Hello there! Sorry for the delay, the past few weeks have been incredibly busy! Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter, I truly appreciate it. As ever, please forgive any typos in this chapter, and I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Seventy-Six: Of Brothers and Sisters

Fíli woke to darkness. Thorin and Kíli were both still asleep, and though they were hogging all of the covers, Fíli did not think that it was his cold feet that had woken him. He did not think it was a nightmare that had woken him either – though his sleep was often plagued by foul dreams, he did not remember anything particularly traumatic.

And then he heard it, and realised that it was not his own nightmare that had woken him.

Beside him, Kíli was whimpering, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. He was shivering a little and his slumbering face was twisted in terror that burnt Fíli's heart. He sat himself up and put a hand on Kíli's shoulder, rubbing it gently. Kíli flinched, and his eyes flew open in the darkness. There was a sharp gasp, and then, "Fee?"

"I'm here," Fíli whispered, stroking Kíli's hair. "You're safe, Kíli. I'm here."

Groaning, Kíli closed his eyes and titled his head towards his brother. "Wh' time is it?"

"Not sure," murmured Fíli, smiling a little. "Go back to sleep, nadadith. I'm here."

"S'rry for wakin' you," mumbled Kíli, but as he spoke he reached out, and Fíli took his hand.

"Don't be. Just sleep."

Kíli gave a soft sigh, and within moments, sleep had taken him again. He did not stir, and Fíli felt his eyes grow hot, and sting. Even in sleep, Kíli had no peace. He wondered if Tauriel might make something that could cause a dreamless sleep – such things existed for the elves, after all.

But Kíli had memories to fuel a lifetime of nightmares, and enough worries on his shoulders to turn a whole kingdom grey. Fíli shared such fears, of course, and his own dreams were plagued by scenes of death and destruction crashing down upon his kin and his kingdom, but he did not think it fair that Kíli had to suffer too. He knew that it was a little foolish to think in such a way, to allow himself fears that he would shield his brother from, but he did not care.

Kíli had been through so much, had suffered so much, and still the world kept throwing him trial after trial. Baby brothers were only supposed to get hurt in ways that you could laugh at. They were not supposed to be broken.

And there was no doubt about it - Kíli was broken. Fíli could see the silhouette of the cast beneath the blankets, the reminder that his brother might never walk again. He would never dance, or run, or swim, he would never climb trees or cliffs, he would never be able to do anything without the help of others.

Furiously, Fíli dashed at his eyes, and glanced at his brother.

No. Kíli would not spend the rest of his life feeling hopeless, or useless. Fíli may not be able to mend Kíli's spine, but he would do whatever it took to grant Kíli as much happiness and independence as possible. And he knew that there was something that he could do. Carefully, he slipped out of bed and crept to the side, pulling an ink well and scrap of parchment towards him in case Kíli panicked when he woke. Then, he slipped out of the room, and into the darkness of the hall.

Everything was very cold. A second ago he had been burning, but now he was frozen, unable to see. He was barely able to hear – everything was muffled and white, and the sad truth welled in his heart. They had burnt him alive, and then they had buried him out in the snow.

"Pippin!"

Someone was screaming, screaming his name, and someone else was murmuring – a voice that somehow seemed nearer, but less clear, and he felt his heart beat faster. It was the only part of him that could move, the only piece of him that could flee from the Voice, from the pain it would bring, but it was too late, and the whiteness faded into vision –

And he saw a face above his own.

Concern was carved deeply into the lines on the old wizard's face, and Pippin became aware that Gandalf had one of his hands clutched in his own. He could feel the wooden floor beneath his back, and the cold of a breeze on his feet, and he could see the ceiling above him. He was no longer trapped in nothing, no longer falling, and he let out a soft sob.

"Gandalf?"

The wizard's face darkened, anger chasing away the concern, and he shook Pippin roughly. "Fool of a Took! Of all the inquisitive hobbits – you could not leave things alone for five minutes! What the devil possessed you?"

Flinching, Pippin tried to look for Merry, but Gandalf shook him again, and he looked back into the furious gaze of the wizard. He felt the hot stab of tears in his eyes, but he had no strength to stop them from falling.

"Nelly," he sobbed, feeling his voice shake as it left his trembling lips. "I – I just w-wanted to know… To know what happened… I thought… I thought…"

The red fury drained from Gandalf's face, leaving him looking pale and weary. His eyes widened, and rounded, and to Pippin's shock, the wizard's lip began to shake. With tears dancing in his eyes, Gandalf leant back, and stared at the hobbit for a long while. When he spoke again, his voice was as soft as a sigh.

"Oh, Pippin…"

Pippin looked away, and his eyes fell on Merry. His cousin was paler than even Gandalf, and trembling like a leaf. Gimli had an arm around his shoulder, but Merry did not seem to notice. He looked very afraid, and very small, and guilt churned in Pippin's stomach. He looked away.

"Did you not think that I would use the Palantir to look for your sister, were it safe to do so?" murmured Gandalf.

"I – I-" Pippin broke off and tried to avert his gaze, but Gandalf's hand squeezed his again, squeezed until it almost hurt, and Pippin set his eyes on the wizard once more. "I didn't…"

A dark wave of deep sorrow welled in Gandalf's eyes, and he shook his head slowly. "It did not even pass your mind that I might try, did it?"

Pippin shook his head slightly, and Gandalf closed his eyes. There was disappointment wrought into his wrinkles, and Pippin bit down on his lip. "But – but I saw her, Gandalf, I did see her!"

Like a flash of lightning, Gandalf's eyes burst open, fixing on Pippin intensely. "What? What did you see?

Pippin shivered, an echo of pain running through him. "I saw Nelly. I saw her, I saw her Gandalf, and, and she was alive and – and Bróin was there and, and Frodo and Sam too-"

"What?" said Gandalf sharply, his gaze further. "Frodo and Sam? Where were they?"

"I – I don't know, but there were men around them, lots of men – tall, in green and grey and they, Gandalf, they had a knife to her throat and – and then it went dark, and… and I was somewhere else. I don't know where. I heard someone speaking. A Voice…"

"A Voice?" asked Gandalf sharply, a sudden intensity in his eyes. "What did it say? Tell me!" when Pippin hesitated the wizard shook him again. "The exact words, Peregrin, tell me now!"

His voice stammering in time with his frantic heart, Pippin recalled the Voice's words as best he could, and as Gandalf's face grew more fearful the hobbit's own voice shook all the more. But the wizard kept his hands as a vice on Pippin's shoulders, and he would not let the hobbit stop until he had recounted every word, and described the images he had seen in a detail that made his head hurt.

Then, finally Gandalf released him, and Pippin let his eyes close, and his head fall against the floor. He was such a fool. Such a stupid, useless little fool. He had not helped his sister. He had not helped Frodo. He had just gone and put his foot in it again, just gone and made everything ten times worse. He could tell by wizard's expression, by Gimli's horror and Merry's terror.

He should just throw himself on his own sword, so he could never be a nuisance again.

Around him, people all began to talk at once, quickly and quietly and all at once, their voices blending into each other and making it impossible to distinguish voice from voice.

"What does it mean, Gandalf?"

"Is he alright? Is Pippin alright?"

"Minas Tirith… they must be warned…"

"Who was-"

"Dammit, Gandalf, is Pippin alright?"

"What was-"

"If-"

"Hush," said Gandalf, silencing the babble of voices around Pippin. "It seems we were rather fortunate, in some ways. Sauron has shown his hand – his wrath shall strike upon Minas Tirith. This means we may have a chance to prepare ourselves."

"That was Sauron?" cried Gimli, his voice considerably higher than usual. "Pippin was speaking with Sauron?"

Of course I was, thought Pippin glumly, even as a shiver of icy terror ran down his spine. My failures are the only spectacular thing about me.

Gandalf sighed heavily. "I fear so, yes. The Palantir was how Saruman would communicate with Sauron – it seems Pippin inadvertently attended a meeting in Saruman's place. Unfortunately, it seems that Sauron now believes that Pippin is the one who took Bilbo's burden from him."

It took Pippin a moment to realise that Gandalf was speaking of the ring, but when he did, he felt his whole body go limp.

Sauron thought that he, Pippin, had the Ring of power. That was why he said he would see Pippin soon, that was why he had hurt him so badly. And there was nothing that Pippin could do about it. Not even Merry could talk him out of trouble this time. He ought to be locked away and forgotten about, somewhere dark and cold where he could not bring danger upon anyone else ever again.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned his face away.

"Pippin. Look at me."

Surprise opened Pippin's eyes before he had a chance to stop it. He had not realised that Boromir was even in the room, he had seen no one but Gandalf and Merry and Gimli, but now he saw the crowd around him, and Aragorn and Legolas among them, and Boromir kneeling beside him. And, for some unfathomable reason the man was smiling. It was a sad, strained look, stained with fear, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Sit up, lad," he said softly, easing his hand behind Pippin's shoulder. "Sit up now."

Pippin obeyed, largely due to the man's firm hand on his back, and he shivered.

"Look at me," ordered Boromir, his voice gentle as a mother hobbit's. "Pippin, look at me."

Feeling more and more like a stupid child by the second, Pippin reluctantly raised his eyes to Boromir's.

"Listen now. We will not let Sauron anywhere near you. He will not touch you. Do not be afraid." Boromir squeezed Pippin's shoulder again. "We shall protect you from the curse, and we will take the blessing. Because there is a blessing here, Pippin. Two of them! The first is that we know our enemy's plan, and that alone might save my city. That knowledge might just save my people. And the second is that we know there is still hope for all people – and good hope! Frodo and Sam are on track, and Nelly and Bróin are with them, and are safe."

"Safe?" croaked Pippin, his hand wrapping around his own throat. "There were men, soldiers with knives and-"

"Clad in the garb of the Rangers of Ithilien," interrupted Boromir, his smile growing a little stronger as he gave Pippin's shoulder a gentle shake. "That is what you described, I am sure of it. And if they are indeed the Rangers, they will have no cause to do Nelly, or any of the others, any harm at all."

"But – but what if they don't believe them, or, or they try to take it for themselves or-"

"There is always a risk of such things, Pippin," said Gandalf heavily. "That was always a doom that may come to pass. But for now, we must trust to the men of Gondor, and turn our eyes to their city. Aragorn, fetch Théoden and Eómer at once! There is much to discuss."

With that, the wizard swept from the room, and the men hurried around after him. All the men, save Boromir, who remained on his knees beside Pippin.

"Do not torture yourself over this, Pippin," he said. "You did it out of love, your intentions were noble. I attacked Frodo out of anger and jealousy. If I might be forgiven, so may you."

"So, you think I should get nearly murdered by orcs too, then?" he mumbled half-heartedly, and Boromir smirked a little, but Merry blanched.

"Don't even say things like that, Pippin," he said, his voice hollow. "Don't even joke."

"It'll be alright lad," said Boromir, standing up at last and clapping a hand to Merry's shoulder too. "This is a blessing. We will not let it become a curse, too."

The atmosphere in the cave was that of a thorn-bush, choked by drought. To move in the slightest was to get pricked, scratched, cut, to try and talk was to feel sand in your throat. No one moved, and no one spoke.

Nelly wanted to run. She wanted to sprint for the door and race as fast as her legs would carry her, she wanted to get away from these men and their swords and their grasping hands.

A small part of her reasoned that they had not been overtly indecent, and Rion's travelling grip had been largely – if not entirely – due to her own fighting and wriggling, but it did not seem to matter much. Feeling her legs and arms held tight, feeling her feet lift from the ground – it had sent her tumbling back into the memory that had seared itself into her skull, into the horror of the uruk-hai of Isengard, and how close they had come to –

She wanted to run.

She wanted to run, and to scream, and to cry, and she wanted to beat at her own chest, and rip her hair out at the roots, because she did not run, or scream, or cry. She was Nelly Took, and she was supposed to be the strong one, the brave one, the one who only cried to manipulate enemies (or annoying siblings), the one who only screamed when surprised. If she was not strong, and brave, she was not Nelly. If she was not Nelly, she did not know who she was.

And she did not know how she could have let the uruk-hai take 'Nelly' from her.

She pursed her lips together so tightly that it hurt – tight enough to stop them from shaking. Her nails were digging into her arms, anchoring her fingers in her skin so that her hands could not tremble, and every muscle in her body was cramped, still, waiting.

And useless.

Now was not a time for fighting or running – it was a time for talking your way out of trouble – something else that Nelly was supposed to be good at. Had that been stolen from her to? Had Saruman ripped the ability from her when he tortured Bróin, burnt it out of her with her own pain?

Well. If he had, it was time for her to march up and take it back. She took a deep breath, and relaxed her throat, and spoke in a voice so even it almost fooled herself.

"Who says we were carrying anything?"

Rion turned his sharp eyes towards her. "Master Baggins spoke of a burden, and though it may be a metaphor, I doubt it. Not when your silence spoke so loudly."

"That's a rather fast conclusion to jump to," she said, forcing her fingers to ease their grip on her arms. "You ought to be careful. As to what, if anything, we carry, that is none of your business."

"It is if it might harm us," protested Rion, and Faramir held out his hand.

"Peace, Rion," he murmured, his eyes fixed intently on Frodo. "I think I know what it is that you carry. Show me."

"What makes you say that?" asked Nelly sharply, but fear slipped into her voice and she winced. When Faramir spoke, his head tilted her way, but his eyes remained fixed on Frodo.

"Seek for the sword that was broken, in Imladris it dwells. There shall councils be taken, stronger than Morgul spells. There shall be shown a token that Doom is near at hand, for Isildur's Bane shall waken, and the Halfling forth shall stand. The riddle begins to become clear, now. A token of Doom, the bane of Isildur… Am I wrong to think that the Ring of Power has been found?"

"I don't know," said Nelly, widening her eyes just enough to look confused and praying that they did not betray her fear. She had to keep his attention on her, on the one who (was supposed to have) had the best poker face, to keep him from catching the truth in Frodo's eyes. "It might've been found, but what would we know about it? And how would a hobbit come across such a thing, anyway?"

"I have known since the age of four that hobbits are not to be underestimated, Miss Took. Show me."

"Did you not hear what Frodo said?" demanded Sam, anger burning in his eyes. "Boromir saw it, and he tried to take it! The Ring drove your brother mad-"

"By the Valar, they do have it," breathed Madril, and Nelly drew her feet beneath her, ready to spring, to fight, to flee. She knew that it would be hopeless, that they were surrounded and outnumbered and weapon-less, but she would not die mewling like a coward.

"It seems that way, Madril. Rion," said Faramir, his voice still even, though there was something very much like anger in his eyes. "Take your hand from your blade. There are no enemies here. I am not my brother, Frodo Baggins. I do not wish for honour or glory, and I know that I have not the strength to wield a Ring of Power. If I found it lying abandoned on the roadside, I would like to think that I would not take it. will take nothing from you without your leave, but I would like to see it. Please, show me."

"Uh uh," muttered Broin, his fists clenched tightly in Toothy's fur. "Bad idea, Frodo."

"Please."

Frodo hesitated, his hand rising slowly towards his neck, and Nelly held her breath. "Why do you want to see it, if you do not mean to take it?"

Faramir's eyes grew heavy with grief, and for the first time he glanced away from Frodo. Then, he looked back. "I should like to see the thing that spurred my brother to Mordor, instead of back to our people. I would like… I want to see the thing that drew Boromir to his death."

Broin shook his head, and Sam clenched his jaw, but they said nothing, and Nelly found herself all but paralysed as Frodo reached into his shirt, and slowly pulled out a silver chain.

He opened his palm, and there it was.

So small. So perfect.

So wrong.

Rion and Madril both leant towards it, and Frodo recoiled, but neither man moved their hands, and Faramir remained very still. Nelly could see the gold reflected in his eyes, could see awe and lust and fear around it.

"Not if I found it by the wayside," he murmured, in a voice that would not go amiss in a dream. Slowly, his hand reached out, and Frodo leapt back against the wall. Before thought even reached her, Nelly had sprang in front of him, fists at the ready, and Sam was beside her, and Toothy raised a snarling head –

And Faramir blinked.

And closed his fingers.

A sad smile slipped across his face, a look of sorrow so deep it must be born of grief. "Not if it lay by the highway… not if Minas Tirith was burning, and I alone could save her. I would not take this thing. I will not. You do not need to fear, Frodo. Your quest – and your secret – are safe with us."

Madril stared at Faramir for a long moment, and then nodded, but Rion kept his eyes on Frodo.

"What is it you seek to do with this Ring? Take it straight to Sauron's front door?" he asked sharply.

"We are going to destroy it," replied Frodo, his voice equally icy. "That is our purpose."

"No mean feat," said Faramir, and even as his smile grew, the sadness in his eyes grew deeper. "It is no wonder my brother wished to aid you. We will help you, where we can. "

"You trust them, my lord?" asked Rion, narrowing his eyes at Faramir. When Faramir nodded, the other man sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders, and he shook his head a little.

"So be it. I shall speak nothing of this matter, but if they end up being enemy spies, I reserve the right to remind you of my feelings on the matter."

Despite herself, Nelly snorted, and as the eyes of the others turned to her she offered an apologetic smile. "I must remember that – I have never been able to make 'I told you so' sound polite before!"

For the first time, the corner of Rion's lip softened into what could almost be considered a smile, and Faramir grinned.

"That right is yours, Rion, though I doubt you will need to exercise it." He turned to Frodo once more. "Madril and Rion are my most trusted advisors, and save my brother I hold no-one dearer, in either counsel or my heart. When they give their word, they will not break it, I assure you."

Sam gave a poorly muffled 'humph' of disbelief, and Nelly followed his gaze to Rion. He was glaring back at Sam, thin eyebrows furrowed over long-lashed eyes.

"My word is my bond," he said. "On my life, I would not break it. And I swear now that I will speak no word of what I've heard here, lest my lord grant me leave."

Nelly studied the man's eyes for a moment, and decided that if he was lying, he was most convincing. But as she looked, and really looked, she found that there was something odd about Rion. Something different. She narrowed her eyes and studied him carefully, taking in his rather delicate, almost elfin features, and his dainty yet calloused hands. He was not quite so tall as Faramir, and lacked the facial hair of most of his comrades, and there was a softness to his jaw and face. Though his muscles were clearly defined, even beneath his uniform, there was a shape to his body that she did not expect from a ranger. He had a thin waist, yet rather wide hips, and –

"Oh," she breathed.

Rion looked sharply at her, voice laced with suspicion. "What?"

"You – nothing," she said. "It's not my place to say."

"To say what?" pressed Rion.

Nelly raised her eyebrows, and stared sincerely into Rion's eyes as she spoke. "Truly, I do not think you want me to say."

Rion looked furiously at Faramir, who in turn sent a curious look Nelly's way.

"You may speak freely here, Miss Took," he said. "If it is your wish."

"It isn't, thank you. I was merely thinking aloud," she said, turning her own eyes to Faramir. "So, Lord Faramir. What happens now? Will you let us go?"

Faramir glanced at Rion and nodded slowly. "If you wish, you may leave at any time. But I offer you leave to stay. We travel south in tomorrow morning, and will make for the Window to the West. It is the oldest and most secret refuge in these lands, and I would have you travel with us. From there, we can lend you more provisions for your journey – I believe we will also be able to source some more… appropriate… clothing for you and Master Bróin. We would have to blindfold you for the final mile or so of the route, but you would be guests, not prisoners. You could then re-join the skulking fellow and continue on your way with good supplies."

Frodo hesitated, glancing at Nelly, and then Bróin, and then Sam. After a long moment, he looked back at Faramir. "If you wouldn't mind, that would be lovely. But no one outside of this room can know of our business."

"That we agree on," said Faramir, bowing his head. "Do you think this 'Gollum' will follow you?"

"Undoubtedly," said Frodo. "Whether he wants to or not. He is bound to… it, and therefore to me."

Still looking suspiciously at Nelly, Rion spoke up. "Yet he cannot enter Henneth Annûn uninvited. The penalty for that is death. If you wish him to be spared, Master Baggins, I suggest you find some way to get him to agree to a blindfold."

Bróin snorted, a grin stretching across his face as Frodo groaned. He put his hands over Toothy's eyes, and though the warg whined, he did not move.

"Who has the better pet now, eh cousin?" teased Bróin, and Frodo shook his head – though Nelly explicitly saw him roll his eyes.

"Thank you, Bróin," he muttered. "I will do my best. I do not want him injured."

"And I do not want to injure him, so you best catch him," added Rion, earning another wry smile from Faramir.

Shaking his head ever so slightly, Boromir's younger brother stood up. "I think such matters can be left for tomorrow. You must be tired, and I know that we are. I must see to my men, but do make yourselves comfortable, and please, sleep. You are safe here." He bowed, and returned to the small tunnel to leave. Rion followed on his heels, but Madril paused, looking over his shoulder at them with a wry smile.

"And don't you worry lads, and lady. We won't be offended if you decide to set your own watch."

With that, they were left alone, and Nelly let out a breath she did not know she had been holding.

"Well, that was interesting," she sighed. Weariness was beginning to way on her limbs, and the strange, weightless feeling that remained when a deep fear had fled was spreading through her body.

"Aye," muttered Bróin, and then he frowned slightly. "What was it, Nelly? That you didn't think Rion'd want you to say?"

Nelly laughed slightly. "Wasn't it obvious?"

"No," said Bróin and Sam together. She glanced at Frodo, who shook his head, and then Nelly laughed again.

"I suppose it is rather well hidden. But it does explain why Rion is so fiery, and doesn't avoid a woman's chest while wrestling."

"What is? What does?" pressed Bróin.

"Rion is not a man," she said, grinning, and the boys all blinked. Frodo's eyes widened in realisation, but the other two were clearly a little too tired for logic.

"What is he then?" demanded Bróin. "An elf? He certainly isn't a hobbit!"

"No, he is not," agreed Nelly, and Frodo began to chuckle softly to himself.

"What is so funny?" demanded Bróin. "I don't understand."

"It's so obvious," she said, enjoyment creeping up on her. How long had it been since she properly teased Bróin like this? Weeks? Months? She did not know, but it was funny, and the frustration on his face was endearing, and it made her want to laugh and laugh and laugh.

"Nell, come on," Bróin moaned, and she giggled even as Frodo put Bróin out of his misery.

"Rion isn't a man, Bróin, because she is a woman."

"Wha-" Bróin's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and he leant forward to try and stare down the tunnel. Sam started to chuckle, and Bróin narrowed his eyes at Nelly. "Are you messing with me?"

Nelly shrugged innocently, and Bróin stuck his tongue out at her, his eyes sparkling. A warmth was spreading through her, and she smiled, leaning against Frodo and letting out a yawn. Despite doubts and fears that gnawed the back of her mind like bed-bugs, she felt safe. She felt hopeful.

She felt like Nelly.

There was a lot that had to be done.

The news of the return of the royal family had to be spread, but attention could not be drawn to Frodo's absence. They did not want the entire city speaking of the quest to Mordor, yet they could not lie and say that he was still in the Shire. Such secrets inevitably came to light, and sparked more questions. More dangerous questions. So, they would have to be clever, and word things very carefully. They would have to ensure that Thranduil's supplies were used and distributed efficiently and fairly, find somewhere to sow his seeds. They had to ease the people's reaction to the mountain now sheltering elves as well as men, they had to ensure that the arrival had not incited an attack on the mountain. It was unlikely that the enemy could do much damage, but such incursions were never good for morale.

Yet for now, Thorin could not bring himself to care.

He was more concerned with the fact that he had woken to find that Fíli had gone to the forge before dawn even broke, and with trying not to look ungrateful when the elves came in to check over Kíli.

Tauriel – who Thorin had become begrudgingly fond of over the years – had shown him the wedge-shaped pillow she had fashioned for Kíli, that he might be propped up without doing any further damage to his spine. She did not want him sitting up fully straight for at least two weeks, in case the flight had exacerbated things. Kíli looked so small as she talked. So tired, so breakable. Thorin had wanted to order the elves to stop talking, to leave them alone and just go, but he knew it wold do no good, so he kept his mouth shut and listened to her instructions. Then, when the elves had gone to deliver supplies to the healing halls, Thorin marched straight to Kíli's little kitchen, and cooked up breakfast.

Now, like some common serving boy, he was balancing a tray on his palms, laden with a plate of eggs and bacon, and a small pot of steaming tea. With a smile on his face, he walked back into Kíli's bedroom, and when he saw Thorin and the tray, Kíli's eyes lit up as bright as fireworks.

"I hope nothing is burnt," Thorin said, placing the tray carefully on Kíli's lap. Kíli stared down at the plate, and the tea, and his eyes filled with tears. Thorin shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… do you need help?"

Kíli shook his head and looked up, smiling at his uncle. "No. Thank you, Uncle Thorin. I'm just… glad to be home, that's all. I wasn't expecting breakfast in bed – though I don't know where else I would eat it. It looks wonderful. Have you got something?"

Thorin held up his own tea cup and shook his head, smiling slightly. "I am fine, Kíli. If you must know, I snagged a sausage and a little bacon while I cooked."

Kíli grinned. "How very un-kingly of you, Uncle."

"Aye, I know." Thorin sank into the chair beside Kíli's bed as his nephew began to eat. He did not want to leave. There was still a part of him afraid that this was a dream, that if he walked away Kíli would vanish into the ether.

"This is actually pretty good," said Kíli, sounding rather surprised.

Thorin raised his eyebrows. "What are you saying about my cooking, boy?"

"That it's improved. Didn't you once give Amad food poisoning from vegetables?"

Thorin grunted, and folded his arms. "I'm going to sew your mother's lips shut."

They sat in silence for a while, as Kíli ate and Thorin drained his coffee, but when Kíli put down his knife and fork, Thorin's insides winced. He recognised the look on his nephew's face – the hesitance in his flickering eyes, the twisting of his lips, the twitching of his nose… Kíli wanted to talk about how he was feeling. Swallowing his own discomfort, Thorin moved the tray away, and waited.

Eventually, Kíli spoke. "How long do you think it will be until Fíli can look at me again?"

Thorin frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean really look at me. He… ever since I… He doesn't really look at me. He won't meet my eyes, won't… He didn't waste any time in getting away this morning," said Kíli glumly, letting his head fall back against the head-board.

"It is hard for him," said Thorin carefully. "Hard for all of us, to see you like this."

"I know." Kíli's voice was very small. "But… it's hard for me, too, Thorin."

His heart twisting painfully, Thorin nodded. "I cannot imagine how hard," he said, picking his words as carefully as he could, and making sure that he met Kíli's eyes. "I do not think for a moment that it is not, and neither does your brother. He has not left your side before today, has he? I thought not. To answer your question, I think that Fíli will look you in the eye when he has felt that he has done something valuable to help you. When he feels that he has paid penance for allowing this to happen."

"It wasn't his fau-"

"I know it wasn't his fault, Kíli," Thorin said, holding up his hand in what he hoped would be a placating manner. "We all know. I'm sure that somewhere, deep down, Fíli knows it too. He will come around. He only needs time."

Kíli sighed, twisting his fingers into his blanket. "I wish he didn't…"

"Well, I imagine you yourself would need such time if Frodo was in such a state-" Thorin broke off as Kíli's eyes widened in horror, and he remembered exactly where Frodo was. Thorin's heart dropped down through his stomach, and he shook his head. "I did not mean – I should not have… That is a poorly timed example."

Kíli gave a weak smile and a small shrug. "Not the best of examples, no. Or maybe it is…" Kíli hung his head and sighed sadly. "I should've realised that Frodo was planning something, I should have known that-"

"No, no – by bringing up Frodo I did not mean that you should feel-" Thorin groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, this is useless… Truly, you need your father for this sort of conversation, Kíli my lad. I just make such matters far worse. But do not blame yourself for Frodo. None of us could have expected that he would be the one to run off on such a mission. Out of the three of you, I would have pegged you down for that."

Kíli opened his mouth, and then paused. "No, that's fair. But Thorin, he's so young. Do you think… do you think he might make it?"

A stab of pain shot into Thorin's chest at the alternative, and he paused as an image of a wide-eyed, smiling child appeared in his mind. But he thought too of Frodo's progress in the training arena, of his wit and his courage and his calm, steady loyalty, and he took Kíli's hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Do you know, Kíli," he murmured, "I think he just might."

I hope you liked that chapter, a wee bit more hopeful in places! It was nice to catch up with several storylines – which one did you enjoy most? I would love to know that, and any other opinions/feedback you may have!

Thank you so much for reading – I will hope to have the next chapter up on Monday, but I'm working solidly all weekend so it may be later in the week, and with the run up to Christmas, I may be a little behind, I'm afraid. Nevertheless, in the New Year we should get back to regular updates, as my schedule evens out a little!

Until the next time I see you, take care!