A/N: Hey guys! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – it seriously means a lot to me! OK, the first part of this chapter will be a little heavy-going again *distributes free tissues and buckets* but I promise the next chapter will be better – Chapter Five is the turning point in the plot arc, so I just hope you can bear with me. Sorry I can't reply to your review, Nicole, but thank you so much for reading – here's that update for you!

The sky in the west had been the colour of blood when Kíli entered Thorin's tent. Now, as he left it with Óin, the sky was a dark, starless blue with a slither of red still lingering on the western horizon. Óin didn't say a word as they walked to Fíli's tent, and Kíli's heart began a frantic thump against his ribs… What was Óin keeping from him? Had Fíli said something to cause the healer's silence? Or was this to do with Thorin…? What if Fíli didn't know? With all these questions wrestling for space in Kíli's head, making him sick to the stomach, he almost walked straight passed Fíli's tent, but Óin put a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"I'll give you two some privacy," Óin said quietly. "I'll be in the healers' tent if you need me."

Kíli nodded, and Óin disappeared back down the row of tents, his receding form eventually swallowed by the night. Taking a deep breath, Kíli stepped into the tent. At first he thought it a relief to enter Fíli's tent and not find his brother screaming and covered in blood, but then Fíli looked up, and Kíli wasn't sure this was any better. Fíli's face was still pink and flushed with fever, but his blue eyes were cold and alert… They pierced right through Kíli as he came to Fíli's bedside, and the smile died on his lips. He carefully pulled up a stool, aware that Fíli was watching his every move.

"I wanted to be here when you woke up," Kíli said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But I was with…" He froze, and his stomach jolted painfully.

He knew he would have to mention Thorin's name sooner or later, but the stony look in Fíli's eyes was scaring him. To cover for his faltering, he took Fíli's hand. He felt Fíli's fingers tense and with another sickly jolt, Kíli suspected his brother, had he the strength, would have pulled his hand away.

"Can… Can I get you anything?" he murmured, knowing he had never been more desperate to hear his brother's voice.

"Are you alright?" Fíli replied; his voice was hollow and as cold as his eyes. Ignoring Kíli's question, he nodded to his sling. Part of Kíli wished Fíli had stayed silent.

"Oh… I'm fine… I don't really need this, but there's a healer who…" Kíli stopped. This wasn't how he imagined telling Fíli about Grefur, about the antics in the main tent… Fíli looked as if he would never laugh or smile again, and he was breaking Kíli's already battered heart.

Fíli turned his head away and stared up at the roof of the tent. "I know he's dead."

Kíli felt a sharp stab of pain rip across his chest. He wasn't sure how he found the strength to ask: "Óin told you?"

"Yes."

Kíli tightened his hold on Fíli's hand. His brother refused to look at him and his voice sounded so distant. So Kíli held onto him, trying to anchor them together, for fear Fíli was already drifting away. Fíli didn't say another word, his gaze fixed on the tent's roof, but Kíli saw a single tear swell in the corner of his eye and slip down his cheek, as if the ice there were melting. The silence seemed to last for an age, but Kíli had no words to fill it. His mind was racing over the events of the past two days, but his thoughts kept getting snagged on the previous night, on the healer's ominous words: "…But then I told them it was for the King."

People in the camp had begun to talk about the succession, about Thorin's heirs. And the talk scared Kíli more than anything… Not everyone was on his brother's side. He thought back to all that had happened in Rivendell… It seemed to have been preparing Fíli for this moment. Watching his brother's stoic, unflinching expression, Kíli wished he knew what he was thinking.

"Fíli…? You know what this means, don't you?" Kíli ventured warily. "You're… You're the rightful King Under the Mountain."

"I'm not a king!" Fíli growled, his voice suddenly coloured with anger. He turned to glare at Kíli and tore his hand from his grasp. "I've already told Óin that I renounce the throne… I have done nothing to earn the crown!"

Kíli blinked back the tears… The dwarf lying in the bed before him wasn't his brother, it couldn't be Fíli… And he feared Fíli had left most of himself back on the battlefield with Thorin. "But… But you killed Azog the Defiler!" he said, fighting to keep his voice even, wondering if Fíli would dare deny it.

"Not before he had as good as killed Thorin!" Fíli snapped back, tiny beads of sweat appearing on his brow.

"I know!" Kíli cried. Images of washing the blood from Thorin's arm flashed before his eyes… He could see Thorin's blood staining his hands. "I… I know… I just wish I could have been there…"

"Why?" Fíli asked; his voice was dangerously quiet, but sharp as an axe. He narrowed his eyes at Kíli.

Kíli wasn't sure he could begin to explain the guilt he felt at not being able to join his brother and his uncle in the fight out in that ill-fated corner of the battlefield. "I… I thought –"

"What? Have you got it into your head that what I did was brave or heroic?" Fíli spat, tears clouding the icy blue of his eyes. "There was nothing heroic about lying in a ditch, in my own blood, whilst our uncle bled to death at my side!"

"Fíli…" Kíli said his brother's name so quietly it was almost a whimper, begging him not to continue… His heart couldn't take it.

"I thought I was going to die… and I was scared," Fíli snarled, ignoring Kíli's plea. "I was terrified! I faced death like a coward… You don't want me for your king."

"I… I don't care," Kíli said, his voice higher, straining against the cry stuck in his throat. He tried to push some authority and conviction into his words: "I've told you before… You will be a good king."

"And I've told you before, you know nothing!" Fíli cried, lurching forward, his expression full of fire and pain.

Kíli staggered back from the bed, as if Fíli had struck him. His fingers shook and his wide, brown eyes were shining in the candlelight as he stared down at Fíli, who stared back, his bandaged chest heaving.

"I've lost him too, Fíli!" Kíli had meant to fill his words with as much anger as Fíli had, but in the end they only resounded with disconsolate despair. With that, Kíli left the tent.

The chill night air which welcomed him stung his cheeks and set his teeth on edge, although he knew it might not have been the air. Feeling utterly bewildered, Kíli looked up and down the row of tents, having no idea where to go… or who to turn to. He set off towards his own tent, but stopped when he saw the silhouette of a tall figure, looming large out of the blackness. Kíli thought it was Grefur – the last person he wanted to see at that moment – but then Dwalin appeared before him, his boots glistening with black orc blood. His face looked pale and gaunt, and there were dark shadows chalked underneath his eyes.

"Kíli?" Dwalin murmured, knitting his black eyebrows together.

Kíli opened his mouth, but no words came. He had been rehearsing what he would say to Dwalin all day… But now it all seemed so meaningless. He had nothing to say to anyone, and his strength was failing him. The grief he had been fighting back for two days finally broke through, flooding him with black, icy water, as if he were drowning from the inside out. Fíli had given up, so why shouldn't he?

"Dwalin…" Kíli's voice cracked on the second syllable, and he felt as if he was going to crumple on the spot.

"Oh, lad…" Dwalin strode forward. Putting a hand on the young dwarf's shoulder, he pulled him into his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

At first Kíli froze in surprise; he had never seen Dwalin embrace anyone before, and the action seemed so foreign. But then he buried his head in Dwalin's chest and let the last barricade built against his grief collapse. Once he began to cry, he couldn't stop. His shoulders shook with each of his sobs, and he screwed up his eyes against the pain. His bandaged hand was being crushed against Dwalin's chest, but he couldn't bring himself to care… He couldn't quite feel his fingers anyway. He was just glad Dwalin was there to stop him collapsing in on himself, and to make him feel, if only for a second, that he wasn't alone.

Dwalin didn't say a word; he didn't tell Kíli it was going to be alright, because they both knew it never would be. They stood in the blackness, united by their grief. With Kíli's defences obviously destroyed, Dwalin tried to fortify him against the unrelenting ache he knew only too well. After all, he had promised Thorin that if anything ever happened to him, he would protect his nephews to the end. Dwalin saw so much of Thorin in Kíli and Fíli, and now he felt as if he were clinging to the last shred of his best friend he had left, and nothing in all of Middle Earth was going to convince him to let go.

Fíli's head dropped back against the pillow and he had to grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out. His back was on fire and he could feel the scorch-marks running the length of his spine, as if Azog's mace had branded him. When he had lurched forward he was sure he had ripped the wounds open again, but the pain couldn't even begin to compare to the agony caused by his leg which lay splinted and bandaged beneath the bed sheets… He wished they had just cut it off to spare him this torture.

All he could remember was pain… His mouth had a foul taste of blood and leather, and his throat was burning and raw from screaming. Then an image of Kíli leaning over him flashed in front of his eyes… He remembered his brother trying to sooth him, and he had wanted to ask Kíli to kill him, to put him out of his misery… And then Kíli had said something and for a split-second he thought he had seen Thorin leaning over him… Thorin. He knew. As soon as he woke up for the second time, he knew. He could feel Thorin's absence in the world with every fibre in his broken body… And he blamed himself. The guilt had hardened his heart as he tried to protect himself against the oblivion of grief… And now he was sure he was losing his mind.

He was so angry… He had never been so angry… But he couldn't pinpoint why or who he was most angry with. He only knew that the pain was fuelling his rage, making it impossible to see straight… He couldn't even see through the hot tears blurring his vision, burning like his aching, heavy head. And then he heard it: a cry. At first it sounded distant, and he wondered if he was imagining it, but as his ears sought out the source it became clearer… And his stomach sank. It was Kíli. Somewhere, his brother was crying. That was all it took to melt away Fíli's anger and in its place, a wretched despair took hold.

The look on Kíli's face when he had shouted at him anchored itself at the forefront of his mind… Guilt and regret mingled with the pain… He couldn't believe the way he had spoken to Kíli – who had as much right to grieve as he did. This was why he was certain he was going insane… Just as his grandfather had done.

"Kíli!" Fíli's cry echoed around the tent, but Kíli's sobs continued somewhere to his right…

Was Kíli out there alone in the darkness? Fíli knew it was his doing; he had driven his brother away when Kíli had needed him the most… He tried to pull himself up onto his elbows, but daggers of pain shot down his back like the strike of a whip.

"Kíli!" Fíli collapsed back into his pillows, the soft fabric feeling like a bed of nails against his skin. "KÍLI!"

Kíli's cries stopped, and Fíli waited, each breath hitching in his throat… What if Kíli never came? What if he had pushed him away for good? At that moment he needed his brother more than ever… And the blackened, broken part of his mind told him he might never see him again. "Kíli…! KÍLI!" Fíli screamed out his brother's name as the fear began to sever his grip on reality.

Suddenly footsteps sounded outside the tent, and Kíli appeared, his face red from crying and his brow furrowed over his dark, bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry!" Fíli choked out. He had thought he would feel relief if Kíli returned, but the pain and the despair only got worse. "I'm so sorry… I didn't mean…"

He was sure Kíli was going to leave again, but instead his brother suddenly rushed to his side. Dropping onto his knees next to the bed, Kíli pulled his arm from the sling and took Fíli's shoulders, placing his forehead against Fíli's so that their noses were almost touching. "I know… I know…" he whispered, his voice low and hoarse.

It was how they should have first greeted each other, and Fíli grabbed Kíli's shoulders, embracing him, his fingers bunching around the fabric of his coat… terrified that he would leave him. "I… I think I'm going mad, Kíli…" he gasped, the tears falling freely down his cheeks.

"No, you're not," Kíli replied forcefully. "And you won't… I won't let you, I promise… And you're still the bravest person I have ever known…"

Fíli screwed up his eyes, knowing what Kíli was getting at. "I can't do it… I just can't..."

Kíli only held his brother tighter. "I know… I know…"

Balin was beginning to feel unnervingly outnumbered at this council meeting. In Dáin's tent, he and Gandalf sat at one side of the table, with an empty chair next to them which had been meant for Kíli, but he was refusing to leave Fíli's bedside. Dáin and four of his councillors were sitting opposite them, and they were hardly being subtle about their motives for the meeting.

"I still say there isn't a problem," a white-haired councillor piped up. "The lad doesn't want the throne, so we can't force it on him. We should be using this time to discuss more important matters, like the returning of the Arkenstone."

"My dear Nordul, the succession is not a trivial matter. It will determine the fate of Durin's folk for centuries to come and is far more important than any inanimate object, no matter how much it glitters!" Gandalf scolded, sitting back in his chair.

"We are going in circles," another councillor growled. "We have already said that this nephew of Thorin's is too young!"

"I realise that you all seek to place the crown upon Dáin's head," Gandalf said slowly, looking to Dáin as he did so. "But you are forgetting that even if Fíli refuses the crown, it will fall to his brother, Kíli, not Dáin."

A collective snort rose up from the group of councillors. "You've got to be joking?" Nordul said, with a smirk. "My twelve-year-old granddaughter has more of a beard on her than that pretty dwarfling. He'll be king over my dead body."

"Well, I am sure that can be arranged," Gandalf said pleasantly.

"You're very quiet, Dáin," Balin said carefully. "Are you as eager as your councillors to put yourself on the throne?"

"You speak as if I were a usurper, Balin," Dáin replied, being equally careful. "But what would you have me do? Not only is Fíli young and inexperienced, he is also denying his birth-right. I can't change his mind."

"I am sure he will come around," Gandalf said, smiling – if not out of hope, then to irritate the councillors. "But for now he is grieving and he is injured. Óin tells me his fever has only just broken. We must give him time."

"You're stalling, Gandalf," Dáin muttered.

"Yes, I believe I am," came Gandalf's good-natured reply.

"But you can't stall for another twenty years! The fact remains that he is still a bairn," the youngest, auburn-haired councillor said, looking to the others for nods of agreement. "A dwarfling can't be King Under the Mountain!"

"But he can sit upon Dáin's council, Agrór?" Gandalf asked, with a wry smile. "You are only ten years older than Fíli, and I believe you were the same age as he when you were appointed?"

"Don't torture the lad, Gandalf," Dáin said, as Agrór's cheeks coloured. "He's earned his place."

"As has Fíli!" Balin said, with a frustrated sigh. "When Thorin was taken ill at Rivendell, he took his uncle's place as leader of the company and did an excellent job of it!"

"Ah yes, we've heard all about your company's consorting with elves," Nordul said slyly. "Exactly what we need from the King Under the Mountain."

"Fíli has proven himself an expert diplomat and negotiator," Gandalf snapped. "Which is exactly what Erebor needs from its king. He is not motivated by greed or power, only by the love he bears for his kin."

"You say that now, Gandalf," Dáin murmured. "But have you also not said the same about Thorin, Aulë rest his soul? The gold sickness runs in that line. The greed will come."

"Thorin's blood also runs in your veins, Dáin. You are no safer from the gold sickness than Fíli," Gandalf replied curtly. He exchanged glances with Balin; they were both aware that they were fighting a losing battle.

"Still, none of you can deny Fíli's abilities as a warrior," Balin said firmly. "He did what all of us could not: alone on the battlefield, he brought down Azog the Defiler."

"And he was found clutching Thorin's oak shield," Gandalf added. "It is a sign. A sign that he, and he alone, is the rightful King Under the Mountain."

Nordul snorted. "So what? You would have us call him 'Fíli Oakenshield'?"

"Fíli Oakenshield?" Gandalf said quietly. "Yes, I quite like the sound of that."

A/N: OK, that's all the worst parts over with… And in the next chapter we get to meet the elves! But I would recommend that readers who haven't read 'Family Tree' take a little look. I will be including a fic synopsis in my next chapter, but reading Chapter Seven of 'Family Tree' will probably explain a few things to come. For now, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter!