This is turning into fix-it fic from this chapter on. So if you don't want to read that, turn back now and don't complain later.

As a side note: I set myself the challenge to keep the FILM-canon intact as much as possible and not change any scenes of the film for this. This means Thorin who's last breath we definitely see on screen, is still going to be dead and Bilbo has returned home in grief. I am sticking with film canon because that was what made me need to fix things. lol sorry not sorry.

Therefore, I had better hurry up and have this finished until the EE comes out because there is no way I can fix the funeral scene…. :'(

ALSO WARNING FOR DESCRIPTION OF SURGERIES!

UPDATE:

I cut the flashback for now. I felt it was too jarring and did not fit in here and like I said I did not like the structure I had originally so here be the new one with more fixing and less flashback.

"Here be the dwarf-camp lass. Your people are over there." The guard addressed the young girl gently, deep-set eyes under the helmet taking in her bedraggled appearance. He had not seen much of the men who had taken to hiding in the relative safety of the ruins of Dale. With the battle over, he expected their leader but not this slip of a girl in rags.

"I know." She replied, jaw set stubbornly though she could barely meet his gaze in nervousness. "I have come from my father Bard the Bowman to offer herbs and bandages to the wounded."

The dwarf squinted at her then, he had heard the big folk aged differently, but she was much too mature for that young face of hers.

"Well, I had better go with you then." He said out loud, looking around for someone to take over his post.

"That won't be needed. I'll take care of the lass." A voice spoke and he turned to find one of the Company of Oakenshield approaching. He remembered him being the one with the weird hat.

"As you will, my lord." He watched still a little confused as the other tightly hugged the manchild before leading her away.

"Still can't believe they call me that. Quite, quite ridiculous really." Bofur muttered so only Sigrid could hear. He should not have been surprised to find her here after all but he dreaded what he would have to tell her.

"I'm sorry Bofur… I… heard rumours…" She stopped him right when he was trying to find something unimportant to ramble about. He stood still for a moment, then turned to her shuffling awkwardly.

"Lass…" He shook himself. "Follow me. They're… in a bad way. We'd best hurry." He told her not really brave enough to meet her eyes.

He guided her through the tents to one at the outskirts of the camp, closer to Ravenhill. Knowing this would be hard for her, he rested a hand on her slim arm as they entered.

To her credit she only sucked in a breath at the sight before surging forward.

Two field cots had been laid out, one for each of the Princes of Erebor. The younger of the two was not alone. The red-headed elf lay over him, cradling his cheek and hand as she cried, quietly singing to his unmoving form.

Sigrid gave the heartbreaking sight barely a glance, eyes fixed on the waxen faced blonde brother, lying entirely too still on his side, eyes half open but misted over, a bloodied rag all that had been used to cover a gaping wound in his back. The air was thick with death the smell of blood and filth tangible. She gasped, convinced she was looking at a corpse.

"We thought him dead already when we found him, Dwalin had seen…" Bofur broke off, squeezing his eyes shut at the thought. "but…we moved him and…well… the dead don't bleed afresh…so we-we hoped to at least make them a little comfortable before the end."

He could not help the sob that rose up his throat when the girl unsheathed a knife that he recognized well, Fili must have gifted it to her to defend herself when the dragon had come, and moved it to the dying dwarf's lips, catching the wisp of breath on the shiny blade. Her shoulders sagged the tiniest bit.

"Why are they not being tended to?" She half-whispered, her hand reaching up to brush back the thick but sweaty mane from Fili's white face.

"The healers say there is nothing left to do…" Bofur sighed, looking over to the grieving elf who was yet to ever let go of Kili's battered form.

-"Where is the wizard?" Sigrid blurted, bringing his attention back to her. She stared at the blonde heir of Thorin, fingertips drifting over his bearded cheek as if trying to memorize him. Perhaps that was exactly what she was doing.

"He was off to find Bilbo and I haven't seen him since." The miner told her rather helplessly.

"That useless wizard would be of no help." An elegant voice spoke up from the entrance of the tent and only then did Tauriel also look up in shock.

"My lord." She whispered.

Thranduil inclined his head to her a little. "I have come to make amends, if I am not too late."

Before their unbelieving eyes he made his way over to his former Captain, only to stop in his tracks. "How much longer?" He then asked, and neither Bofur nor Sigrid had any idea what he spoke of.

"A little while." Tauriel gave the Elvenking a sad smile. "The bond is much stronger than expected."

Thranduil gave her a penetrating look, then nodded. "Very well, I shall look to the other one first."

He turned and made his way to Fili's side, Sigrid watching him like a hawk and refusing to back away, her hand tightly grasping the dwarf's cold, limp right hand.

The elf ignored her and took a moment to examine the dwarf's still disturbingly half-opened motionless eyes before he removed the cloth that was sopping with blood to take a look at the grisly wound. He gave no indication of any thoughts though Bofur watched him closely as he prodded the surrounding flesh gently.

Fili showed no sign of waking or reacting to the pain and it worried him. He may as well be dead. Sigrid visibly tightened her hand around his and was obviously fighting tears. The injury was messy and terrible to look at. It was indeed a wonder he was still drawing breath.

"Spider venom." Thranduil reached over to lay a hand on his forehead then, leaving the wound for now and closing his eyes, much like Bofur remembered Gandalf doing with Thorin all those weeks ago on the Carrock.

Only unlike then, Fili did not wake, instead his eyes slid shut and he took a noticeably deeper breath. Sigrid holding his hand thought she felt some warmth return to it and that his features softened a little as if relaxing into peaceful sleep after a nightmare.

The Elvenking then called in his melodic language and immediately another appeared, clearly having accompanied him as guards.

"Bring me a healer. Have him hurry. Tell him to bring clamps and thread and his potions." He then turned to Bofur who had a hard time not gulping under the still cold blue gaze. "I need hot water, boiling would be best and you would do well to bring some actual bandages not rags that simply soak up the blood."

Before he knew it, Bofur was racing to do as he had been told. A glimmer of hope had settled in his stomach and he would not fail them; not again.

######

"Ori! " The scribe shot around at the voice, he had hidden behind some boxes, scratching away with his piece of coal, his fingers shaking too much to really create good sketches but his mind burning with the need to write all the horrors of today down.

Bofur slid to a stop in front of him, gasping for breath from his sprinting through the camp. "Lad! I need you to come with me. You need to watch the lads for me while I get some water and bandages from the healers."

The young dwarf tried to figure out a response, perhaps a question, his mouth opening and closing but Bofur did not give him time. "What're you waiting for, lad? Off you go!" He yelled, already on his way to run his errand, holding on to his hat.

Ori entered the tent with some trepidation and was shocked to find the Elvenking and another, darker haired elf standing over Fili's cot. They barely spared him a glance so that he had the time to take in the girl kneeling by the injured dwarf's side.

He vaguely recognized her as the Bargeman's daughter who had provided them with food and dry clothing. He wondered what had happened after they left to have her sit silent vigil by Thorin's heir's side, taking even the liberty, he realized with some shock of stroking the Prince's hair.

His eyes widened when her fingers trailed lower, seemingly oblivious to the elves exchanging quiet words in their own language, touching the braids in the blond's mustache which miraculously were still in place. Only lovers would dare a gesture so intimate.

He felt himself go red at the assumption. Once all was said and done, if people heard about this, that scandal would be, well, huge. Nevertheless, he felt his heart go out to the poor thing.

"He needs to be held down for this." A voice broke through his thoughts. It took him a moment to realise that he had been the one addressed. He turned startled eyes at the two elves who were both looking down at him.

"Excuse me?" He managed in a stammer. He saw that while he had been staring at the girl, they had cut Fili's soiled tunic away to have more room to work and cleaned most of the blood away, though it was still running in thin rivers from the gaping stab wound.

"What will you do to him?" he could not help but ask. By this time Bofur burst through the tent, a large pot of steaming water in his hands and a bag of other things around his shoulder. "Here ye are. I"ll be off to inform the others." And off he went again, leaving Ori entirely alone with a situation he was not at all comfortable with.

"He is bleeding on the inside. I must find the damage and fix it." The dark haired elf explained, while the Elvenking simply stared at him impatiently. "The poison will actually act in favour for this, since any uncontrolled movement may be lethal. This is why we need to be quick."

Ori found himself nodding and moved to stand by the end of the cot, waiting for more instructions. He did not receive any and so leaned over Fili's legs to hold him in the position that the elf had placed him in and just in time too because suddenly there were thin metal instruments in the elf's hands and then dug into the wound. When the fingers holding the instruments also disappeared into Fili's lower back, the sounds alone were enough to make Ori sure he would be sick. He had to turn away and so did not see when another incision was made on Fili's front.

The worst part was that though Fili did not move at all, he made a noise that was just barely audible and the weak moan froze both Ori and the girl. He chanced a glance at her. Though pale as a ghost herself, she spared not a single look at the elf doing such delicate work but instead crouched so that she was close to Fili's face, whispering to him, cupping his cheek and once again stroking his cheek in a way that Ori should have found highly improper if not for the situation.

"Can he feel this?" He croaked, when the injured dwarf gave another whimper and he could see the girl hold back tears at the sound.

"He is in a place between sleep and death." The Elvenking spoke up and Ori tried to keep himself from shrinking under his cold gaze. "There is not enough sensation left in him to be able to identify it as pain. He will however be aware of death creeping closer, which is why, Master Dwarf, we have to be quick."

Ori nodded, barely able to look at the elf and instead focused on his task, barely able to keep his revolting stomach in check after that. It felt to him like forever until the elf reached for a needle and some sort of thin wire or light thread to stitch the large wound together much like Dori might with a tear in his tunic before repeating the procedure with the smaller cut that had been made just under the dwarf's ribcage. He gulped but also found himself unable to look away anymore.

The elf-healer then very calmly washed their hands before reaching for a little pot and covered their work in a dark green poultice before placing a thick cloth on top of it. "Make sure he does not move. The thread I have used is elf-hair, so there will be less chance of an infection, but they may still rip and then there will be no help left for him." The healer then explained to the girl who was looking up at both elves with immeasurable gratitude.

As one, it seemed, the elves then moved over to the other bed holding Kili with Tauriel looking up at them though she was still singing under her breath. Was she chanting? He had heard that elves could weave their magic through songs.

When Ori followed with one last look at Fili, being watched over by the girl, he noticed how alarmingly blue Kili's lips were turning, how shallow his breathing. He bustled to his side quickly, not liking the worry in the red-haired elf's eyes.

####

He did not want to relive the hours that had followed. The process had made him wonder how he had thought the treatment of Fili's wound alone had made him almost throw up. They once again asked him to hold their patient down, though with Kili, he did have to struggle against bunching muscles in response to the sudden pain as his injury was prodded and poked by two elves, while the other held his head in her hands, softly singing still.

It was just as well since he still dared not think about what had been done in too much detail. The elf had taken a long thin blade and trailed her hands, at this point Ori was sure it was a female, along Kili's ribs with obvious intent, he could not help the noise of protest.

"He will suffocate if I do not do this." The healer tersely told him and though Ori found it a little hard to believe that stabbing him would help the younger dwarf breathe better, he just closed his eyes and held him down.

He did gag when she inserted what looked like a glass-tube into the new wound and proceeded to secure it with all types of bandages to keep it in place.

Ori, as soon as he knew he could safely do so, excused himself and darted outside to the back of the tent to be rather violently sick. Along with a trickle of a soft pink fluid, he had managed to hear the whistle of air out through the tube. However, he had found it reassuring that Kili seemed to breathe a little easier, his lips though still almost white had lost their blue colouring.

Exhausted he stepped away from his own vomit and let himself plop down against the tent wall. This was certainly something to be embellished for his chronicles. People did not need to know the details of the Prince's treatment, nor that the author of this great story had emptied his stomach after.

After seeing the Battle of Five Armies I had to make myself feel a little better and so watched the entire Lord of the Rings Trilogy and even though I (as I've probably said before) don't usually write fix-its, this has been glaring me in the face and begged to be written. Shelob's poison had Frodo look like he was dead, right?

So there you go. Fili was not dead, just paralysed…. and Kili well, I will get to him. JUST TRUST ME ON THAT, THEY'RE FINE; THEY'RE ACTUALLY OK! WELCOME TO MY LOVELY DENIALVILLE!….I'm not hysterical… at all…