A/N: *crawls out of my hole* I LIVE!
Sorry for the delay... it took me a while of stewing to come up with how I wanted this chapter to go, and then I blacked out and wrote all of it in a day. No beta for this chapter, so if you see an error, I'll probably see it tomorrow and be mad about it and fix it. Enjoy.
It had been a long day and night, and Thorin was tired.
The troll had been disposed of. It had taken significant effort from the four dwarves to get the job done, and Thorin could see in his companions' eyes that they felt the same exhaustion he felt himself. They were all running on no sleep and the last reserves of their energy. It was finally time to rest.
The rain poured down in torrents now over the heads of Thorin and his company, sending them all into brooding silence. The village was pitch dark, as none dared emerge to light their lanterns; the only light came from what Thorin and Glóin carried, and that meager illumination did not carry far. But after a little while, the silent and sodden group came upon the inn near the center of town. Thorin frowned.
"It's still boarded up," said Dwalin, voicing the source of Thorin's concern. "The lads should have made it here by now, surely."
"Perhaps they're still reaching out to the locals," said Glóin, voicing the other part of Thorin's thoughts.
"With the way Kíli was? I doubt it," Óin piped in. "I'm surprised they didn't come straight here without delay. He put on a brave face, but he was not well."
Thorin remained silent. That had also been in his mind. He started forward again, and the rest followed. Looking in the windows, they could see that the frames had been fortified with wide wooden boards, hastily nailed into place from the inside. After surveying the work, Thorin knocked heavily on the door.
"I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain," he said loudly and clearly. "I come with good tidings. Your assailant has been defeated and the danger has passed. Now, if you please, let in some weary dwarves in need of a warm fire and a dry bed."
Thorin waited in silence, listening for any movement on the other side of the door through the din of the rain. When a minute passed with no answer, he turned to Dwalin and nodded. Together, they pushed on the door with their full weight; a crack sounded from the other side, and the door gave. Wooden boards clattered to the floor as they stumbled inside. Thorin looked around quickly, searching for any signs of life, but the hearth was cold and the room dark and empty.
"The cellar, no doubt," said Dwalin in a low voice.
Thorin nodded. He turned back to Óin and Glóin and looked from them to the fireplace, and the two set to work. Dwalin stayed at Thorin's side as he searched each room. When the search proved useless, he looked around the floors for a trap door. Finding it, he knelt down and knocked slowly and deliberately.
"Do not fear," he called. "We are no attackers, but dwarves who have come to your aid. The source of your terror has been dispatched. If there is an innkeeper within, we ask only for food, fire, and bedding as thanks."
Within moments, the sound of footfalls came closer, and Thorin hopped back as the trap door opened. A wide-eyed dwarf with a dark beard peered up at them.
"Atli, at your service," he said. "Forgive us—we feared for our lives."
"Thorin Oakenshield, at yours," Thorin replied, and the other dwarf's eyes widened even more. Thorin offered him a hand up, and Atli took it. His family—a wife and two children—followed.
"You were right to fear," Thorin said as he and Dwalin assisted the family out of the cellar. "Your assailant was a hill troll, and an uncommonly large one, at that. But my nephew Fíli killed it, and we have disposed of the body. You will be safe now."
"May we thank our savior?" asked Atli's wife—a plump dwarrowdam whose blonde braids had fallen into disarray. Her children clung to her.
Thorin let out a short sigh. "Once he has made his way here," he said. "Forgive me; my two nephews are still out in the rain, searching for wounded. I expected them to find their way here before us."
"There will be no finding anyone out in that weather," said Atli. "Bring them here, and we will fill your bellies with hot food."
Thorin smiled warmly and nodded in thanks. "My cousins are starting your fire now," he said. "I leave them with you. Dwalin and I will return with our missing two. One of my nephews has been injured, if you can prepare a room where we may treat him."
"Of course, my lord," said Atli, and his wife pushed the two children towards the nearest room. "We don't have much in the way of medicines, but we will supply whatever we can."
"Thank you," Thorin said. He looked to Dwalin, and the two of them turned back to the front of the inn to depart. Inwardly, Thorin groaned; he would rather wait here by the fire for the lads, but Óin's words had given voice to a fear he had attempted to quash. Better to find them now than to worry too late.
Both he and Dwalin took lanterns and put up their hoods. Thorin opened the door, and instantly, the wind and rain soaked through him again, and he gritted his teeth.
"Let's find them and get back, quick as we can," Dwalin grumbled.
"Aye," said Thorin, traipsing forward.
The search went on for far too long. How far from the inn could Fíli and Kíli have strayed? Most dwarven villages were arranged in a similar pattern; surely the lads could find their way.
"Perhaps we missed them, and they're back at the inn," Dwalin shouted over the rain.
"Let's circle back," Thorin replied, swinging his lantern left and right. "Take a different route. The houses are more damaged here—perhaps they found someone who needed aid."
Thorn heard Dwalin growl behind him, and he ignored it. A disquiet was stirring in his chest, and intuition told him he needed to search a little while longer. Seeing a cross street, he turned and peered in the new direction. The light of his lantern cast a shadow in the distance, and he squinted and stepped forward, trying to make out the shape. It appeared to be two people, curled into one another on the ground. Victims of the troll, perhaps. He moved closer.
"Ho, there," he called out. "Are you well?"
One of the figures slowly lifted their head, and an icy dart passed through Thorin's chest. Kíli. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him and crashed to the ground, spraying mud in every direction. He dropped his lantern to take hold of Kíli's face.
"Kíli, are you all right?" he asked frantically, looking his nephew over. Kíli shivered and shook his head slowly, peering up with half-lidded eyes.
"Not me," he said. "Fíli. H-help Fíli."
It was then that Thorin realized that it was not Fíli who held Kíli, but the other way around. In fact, Fíli had not moved at all. His head rested against Kíli's chest, and it seemed that he barely even breathed.
"What happened?" he asked. "Tell me quickly."
"I don't know," Kíli replied, his voice thick with tears. "He's bleeding, Uncle, and his whole side is crushed—I don't know why he would lie…"
Thorin ripped his attention away from Kíli and put a hand on Fíli's back, feeling for broken ribs. A rush of blood passed through his ears as he found many. How had he not noticed this earlier? Fíli finally stirred at his touch, letting out a strained noise.
"Fíli, can you hear me?" said Thorin.
A shudder was Fíli's only response. Thorin lifted the lantern to shine on his face, and he found his eyes open, staring out at some point beyond him. Kíli whimpered and turned his head away from the light.
"Fíli, answer me," he said.
Fíli's eyes flickered back and forth, but he did not look at the light or Thorin.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost imperceptible over the rain. "I lied… I'm sorry…"
Thorin breathed through the torrent of terror crashing through him. "What did you lie about, Fíli?"
Fíli's eyelids fluttered. "It bit me," he said. "I shouldn't… I shouldn't have lied. I'm sorry. It's too late now…"
Thorin moved the lantern over Fíli's back and peeled back his coat, only loosely hung over his shoulders. The fabric of his shirt was stained with thick, black troll blood, making it difficult to see anything at all. He pulled up the shirt and let out a startled curse as he revealed two large holes, bleeding freely. Holes the size of a troll's tusks.
"Dwalin," Thorin said tightly, pulling Fíli's coat back into place.
Instantly, Dwalin moved in and gingerly pulled Fíli out of Kíli's arms and into his own. Fíli suddenly came to life, letting out a panicked cry and struggling against Dwalin's grip. The first cry was followed by another—one of pain instead of fear. The struggling ceased as suddenly as it had started, but Fíli was breathing high, fearful breaths.
"Easy, laddie," said Dwalin. "Don't ye recognize your kin?"
"Go," Thorin said, resting his hands on Kíli's shoulders. "I have Kíli. Get Fíli to the inn."
Dwalin ran off without another word, Fíli cradled in his arms, once again unmoving. Thorin turned back to Kíli, who was watching Dwalin's retreat, blinking as fat raindrops hit his face.
"Can you walk, lad?" Thorin asked, putting a hand on the side of Kíli's head to capture his attention.
"A-aye," said Kíli, still watching his kin in the distance. Another shiver passed through him. "What if he…"
"Don't think on it," Thorin said, taking Kíli's arm and pulling it behind his neck. "Stand up. We're getting you out of this rain."
Kíli shouted as Thorin lifted him to his feet, and as soon as he was standing, his knees buckled, sending Thorin scrambling to hold him up. His feet slipped in the mud and they both fell to the ground. Kíli shouted again, and his free hand flew to Thorin's coat and held on tightly.
"Try again," said Thorin. "One, two, three."
The second attempt to stand was more successful. Though Kíli let out a tearful breath, he managed to stay upright, and Thorin guided him the same direction Dwalin had gone.
"Why would he lie?" Kíli moaned as they hobbled along. "Why didn't he tell me?"
"Because caring for you was more important," Thorin replied. "And he didn't want to be fussed over." At least, that would have been his own reasoning—and Fíli was far more like him than he usually cared to admit.
"But he could have—he could have said—"
"He would never have said anything to you, if he could help it," Thorin interrupted. Not to mention what a troll's venom does to the mind. He shook his head. Kíli did not need more causes of distress right now. "Come on. We're almost there."
Kíli shivered and allowed himself to be led in silence. When they walked into the inn, Thorin could hear Óin's voice shouting commands from somewhere within. Kíli pulled him that way.
"You're back," said Glóin, appearing before them, his face grave. "Take your wet clothes and hang them by the fire. Atli has dry clothing and blankets."
"Let me see Fíli," said Kíli, still pulling.
Thorin and Glóin exchanged glances. "There is a fire going in the room for the lads, too," he said.
With that, Thorin allowed Kíli to move towards the commotion. They entered a room with two beds; Fíli lay on his stomach on the closer one, and Thorin let out a gasp and the sight of his nephew's bare skin in the light. Dwalin held two clean cloths to Fíli's back, but even so, rivulets of blood flowed unstemmed down his side, dripping onto the sheets. Beneath the crimson was the purple bruising of broken ribs. Black blood streaked across Fíli's face and darkened his hair, but his torso was now clean, and the only blood there now was red.
"Fíli," he breathed.
"Good, you're here," said Óin. "Kíli, strip off your wet clothes and lie down. Thorin, help me with Fíli."
Kíli did not move. He was frozen in place, his eyes fixed on his brother's broken body.
"Glóin, take Kíli and make him lie down," Óin barked. "I need Thorin here."
Glóin peeled Kíli away from his uncle and led him to the other bed, but Kíli's gaze never left his brother, even as Glóin pulled off his dripping clothing and wrapped a dry blanket around his shoulders.
"Thorin, here, now!" shouted Óin impatiently. "I need to seal these wounds before he loses any more blood."
Seal these wounds. Thorin looked to the fire burning in the hearth; a dagger sat in the flames, its blade blackening, and he grimaced. He pulled off his wet cloak and tossed it aside. As he approached the bed, Fíli started and recoiled.
"It's just Thorin, laddie," said Dwalin. "No monsters here."
Fíli seemed unable to look directly at him. Thorin sat down on the bed and gently pulled him up into his arms. Fíli latched his hands into Thorin's wet tunic.
"Uncle," Fíli whispered. "Uncle, I'm sorry…"
"Keep your apologies for when you're well enough for me to be angry with you," said Thorin, feeling a twist of guilt in his stomach as Óin inspected the dagger in the fireplace. Not hot enough yet. "Am I hurting you?"
"It's too late," Fíli said, his voice rising as he spoke. "It's too late, I'm sorry, it's already so—so dark, the shadows—the shadows are here—"
Fíli turned his face into Thorin's chest and shuddered. Thorin looked to Óin.
"The troll venom," Óin said, meeting Thorin's gaze for a moment before turning his attention back to the dagger. "Or perhaps the blood. He's bound to have it mixed with his own, given how much was in contact with his wounds."
"What would the blood do?" asked Kíli from the other bed.
"Lie down, Kíli," said Óin irritably.
"I want to know what is happening to Fíli," Kíli argued, pulling his blanket tighter around his body. Glóin put a hand on his back as he shivered again. "Why can't he see us?"
"The world is wider than you know and darker than you could imagine, laddie," said Dwalin, keeping his eyes on the cloths he held to Fíli's back. "You have touched but a corner of it."
This gave Kíli pause. A confused and disbelieving smile grew on his face as he looked from elder to elder.
"What are you talking about?" he said.
"That which sustains the life of evil can wreak havoc on the life of Free Folk," said Thorin. He felt Fíli's grip tighten, and he stroked his wet hair softly. "Akin to poison in the blood."
Kíli's face lost the meager color it still held. "W-will it kill him?"
"Not faster than blood loss will," said Óin, pulling a gently glowing dagger from the fire. "Give him something to bite down on."
Glóin hopped up and pulled off his leather belt. He handed it to Thorin and sat back down with Kíli, just in time for Kíli's addled mind to put together what was happening. Half of a no made its way out of his mouth before Glóin had a tight hand on his arm, keeping him in place.
"Bite down on this, Fíli," said Thorin, pressing the belt against Fíli's lips. He obeyed, but his breathing became harsh, and he let out a soft whimper. He knew what was coming. Thorin kissed his hair.
"Be strong, lad," he said. "This will hurt."
"Now," said Óin, and Dwalin moved one of the two cloths away from Fíli's body. Blood began to flow immediately, but Óin was quick. He laid the glowing dagger across the wound, and the blood sizzled as the metal burned into Fíli's flesh.
Fíli stiffened and let out a muffled scream, his hands flexing open and closed as his legs kicked. Thorin held him as tightly as he dared, closing his eyes and wrinkling his nose at the smell of burning flesh. And then the deed was done. Óin lifted the dagger, and Fíli fell limp, quietly keening into the leather of Glóin's belt.
"I'm sorry, lad," Thorin said, his heart wrenching painfully. "One more."
Fíli shook his head frantically, but Óin was already reheating the dagger for a second go. Across the room Kíli was weeping openly, still held back by Glóin. Despite everything, Thorin felt a smile tug at his lips. His boys cared for each other so very much.
"Now," Óin said again, and Dwalin let go of the second cloth. The sound of sizzling and screaming once again filled the room, and Fíli gripped Thorin's arm with a strength Thorin was surprised he still possessed.
The dagger lifted again, and again Fíli fell limp. Thorin pulled the belt away, and Fíli let out a high-pitched sob, his face wet with tears. Thorin kissed him again.
"It's done now, my boy," he said. "That's it—we're done."
Fíli wept in high, breathy sobs, resting his full weight into his uncle. Thorin held Fíli's head gently to his chest and pressed his nose into golden hair, blackened with troll blood. He moved wet tendrils off Fíli's neck and back.
"I can't breathe," Fíli wheezed tearfully.
"Sit him up," said Óin, approaching with a salve and a clean strip of cloth.
"I can't breathe," Fíli said again, his voice growing faint. "It hurts—to breathe—"
Thorin shifted Fíli in his arms, eliciting a cry from his distressed nephew. But as he was sat up, his breaths deepened, and he relaxed ever so slightly. Óin laid a generous portion of salve over the raw, burned marks on Fíli's back, inspecting his work and nodding in approval. Then, he quickly wrapped the cloth around Fíli's torso.
"Hold him there," Óin said. "I'll check the rest of him for any other wounds."
Thorin obeyed, and Fíli sat still, breathing lightly; he seemed to be drifting, his head nodding. His mouth moved with silent words. Thorin studied his face intently.
"What is he saying?" Kíli asked.
"Smith's hammer, Kíli, lie down and rest!" Óin shouted. "You're not well, and we'll not lose you both!"
"I'm fine," Kíli argued.
"You are not," Óin retorted. "You are better off than your brother, but that is all."
Kíli looked at Fíli plaintively, and Thorin felt a soft pang in his chest.
"Come, Óin, he's only worried for his brother," he said. "Kíli, once Óin is done, you may come sit here with me."
Kíli nodded, his eyes fixed on Fíli. Thorin turned his attention back to his elder nephew, who was staring out with unfocused, dull eyes. As Óin poked and prodded at his body, he winced, but all the energy had left him. Thorin swallowed down the fear rising in his throat.
"Troll bites are no laughing matter," Óin said. He pursed his lips. "I don't think the tusks pierced anything vital, but his ribs are crushed, and he has lost far too much blood. And—" He peered at Fíli's face— "poisoned with both the troll's venom and its blood."
"Tell me he will survive, Óin," Thorin said, tightening his grip on his nephew.
"I won't give up on him," Óin said, his expression resolute.
"It's too late," Fíli said, stirring. "It's too late. The shadows—the shadows are here, and all will turn to darkness, to death—"
"Stop that," said Thorin, steeling himself against the lurch in his stomach. "Don't talk like that, Fíli. We are here for you."
Fíli's breaths quickened and his eyes widened, his brow drawing apart as some indeterminate fear took him over.
"Fíli, I'm here," Thorin said, forcing his voice to be soft and gentle. "Nothing can get you. I am here. I won't leave you."
At these words, Fíli squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together, taking slow, careful breaths through his nose. Óin draped a blanket over his bare shoulders. Then, without warning, Fíli pitched forward. Thorin caught him and pulled him back to his chest.
"What else can we do?" he asked.
"We can boil some herbs to ease his pain," Óin replied. "And keep watch over him. You know as well as I the mind-sickness trolls can cause."
Thorin did know. He had seen it before. The fear, the hallucinations, the despair—such evil creatures caused evil thoughts. For a single, selfish moment, he thought about how tired he was. This would be the longest night of his life.
"Kíli, you can come sit with me," he said. "Help me keep your brother company."
"And sleep, perhaps," Óin said, shooting a sharp look at Kíli as the young dwarf stumbled out of Glóin's grip to join his brother and uncle.
"Glóin, Dwalin, you get some sleep, as well," said Thorin. "I'll stay with the lads. And you, too, Óin, once the herbs are boiled."
"I'll rest my eyes in the other bed," Óin said wearily, digging through his bag.
Dwalin and Glóin took their leave, Dwalin stopping to squeeze Thorin's shoulder on his way past. For some reason, the simple touch made tears spring to Thorin's eyes, and he hastily bowed his head.
"All right?" Dwalin asked softly.
Thorin huffed. "Dis is going to kill me," he said. He let out a shaky laugh and looked up, flinching as he felt a tear drip down his cheek. Dwalin, with ever the gentle heart despite his rough exterior, gave him a brief, sad smile, and then he looked away.
"Aye, she will," he said.
Dwalin walked out of the room. Óin scurried out as well, muttering about fresh water and pans, and suddenly, the room was silent—just Thorin and his two boys, both clinging to him, injured and afraid, and all three of them weary beyond compare. Carefully, he pulled one arm away from Fíli and wrapped it around Kíli's shoulder. Kíli leaned forward and rested his forehead gently against his brother's.
"Aye," Thorin said quietly. "She will."