unable to cope any time Kíli injured himself, especially when Kíli was not awake to watch him panic. But Fíli did not look on the verge of panic. His fear and pain were locked in his eyes, but did not escape into his posture, or onto his face. He looked strong, and resolute. He looked like Grimbeorn – a young leader who was refusing to bow to the weight of a world on his shoulders.

Bilbo nodded, the lump in his throat growing. He stood and threw his arms around Fíli, who hugged him back fiercely. Then, they pulled apart.

"Go," said Bilbo. "Help with the dead. I will watch Kíli."

"Good," said Fíli, looking at his brother with a flash of fear. "Don't leave him alone, Bilbo."

Bilbo tutted, swatting Fíli lightly on the shoulder, before putting his palm gently on the older dwarf's cheek. "You know I never will. I'll never leave either of you alone."

Fíli smiled sadly, and then he bowed, and strode off to help with collecting the dead. Three times there rose startled calls announcing a pulse or a breath, and the elves descended upon them like bees on a lavender bush. Within a matter of minutes, all three of these thought-to-be corpses were breathing, and no longer bleeding. And within an hour, those who were truly dead had been laid upon the pyres.

A hush fell over them again, and Bilbo stood at Kíli's side. It felt disrespectful to sit.

This time, when Grimbeorn spoke, his voice wavered. "Let everyone say what they must."

There was a beat, and then the Beornings all began talking at once, murmuring over each other. Murmuring to their dead.

"Thank you," Bilbo whispered into the sound. "I'm so sorry."

Slowly, the sound tapered away, but it was not until the final person had finished speaking that Grimbeorn stepped forward, and took a flaming torch from the elves.

"We will not stay to watch them burn. We are in danger here." The skin-changer took a deep breath, and then nodded. "Farewell, my friends."

He laid the torch down upon the pyre and at once it set to light, flames licking at the wood and sending smoke curling into the sky.

Tauriel let out a low whistle, and the steeds of the elves came marching out of the forest in a perfectly straight line. Great horses from Rohan and the surrounding lands, they had borne Tauriel and her guards to the battle, though elves rarely had cavalries, and even more rarely rode their steeds into battle. Now, Bilbo was glad of it, for the elves took control, leading the Beornings to the horses. Those such as the fox siblings and the dwarves were too small to ride a horse alone, so they rode in pairs, and Bilbo found himself seated behind Fíli. He was not complaining. It helped his heart to hold at least one of his sons.

Those who were too injured to ride were borne on stretchers by the elves, and Tauriel herself was helping to carry Kíli. Every few hours, they would swap with other elves, passing the injured to fresh carriers. Many of the elves were on their own feet, for their own horses were laden with wounded animals, as well as two-legged fighters, and the beasts of the Beornings were being offered the relief of carrying no weight but their own.

Indeed, some of the elven horses were laden with injured animals, who did not even have the strength to hold themselves. There were wounded dogs resting on the laps of their owners, or strapped gently to saddles, and exhausted cats slumping over the necks of horses. In fact, the more he looked around, the more creatures Bilbo saw, and he realised that none were being left behind, and that many seemed to have fought in the battle. He saw voles and rats and weasels with the black blood of the orcs around their tiny jaws, and he saw stout badgers waddling along wearily with their kits on their backs, and orc blood still clinging to their claws.

There was a small herd of deer, the bucks with blood on their antlers and the does with bloodied skulls, where they had been ramming the enemy even without horns. There were fawns, too, and smaller creatures. Fox cubs tucked into the saddle-bags of horses, squabbling with kittens. A family of squirrels sitting on the neck, ears and head of a horse. Rabbits, snoozing in the pockets of riding Beornings.

When they had ridden through the night, and through the better part of the day, the elves deemed it safe to stop and rest, and Bilbo took the opportunity to ask Grimbeorn about the young animals there.

"Well, some are what your people would call 'pets' – many of the cats and the dogs live in our houses as family. The ponies and goats and cows too – and many of the other animals. But others are wild by nature, and do not do well indoors. These are merely our friends – some who stayed for loyalty. Most, in fact, stayed for loyalty. Some lived closer to where the battle took place – the deer, for example. They could have fled, should have fled, but when they saw what was going on, they hid their fawns in the thickets and they came to our aid. Others did the same. All the young are the cubs of those who lived nearby and chose to fight. Wildcats, foxes, badgers… I never thought I would see the day when a rabbit fought in a war. They have every right to come with us now."

"Oh, I don't doubt that at all. Though I am not surprised that so many sweet creatures fought for you. As someone that was called a bunny by your father, I can say with certainty that it takes nothing less than love to make a rabbit go to war," said Bilbo, stroking Kíli's hair gently. Still bound to his stretcher, Kíli was yet to wake, but Tauriel had promised Bilbo that there was no cause for worry.

Grimbeorn smiled slightly. "Yes. Mordor will flee when a bunny goes to war."

Bilbo laughed slightly, and as he did, Kíli stirred, turning his head slightly to lean into the hobbit's touch. At once, fear shot into Bilbo's heart. "Tauriel, his head, his neck!" he said, a swell of horror coming over him. Had the elves overlooked something? Could Kíli die from turning to look at his father?

"It is alright, Bilbo." Tauriel's voice was soothing, and she smiled a little, despite the weariness carved onto her face. "See the ribbon there? About his neck? If will stop him if he jolts, or tries to move his neck far enough to do any damage. As long as he is gentle and slow, he will do no harm. Even if he tries, it will be difficult to hurt himself."

Bilbo nodded breathlessly. "Thank you. Thank you, Tauriel."

At that moment, Fíli, Bragi, and Ehren returned from fetching bowls of elven broth, and Ehren snorted as he saw Bofur and Nori snoring on the ground.

"All the more for me," he said, laying their bowls down before them.

It had taken Bofur less than two minutes to fall to sleep, and Nori's eyes seemed to have closed in a matter of seconds. He had lost a fair bit of blood in the battle, so though the cut was clean enough and healing well, Bilbo decided to wake Nori up and make sure that he ate his dinner. It would not do to gamble with low blood sugar, on top of everything else.

That said, the last time that Bilbo had woken Nori unexpectedly he had been sucker punched in the throat, so he decided to wait until he had finished his own food first, in case Nori upturned it.

Though, for one in his life, Bilbo did not feel very hungry. He certainly did not feel full – he felt empty, a sort of empty that no amount of food could fix. But then he saw Fíli picking at his food, and Bilbo knew that that would not do. He raised his bowl to his lips and began to drink, prodding Fíli with his toe and raising his eyebrows meaningfully. Fíli rolled his eyes, but a small smile graced his lips as he began to drink his broth. Bilbo's own stomach churned as he drained his own bowl, but he ignored it stubbornly.

Kíli moaned, and Bilbo jumped, the bowl tumbling from his grasp as his son's lips parted. "Bil…Bilbo…"

"I'm here," Bilbo said at once, putting a hand on Kíli's forehead. "I'm here, my boy, I'm here. I'm here, Kíli."

Slowly, Kíli's eyes fluttered open, a haze over them as he tried to focus on Bilbo. "Bilbo…" he mumbled again, though now there was a little relief in his voice. "Wha'… where…?"

"We're on the way to Mirkwood," said Bilbo gently. "The elves are helping us."

"Oh," Kíli mumbled, and his eyes closed, and they got little more out of him that day.

By the time darkness began to fall, and the elves packed up camp, Kíli was already slumbering again. He had not eaten anything, but Tauriel assured Bilbo that was not a problem. That soon, Kíli would be able to stomach a small bowl of broth. The next day, when they rested again, Kíli was a little more coherent, and he was able to eat a little – or be fed a little.

Bilbo had not yet had the heart to tell Kíli why he had to be spoon fed, why his arms were bound to his sides, why he had been so tightly secured to the splints and the stretcher. And Kíli did not ask, again seeming to find it hard to concentrate. He asked after Jago, again, and again they told him that the great bear was dead. He asked for his mother, and Bilbo repeated that she was safe, and explained about meeting the elves half-way to Mirkwood.

It was not until the third day, when they were under the very eaves of the forest, that Bilbo and Fíli were able to bring themselves to tell Kíli the severity of his wounds. Tauriel helped, explaining all she had told to Bilbo and Fíli, and all the while Kíli stayed quiet. Very quiet. He was silent for a long while after they all finished talking, but then he looked to Tauriel.

"But I am not going to die?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not unless you cut yourself loose and attempt one of those ridiculous twisting flips that you dwarves call 'dancing.'"

Kíli snorted. "Well, there go my plans for the evening…" He paused, a thoughtful look passing over his face. "So my legs… I'll never feel them again?"

The smile slid from Tauriel's cheeks. "That – that is a possibility."

"And it's also possible that I will – that I might walk again?"

"If it is, it will take time, a long time – but yes," she said.

Kíli nodded thoughtfully. "Alright… Will I-" he blushed slightly, and for the first time looked away from Tauriel as he spoke. "Be able to visit the bathroom without, y'know…"

The elf's smile returned, and she nodded. "I should think so, from what we were able to tell when we bound you. We shall have to rebind you in Mirkwood, but then we should be able to free your hands. It appears that your legs, and only your legs, have been affected by the paralysis. In that, you are very lucky."

"Aye," Kíli agreed. "Well, that's not so bad."

Beside him, Fíli choked on his stew. "Not so bad?" he spluttered.

Kíli smiled softly, tilting his head towards his brother. "I'll live, Fee. I still be able to talk, and if we make it home I can get a wheelchair, like Tove, the jeweller, you know? I have my hands, my arms, my head – and maybe I will walk again someday. I hope that I will, I really do. But I have that chance. I can't-" he choked, showing the first sign of distress since they had begun talking. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and continued. "I cannot lie here, and weep and wail about what has happened when Bolin has lost any chance of his legs healing. If he ever manages to walk again, it will not be on his own legs. He has no chance – but I do. And I cannot… I can't… I chose this."

Bilbo felt very cold. "You what?"

Kíli gave a sad smile. "I didn't, I don't mean – when the orcs came upon us in the Battle of the Five Armies, I was not prepared. I fought because there was no other choice, but I didn't – I didn't know what to do, or how to how to process what was going on. I know better now. And I fought because I was willing to lay down my life, if I had to. This – all of this – seems a little price, compared to what others had to pay."

There was a beat, and then Ehren gave a snort. "You are far too bloody noble, Kíli Baggins."

Kíli gave a little laugh, and even Bilbo smiled, stroking his son's hair once more. Kíli looked up at him, his eyes still so wide, still so innocent after everything that they had seen.

"I don't know," he murmured. "Just seems like a better way of coping?"

It was almost a question, and Bilbo nodded, smiling even as tears crept from his eyes. "Yes, Kíli. I think it is. I'm very proud of you."

The following night, they reached the Woodland Realm. As soon as they did, Tauriel whisked Kíli and the other injured away to the healing halls, leaving those on their feet to follow the other elves through to a large chamber, where it seemed the refugees who had fled earlier had been waiting.

Squeals of joy and cries of relief rang through the air as children saw their parents, and wives their husbands and parents their children. Bilbo's eye was almost taken out by the hand of a six-year-old girl who flung into her mother's arms beside him, and he smiled even as he steeled himself. The crying would follow next, and the screams of disbelief and anguish. His eyes fell on Aeron, clinging Emblyn's hand, scanning the crowd for parents that would not appear.

"Bilbo! Fíli!"

Relief instantly washed through Bilbo a warm, beautiful wave, and he turned just in time to be engulfed in the arms of his wife. Dís held him close, and clutched at Fíli with her other hand, but then she paused, and pulled away. Her eyes flickered between them, and horror broke onto her face.

"Kíli-"

"Is alive," said Bilbo quickly, taking her arm. "He's alive, and he's – well, he's alright from the waist upwards."

"What?" Dís rasped, looking desperately at Fíli. "What happened, why – where is he?"

"In the healing halls," said Fíli. "He… he broke his back, Ama."

Dís went very pale. "His back?"

"But he's awake and alert and the concussion is gone now," said Bilbo. "And, somehow he's in good spirits."

Dís moaned dropping her face into her hands. Bilbo wrapped his arms around her, feeling her stomach press into his own. The baby was getting bigger.

"Come," she said, pressing her lips together in a clear attempt to stop them from shaking. There were tears glistening in her eyes, but she put on a smile and took Bilbo's hand. "We're over here."

She led them to the far corner of the room, a little way away from most of the Beornings. Vinca and Glóin were sitting with their backs to a wall with a young, hobbit sized girl with red hair that Bilbo had never seen before. She was talking rather intently to Glóin, while Vinca watched, her knees tucked up to her chest. She looked younger than she had in years, with her chin resting on her knees and her eyes round and worried. But when she looked up and saw Dís leading the others over, she gasped and leapt to her feet.

"You're back! Thank the Valar! Wait – where's Kíli?"

"In the Healing Halls," said Bilbo, trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. "He's broken his back but he's doing alright."

"What?" Vinca went very pale, looking from Bilbo to Fíli to Dís.

"Let's sit down," said Dís, taking Vinca's hands and sitting down. "Oh, and Bilbo, this is Inni, Emblyn's cousin. She was the one who took Glóin's message to Thorin."

The red-head smiled a little. "Hello. Thank you for what you are doing for my family."

"Oh," said Bilbo, smiling a little himself. "Hello. Thank you for what you have done for ours."

Inni nodded her head and stood up, rolling her neck. "I am going to report to Grimbeorn – unless-" She cut off, fixing Bilbo with a piercing stare.

Bilbo shook his head slightly. "No, Grimbeorn is unhurt."

Inni bowed her head and walked away, and Glóin gave a small smile.

"The elves found her making her way back to Wilderland, but Beornings were already here. Glad they were, I'm glad she's alright. Must admit I worried, sending a little lass like that to the mountain alone," he said. "So – what happened?"

With a heavy heart, Bilbo listened to Nori recount the journey to Dol Guldur, and the burning that had happened there. As he spoke of the battle, the sounds of sobbing broke through the room, and Bilbo's stomach squirmed at the cries of newly orphaned children, and new widows. Of families and friends that were newly grieving.

By the time they finished the tale, the worst of the crying was over. Sniffing and sobbing had taken its place, and keening. Bilbo saw more than one child shift into the form of an animal and curl into a tiny ball, or cling to dogs or deer for support.

An elf stood at the door, one that Bilbo did not know, and called, "Family of Adeyard the Brown?"

A woman stood up, a child on her hip, and the elf beckoned her out of the room. More and more folk were called, taken away to see those they loved in the healing halls. The hair on the back of Bilbo's neck stood up as he waited to hear his son's name.

"Are you much hurt, Nori?" asked Vinca softly, her eyes haunted, and so very, very young.

"Nah." Nori shook his head, grinning slightly. "I'm fine, lass. 't'll take more than a scratch to the arm to take me down."

"A scratch to the arm and severe blood loss," amended Bilbo sarcastically, and Nori nodded, tapping his forehead.

"Yeah. I'm fine, pet. Don't worry."

"Good," she murmured, trying to smile herself. "I wouldn't want to tell Nelly you'd gotten yourself hurt. She'd skin me alive for bearing the message."

Nori laughed, but it was stilted, and Vinca's eyes flickered down. Bilbo's stomach churned as he followed her thoughts to Nelly and Bróin, and to Frodo and Sam, Merry and Pippin, Gandalf, Gimli, and the others.

"D'you… d'you think she's alright, Nori? D'you think they're alright?" she asked, and for once she sounded as young as she really was.

Nori shrugged uncomfortably. "I reckon they'll be fine. They're with Gandalf, ain't they? And they're not half bad with weapons. I'm sure they're fine, Vinca. I'm sure she's fine."

Bilbo tried to smile, but Bofur was looking pointedly away and Ehren was kneading his eyes with his fists, and no one seemed to truly believe Nori's words.

Even Nori.

"Family of Kíli Baggins?"

At once, they leapt to their feet, all seven of them, and Tauriel raised an eyebrow. Then she nodded, and beckoned for them to follow. They scurried along behind her, through halls Bilbo wished that he did not know so well. The healing halls of Mirkwood were pleasant enough, and light and airy, but they brought memories of dread and despair, and Fíli lying like a corpse for days on end.

But when they reached Kíli's room, he did not look dead. On the contrary – he was propped up in bed with rosy cheeks and a sheepish smile, and a blanket tucked up over him. The moment he saw Dís, his eyes softened, and his smile grew.

"Amad," he said, and Dís burst into tears. At once, horror flooded Kíli's face and he held out his hand. "Don't – Ama, don't cry! It's alright."

"Alright?" echoed Vinca, her eyes round with horror of her own

"Truly," promised Kíli, reaching up to take Dís' hand as she hurried to the side of his bed. There were tears in his eyes, but he was smiling, and when Fíli collapsed into a nearby chair and rested his forehead on the bed, Kíli sank his fingers into his brother's hair. "I'm not in any pain, not anymore. The elves make wonderful healing draughts. Please, Ama, don't cry."

Dís gave a watery laugh. "I am eight months pregnant and my son lies before me with a broken spine. I don't have much of a choice in the matter."

Kíli smiled. "It's alright, Amad. I'm going to live, I'm going to be fine. Fíli will just piggy-back me anywhere I want to go."

Dís gave a strangled laugh and Bilbo smiled slightly.

"Somehow, that doesn't sound inaccurate," said Bilbo wryly.

"Now," said Tauriel, lowering Kíli's blanket to reveal what looked like solid, white, bandages piled on top of each other. She tapped it gently with her knuckles, and to Bilbo's surprise it made an almost hollow sound. "We call this a 'plaster cast.' It is made from strips of bandages and a special adhesive, and it will prevent him from moving far more effectively than anything else. He will need to where it for at least six months, possibly longer, but after a month or so bed rest will no longer be so essential."

"She hasn't told you the worst part," said Kíli gravely, though there was a cheeky smile on his face. "They had to shave me. It was awful, I must be the baldest dwarf in all of history."

This time, even Fíli smiled.

To Bilbo's great relief, it seemed that Thranduil truly meant it when he spoke of housing the Beornings. The elves spent the following days setting the refugees up in small houses and tents throughout the kingdom, taking families one by one and giving them their own personal space and supplies. The dwarves were left for a while in the great hall, but Bilbo was not surprised, nor really offended. They all spent most of their time in Kíli's room, talking idly, dancing around the subject of what they were going to do next.

Three days after they arrived, that was where they were when a knock came at the door, announcing the strangest trio of folk that Bilbo had ever seen. Thranduil was first through the door, and behind him, towering over him, was Grimbeorn. Behind them trailed Inni, who came up to neither man's waist, but wore the same sombre expression on her face that both Thranduil and Grimbeorn bore.

"What the devil do you want?" demanded Glóin, which was not what Bilbo would have said – though he quite agreed with the sentiment.

"Other than offering shelter to you and your allies, and sending an army of my own people to your assistance?" he drawled, striding into the room. "I want to speak with you, and it is a matter that cannot wait."

Bilbo glanced at Dís, who was clearly doing her best not to glare. She had never liked Thranduil, and since his actions before the Battle of the Five Armies she had loathed him, but she was always civil. She respected the fragile alliance between Mirkwood and the Mountain, and was ever counselling Thorin in favour of bolstering the kingdoms' relationship, but to Bilbo, she would rant and rave about the elvenking's greed and selfishness, and his smugness and his past, and pretty much everything else about him.

A heavily pregnant, deeply upset, highly hormonal Dís, plus Thranduil in – well, any mood really – was quite likely a recipe for disaster.

But she simply nodded slightly. "What is it you would like to discuss?"

"Your plans. I want to make sure that you are aware you do have the option to stay here, if that is your wish. Particularly given your injured prince, here," said Thranduil. "Though I believe your plan was initially to move on to the mountain."

"It was," said Dís tightly. "But Kíli cannot be moved."

"And the mountain is surrounded," said Inni earnestly. "There is no way in or out."

"But," said Grimbeorn, "if you did wish to return to the mountain, we think we have a plan."

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please review if you get the chance, I'd really appreciate knowing what you think! In all honesty I doubt that there will be an update tomorrow, as I am working all day and going out in the evening, but I will endeavour to get back on schedule from next week.

Thank you so much for reading, take care of yourselves.