How could he have lost her?!

Kili scrambled over and around piles of corpses, terrified. In all his years, he had never been in a battle like this, and he had never been so afraid. All the skirmishes he had been apart of… they were nothing compared to this. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Hundred of bodies lay piled atop one another. Orcs and elves, men and dwarves: all laid twisted together in death. Blood soaked the ground, turning the dirt into mud that he sank into up to his ankles. He pulled his feet out frantically and began to run, staggering around almost drunkenly. His undamaged hand went to rest against the braid in his hair, and he caressed it with quivering fingers.

"She's alright, she's okay, I know she's okay—" He was muttering, shaking and sweating with fear. 'How could I have lost her?' They had fought back-to-back most of the battle, but he had run off to fight when Thorin had fallen. By the time the battle had been won, he had no idea where he was or where Aeyera was. He left her. He lost her. He failed her.

"Aeyera!" He began to call out her name, raising his voice to reach over those of the birds beginning to alight on the dead. He moved faster, searching for her silver armor and cloak. She would not leave his uncle. He knew that she hadn't the strength to. Besides, she had promised to protect him. Even unto death. His heart began to pound a death roll in his chest. Hot blood soaked his chest, and his shoulder ached. Aeyera would not have stopped fighting until she had died had any of the Durin's been in danger.

Kili began to search harder, calling out both their names now. He stared into each dwarven and elven face he passed until his mind began to grow numb. So much death. So many pairs of lifeless eyes stared back at him or up at the sky. So many pale, still faces streaked with blood, frozen in the final expression they wore in life. He shook violently and stopped moving. The wound in his chest burned, but he ignored it. He turned in a circle, and then held his hands to his mouth. "Aeyera!"

His voice travelled far, echoing off the mountains. Several crows took flight, and several survivors looked up in confusion, searching for the source of the cry. He had already moved on. He must find them. He must find her.

"Aeyera," he breathed. He turned his head as the wind began to pick up, whipping his hair wildly around his face. "Aeyera! Where are you!?"

Tears poured down his cheeks as he took a couple steps forward and then sank to his knees, holding his face in his hands. He felt his heart begin to tear down the center, leaving nothing but ruin in its wake. He looked up to see a flash of silver armor in the moonlight, and somehow he found his feet again and began to make his way to it, slowly at first and then faster when he saw whom it was.

He stumbled over to her and collapsed on all fours in the filth. It's her. It's Aeyera. Her face was beautiful as it always was, but pale and bloody. Dirt and sweat matted her hair, but her betrothal braid remained in tact. Her crown rested upon her head. She lay upon her back, eyes closed, faced turned towards the stars. Kili sat unmoving beside her, holding her in his arms. His friend. His love. His fiancé. His One. Aeyera. He was sobbing, tears falling unashamedly down his face.

In a moment, Fili joined him. He stared down at his brother, his heart rent in two. Tears fell down his face, and he fell to his knees beside him when he realized that his uncle lay beside the girl, fallen. Dead.

The pair sat together for a long time in silence. In fact, it was not until Fili looked up to suggest they return to the mountain that he saw the slightest movement. He leaned forward, holding his breath, eyes locked on Aeyera. After a moment, her chest moved. His heart began to beat faster, and he pulled out a knife and held it beneath her nostrils. The faintest bit of breath misted across the steel, and he sucked in a breath, barely believing his eyes.

"Kili," he breathed. The prince barely acknowledged his brother's word. "Kili, she's alive. She's breathing. Come on, brother, we have to get her to Gandalf."

Kili stared down at his betrothed in disbelief. He saw no sign of life, but he had never known his brother to lie to him. He picked her up, cradling her fragile, bloody form in his arms. The brothers began running across the battlefield, the eldest shouting for help.

"Someone help us!" he bellowed. His words echoed through the hills. "The Princess is alive! Help us!"

Soon two figures on white horses appeared. One had golden hair, the other dark, but both were too similar not to be related.

"Aeyera," the blonde breathed.

"Give her to me," the other said. He dismounted and took her form from Kili.

"Who are you?" Kili asked, keeping his eyes glued on Aeyera.

"Maladernil," he answered, glancing at the dwarf. "Aeyera's brother."

Kili started, a flush creeping up his neck. He had assumed at the gate that the elf who comforted her was in love with her. He didn't know it was her brother. Here was another thing he had to apologize for. He hoped he got the chance.

Without another word he mounted his horse and sped away, keeping his sister in the saddle and leaving Legolas to lead the dwarves to the mountain. The corridors closest to the gates had been converted to makeshift hospitals for the time being. The dead were unable to be brought inside, and so the injured were laid out on the floor in rows. The dead were beyond number, but not beyond grief. The wails of loved ones tore through the silence, and the elf prince gripped his sister tighter, praying that he would not soon be joining the ranks of the mourning.

His horse's hooves clattered across the stone, alerting those inside to his arrival. Bard, lord of Dale, and his children were rushing to and fro, delivering bandages and water to those in need of it. Many of the uninjured elves were put in charge of healing, and there was one in particular that Maladernil needed most. He swung himself off the horse and cradled his sister to his chest. She was still breathing, but she had gone cold. There was no telling how long she had been outside, bleeding out, and there was no telling how much blood she had lost.

"Tauriel!" he barked, seeing the red haired she-elf rush past.

She turned round, starting, and froze when she saw the prince. Her mount opened a bit in horror when she saw the princess, and she immediately led him to an empty room nearby. Rows of blankets were laid out upon the stone; it was clear that this room was soon to be put to use as well. Maladernil placed his sister upon one of these mats, and Tauriel knelt beside her.

"My lord, I need water and bandages, and Athelas. Please hurry," she told him, eyes roving over the damage before her hands touched the wounds. The prince nodded and rushed from the room, and the she-elf exhaled. She cut off the trousers around Aeyera's wounds, around her left calf and her thigh. She had a handful of bandages with her already, and she used them to bind off the area above the wounds, creating a tourniquet to stop the bleeding. She had already lost so much blood. Maladernil appeared in the doorway with the water and bandages.

Tauriel willed her hands to keep from shaking as she unclasped the princess' cloak and began unfastening her armor as quickly as she could. She had to cut off her tunic, having no other way that would not hurt her, and stared in confusion at the girl's armor. The chain mail was pristine, except for the grime on it. There were no tears in the metal links like she had expected. She touched it with her fingertips, eyes widening.

"Mithril," she breathed.

Maladernil nodded, a slight smile on his lips. "Yes. She didn't know, of course, but I gave it to her this morning. I am glad; it saved her live today."

She pulled it off carefully and set it aside with the princess' armor and crown. The elf's chest was bound, but her brother turned away all the same. Tauriel gazed at the girl's side. The skin beneath her arms was chaffed and raw from the armor, but it would heal. She had impressive bruising; black and purple covered the entire side of her body from her shoulder to her hip, where the bruising joined the gash in her thigh the mail could not cover. Tauriel ran her fingertips tightly over the girl's ribs and winced; most of the bones on that side of her body had been snapped by the sheer force of the blow; Tauriel knew without a doubt that had she not been wearing the mail that she would have been dead in minutes.

The elf bound her ribs and went to heal the wounds in her legs, taking care of the one in her calf. Her brother washed and bound the wounds on her forearm and temple, and then held her head in his lap, brushing through her hair.

Tauriel was finishing wrapping the gash on her calf, glancing apprehensively towards the one on her thigh, when Maladernil sucked in a quick breath, air whistling through his teeth. He stared down at his little sister in horror. He had parted the hair on the back of her head, revealing a deep cut in her skin. Blood had soaked her hair. The healer and prince immediately began working to rinse away the blood and dirt from around the area to clean it.

"My lord," Tauriel murmured. "I cannot heal this. This or her leg, I… it is beyond my ability to do so."

The prince nodded numbly and glanced up right as the wizard Mithrandir passed the door. The elf leapt to his feet and rushed after him, heart pounding. "Mithrandir!"

The wizard turned. He recognized the elf before him—he was the true heir to the throne should anything happen to Thranduil. He also was Aeyera's older brother, and there was only one reason why such a normally calm figure would be so worried. Gandalf strode towards him quickly, and then passed him, heading for Aeyera's room. "Where is she?" he asked sharply. The prince led the way, not trusting himself to speak.

When the two entered the room, it was to see a frantic Tauriel murmuring spells over the Princess, who was steadily growing paler. The wizard knelt beside her and looked over her wounds. When he saw her leg and head, he closed his eyes. She was so near death… he didn't know if he would be able to heal her or not. He would try to save her, if he could. He felt a pang of regret. He had urged the princess to join the company. He had asked her to protect the Durin's. If she died… He opened his eyes and went to work, pressing Athelas against the wounds and murmuring spells nearly as old as time. After a long while, he removed his hands. The wound had, for the most part, closed, leaving a nasty scar but looking much better than it had several hours before.

He moved to her head, taking more time than on her leg. There was no swelling on the outside, which meant it was on the inside… and most who suffered a wound such as this did not survive. Dawn was breaking when Gandalf sat back, exhausted. The cut had been healed, but the damage… he didn't know if he could heal her of it. He wasn't sure if there were any who could.

Maladernil and Tauriel stood together watching the wizard. The she-elf gripped the prince's hand tightly, watching with wide eyes. Gandalf brushed the princess' hair from her face and wiped away the residue from her skin with a damp cloth. She was very pale, and very still, and the wizard did not know if she would awaken. He stood, leaning heavily on his staff, and faced the elf's brother and friend.

"I have done all I can," he told them gently. "If she does wake, I am afraid that she will never again full use of her leg; she will walk with a limp the remainder of her life."

"Is… is that it?" Tauriel asked hesitantly, glancing towards the young elf. She had to wake up… "She will awaken soon, yes?"

Olórin sighed and looked to Maladernil, who had remained silent. "I do not know," he answered. "She is very weak, and she had lost a lot of blood. I do not know how strong her mind is, especially considering the darkness that has taken root there."

Kili appeared in the doorway. His face was chalk white, and dark shadows hung under his eyes like bruises. "Where—" his eyes darting to Aeyera, and in an instant he was by her side, gripping her hand like a lifeline. "Aeyera," he murmured, brushing her forehead gently. "Hey, it's me. It's Kili. Wake up, Aeyera." His voice broke. "Wake up. Please." He looked up at Gandalf. He was shell-shocked. His eyes were blank and at the same time filled with such sorrow and loss that Maladernil knew in an instant that Kili's love for his sister was true. "Gandalf, help her!" He was panicking. His breathing was shallow and quick, and his entire body trembled uncontrollably.

The wizard crossed to him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Kili. Look at me." The prince looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. "I have done all I can. All was can do now is pray and hope that time is enough to heal her." The prince nodded, still shaking. Gandalf turned to Maladernil. "Is there an infirmary here we can place her until she wakes?" he asked, choosing his words carefully. He neither wanted to inspire false hope or take away the little hope that was left.

Kili looked up, answering instead of the elven prince. "Yes," he answered. "Balin was in charge of fixing it up; Thorin—" his face crumpled, and Gandalf drew a sharp breath. Thorin had fallen? "Thorin wouldn't—" He cleared his throat, looking down. "I'll bring her." He picked her up, gently cradling her in his arms. He prayed to Mahal that she would wake up, and that she would come back to him.

Kili's mind wandered as he walked. Fili and Aeyera's other brother, Legolas, were working together to bring Thorin's body back to the mountain and had both volunteered to search for survivors. To his dismay, he saw that there were very few of his kin in the halls or in the adjoining rooms where the injured were being placed. His heart sank. They had died for the mountain, been slaughtered trying to help them… he shuddered thinking about the battle; his first battle and, hopefully, his last. He never wanted to fight like that again. Granted, it was different fighting orcs than men or even elves, but what affected him more than killing was seeing so many on his own side being cut down. And seeing Aeyera lying on the ground, pale as death… it shook him terribly. He reached the infirmary. Balin was already there, still covered in grime and blood from the battle. Only three others were in the room: an elf warrior lay upon one of the cots, his eyes closed, and a raven haired she-elf knelt beside him, holding his hand and crying. On a cot across the hall, another elf lay still. Balin was pulling a cloth over his face, but Kili caught a glimpse of auburn hair before it was covered. He vaguely recalled seeing the same elf speaking to Aeyera as he himself entered the battle, but he did not know him.

His heart ached as he placed Aeyera upon a cot several down from the fallen elf. The elves, at least the ones led by Aeyera's brother, had come to protect them, to defend them from Thranduil's soldiers until Thorin saw sense. Then things had gone terribly wrong. The orcs had attacked, and he could do nothing. Nothing but watch them die. Guilt filled him as though he himself had cut them down. It was his fault. He should have listened to Aeyera, he should have fought for her, he… he bowed his head. If she died, he would as well. His heart was already breaking.

He knelt down on the stone beside her, gripping her hand tightly. He tried to avoid looking at her side, which was bruised beyond what he had considered possible. The skin beneath her arms was raw like his was, one of the negative effects of wearing armor. Her half and thigh were wrapped tightly, although Kili could see blood already staining the bandages. Her forearm was bandaged as well, along with her head. She had endured so much… for him. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, unable to see her and know that it was his fault she was so injured. So he prayed, prayed with all that he was that she would be alright, and he waited.

-o-O-o-

I stood overlooking the battle once more. I could see myself trying to fight Azog. I watched as he kicked me back, watched as his sword struck me with enough force to cut a horse in two, and watched as my frail form was dashed against the rocks. I watched with a heavy heart as Thorin cut down the orc only to be run through as soon as his attention was diverted to me. I saw Fili and Kili rush off to fight off the encroaching line of orcs, and finally I watched and listened as Thorin and I spoke, as he died, and as my eyes fluttered shut as the stars appeared in the sky.

Was I dead? I doubted it. I sat down, my eyes filling with tears as Kili and Fili found me, as my brother rushed me to the mountain. I went with him, keeping watch over my body. I was so still. So pale. I watched as first Tauriel, then Gandalf, came and tried to heal me. I nearly broke down when I heard them speak of my leg, but when they said I might not wake up… I knew I should have felt something. Panic. Fear. Relief. But I just sat there, thinking. My leg hurt considerably less, although my ribs still burned. My head, though… it felt so odd, as if burning and freezing at one time. All the same, the pain was muted. It was as if I knew I should be feeling it, but didn't. It was very confusion, and very difficult to explain.

I didn't understand what Gandalf meant until they found the cut, the place where my head hit the ground when Azog threw me. Until he healed it, but didn't really heal it, I wasn't sure what was wrong. Shouldn't I wake up now? I then understood. Something was wrong. Inside me, there was something wrong. Something that couldn't be fixed. Kili appeared in the doorframe, and my vision began to disappear. Images that were in focus a moment ago faded to black. The sound that had come to me so clearly became muted and choppy, although I could hear phrases, bits of noise.

For the first time I began to panic, but I could do nothing. I was trapped inside my head. I felt nothing. I heard nothing. I saw nothing. I couldn't keep track of time, so I lay in the darkness for what felt like an eternity, until everything faded. Touch. Smell. Sight. Hearing. All went. Soon my thoughts disappeared as well. I was an empty shell. I was gone.

-o-O-o-

Kili sat beside her a several days later, still holding her hand. She hadn't moved. A bit of color had returned to her cheeks, but not much. She was much too thin, having not eaten since before the battle. Kili had barely budged, not even his brother had been able to move him. Gandalf had had to drag him away so Oin could tend to his wounds, and Kili had come right back and rejoined his betrothed as soon as they were cleaned and wrapped.

The elves, except for Aeyera's family, had returned to Mirkwood and to Imladris to await the return of their king. The men had taken up residence in Dale. The dead had been sorted. The elves took their own back to the forests to mourn and bury them their own way. The men had been buried outside the city walls, and the dwarves, except for Thorin, had been buried within the mountain in their tombs. The company had allowed Gandalf to… preserve Thorin's body, just until Aeyera had woken and Kili was well enough to leave her side. Hopefully she would wake soon; they couldn't wait forever to bury him. The orcs had been burned.

A few of each race remained, mostly those who were too weak or injured to be moved. The raven-haired she-elf had lost her husband and had taken up residence in the cot beside Aeyera. Her eyes were blank, and tears continually dripped down her cheeks. She stared straight ahead all day, never eating or drinking unless someone fed her themself. She had lost the will to live. Aeyera had one told him that elves could only die by being killed or dying of heartbreak. Kili knew that he was witnessing the second of these two deaths, which had been caused by the first. It frightened him terribly. He understood now why Aeyera had been so adamant about protecting him: that was the fate that awaited him if he were to fall.

He gripped her hand tighter. She would wake. She would come back to him.

Fili entered the room and crossed over to him. When he reached his brother, he touched his shoulder, and Kili jumped, flinching away from him. He glanced up and saw who it was, and then slumped over. Fili was the only one he was able to truly grieve around. He was the prince; he couldn't let other see him being weak. Everyone tried offering condolences, asking how he was doing—Aeyera wasn't gone! She was right here. She would come back.

Fili knelt down beside him, grunting as he shifted his weight off his bad leg. Kili's heart clenched when he realized that the two people he cared most for would never be the same; both had been badly injured. Gandalf had said that both Fili and Aeyera would walk with a limp the remainder of their lives, and Kili had felt the guilt building, suffocating him. He had barely been injured at all, save a gash across his chest that would leave a scar but otherwise heal, and a dislocated shoulder. It had been put back into place before he had even found Aeyera, but it still gave him trouble. It was nothing in comparison though. He had not known of anyone who had been unconscious for this long. No one said it around him, but he knew the truth. She wouldn't make it much longer. Kili kissed her hand, aware that his own were shaking.

"Come back to me," he whispered. They were the first words he had spoken in nearly a week. "Aeyera. Please, please come back me. I have so much I need to tell you. So much I need to apologize for. You can't leave me now. You promised." His voice broke, and he bent over her. He hesitated for a moment, and then kissed her gently. His tears dripped onto her face. He pulled away, trembling violently, and caressed her cheek. "I love you," he whispered. "More than everything. More than life."