Thorin was fairly delicate the first day or two, so Fili and Kili, showing remarkable self-restraint, left him quite alone for fear of causing him greater discomfort. They hung always out of sight, and spoke in hushed whispers, and took care to step over the creaky floorboards near his end of the house. The boys had never seen their uncle so inactive, shut up in his room as he was, and the worried expression Dís wore when she returned from speaking with him that morning gave them further cause for concern.
Eventually their anxiety manifested in eavesdropping, and they huddled against the door of Thorin's bedroom in time to hear Dís mutter, "It will be the death of you."
They shot one horrified glance at each other, then let out a simultaneous howl of despair and threw open the door.
Dís and Thorin stared as they charged into the room, tears streaming down their cheeks and eyes wide with fear. "What's all this then?" Thorin asked, frowning. He was sitting up in bed, the covers drawn up to his waist and the bandages around his chest stark white against the scarred plane of his skin.
"You can't die, Uncle Thorin," Kili sobbed. "You're not allowed to die!"
"We won't let you!" cried Fili, face red with injustice.
Thorin's brows shot up. "Am I dying, sister?"
"Mahal, I hope not," Dís snorted. "I've already made your lunch."
Fili looked between the two adults in tearful bewilderment, while his little brother, beyond words now, buried his face in Fili's tunic and sobbed. "W-what?"
"Uncle Thorin isn't dying, silly goose. What on earth put that idea into your head?"
Fili paused, absently rubbing Kili's back. "Well, you looked so worried when you came out from Uncle's room this morning, and then we heard you, we just heard you say, 'It will be the death of you,' and we thought, w-we thought that meant, that–" He broke off as fresh tears welled in his eyes.
"Ohh, my loves," Dís chuckled, and gathered her sons to her. "You've always had a fondness for jumping to conclusions. I was worried this morning because we'd run out of cabbage, and I needed it for tonight's stew. As for what I said…Well, your uncle is a reckless idiot, and that will be the death of him, no doubt, but not for some time. Gods willing."
Thorin made a sound in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl.
By now Kili had calmed down enough to form coherent sentences. He looked up at his mother, the tears already drying on his cheeks. "Are you sure Uncle isn't dying?" he asked in a small voice.
"Very sure, love."
A moment later Thorin was half buried under his nephews, Fili and Kili having thrown themselves at him in their relief.
"I'm so glad you're not dying, Uncle Thorin," Fili said, his voice muffled in Thorin's shoulder. "We'd miss you terribly."
"Real awfully," Kili added.
Thorin cleared his throat and patted their heads awkwardly. "Well," he started, and coughed, at a loss for what to say. "So am I. Glad, that is."
Laughing quietly to herself, Dís left him to wallow in discomfort for another few seconds before intervening. "Come on, boys, climb down. Uncle Thorin doesn't need your elbows digging into his bandages."
The brothers wriggled carefully out of Thorin's lap and were herded into the hallway.
"But we want to help make Uncle better," Fili protested as Dís started to close the door after them.
"We'll help you look after him!" said Kili eagerly.
Dís smiled. "Maybe tomorrow, my loves. When Uncle Thorin can better withstand your… assistance." She shooed them away. "Go on then, get. Go roll around in the dirt somewhere."
With one last wave at Thorin through the door, Fili and Kili made their way reluctantly out into the sitting room. They did not, however, follow their mother's suggestion. They could not bring themselves to go outside and play.
Not when there was planning to be done.