A/N: Hey guys! So I've been dying to write this chapter all week, especially seen as your response to Chapter Four was so amazing (thank you so much!), but real life has been irritatingly intervening!

Now, before we go on with Chapter Five, I just thought I'd include a little synopsis of 'Family Tree', as I realise the final scene in this chapter might not make a whole load of sense to those who haven't read it:

In 'Family Tree', Thorin and Kíli are injured by wargs out on the plains. The company, rescued by Elrond, is taken back to Rivendell where his healers – including Arwen – treat Thorin and Kíli's wounds. With Thorin in a dire state, Gandalf forces Fíli to confront his status as Thorin's heir. Initially reluctant, Fíli grows into the role in Thorin's absence, but then his confidence is shattered when the recovering Thorin decides to send Fíli and Kíli back to Ered Luin, unwilling to risk further harm to his nephews. After an intense argument, Fíli storms off, believing his uncle has no faith in him and he doesn't have what it takes to be a king. He is found by none other than Estel, who manages to talk him round. Gandalf, in turn, persuades Thorin to let his nephews continue on the journey. A few days later, when the White Council is called, Thorin and his company sneak out of Rivendell and continue on towards Erebor.

An aside to the synopsis: I mistakenly pitched Estel's age at twenty-seven, forgetting the seventeen year gap between Bilbo's party and Frodo's leaving the Shire which isn't made explicit in the film. (*Intense Author Face-palm*) So yes, Estel is a little older than Tolkien intended, but he's so deeply embedded in my head-canon that I'm afraid I'm just going to have to call this another bit of artistic licence. My apologies!

And sorry for this enormous author's note, on with Chapter Five…

Fíli winced as Óin dabbed the cold cloth at the stitches on his back. He was lying on his side, with the bed sheets pulled down to his waist and his bandages unravelled down to his abdomen, as the old healer cleaned the vicious wounds that ran parallel to his spine. It was getting colder as the morning slipped into afternoon; Fíli was sure that if he could see the sky it would be the colour of snow, and the air had the scent of a brewing storm. He could feel the hairs on his arms prickling with the cold as the skin beneath pimpled. Flinching again when the cloth touched the tip of the wound by his shoulder, Fíli ground his teeth. But at least it was a distraction from the pain shooting up his leg and the ache in his stomach caused by the arrow once embedded there. The vengeful, crippling pain in his chest, however, couldn't be dulled by poppy milk or any herbs Óin had in his store, and so Fíli lay there and silently let it rage.

A cough from Óin and the creak of a stool signalled that the healer had finished his treatment, and with impeccable timing, Kíli entered the tent.

"I've got a present for you," came his brother's gentle greeting, as he moved around the bed to see Fíli's face.

Kíli was holding a folded brown and gold blanket, stitched with a design he couldn't quite make out. He sat down on a stool at Fíli's side and held the blanket out to him.

"Ori's knitted it for you… This is your sigil, see?"

Kíli flattened out a patch of the blanket, and Fíli realised the design was indeed the interlocking lines of his sigil, woven in gold. He reached out a hand, his fingers shivering slightly as he traced one zig-zagging line; the wool was warm and soft to his touch. And then, quite unexpectedly, his lips were pulled into a smile. The movement of his facial muscles was slow and stiff, but still the smile fought its way through.

"It's beautiful," Fíli murmured. "Thank him for me?"

"You could thank him yourself," Kíli ventured carefully.

Fíli's smile vanished. His brow was dragged into a frown as he withdrew his hand. "I told you, Kíli," he said, an unmistakable edge in his voice. "I don't want to see anyone."

"I know… I'm sorry," Kíli said, looking utterly crestfallen, and also concerned that this faux-pas would have further repercussions.

Kíli and Óin were the only people Fíli had seen since his first, lucid awakening, and he knew both of them were taking great pains not to upset him. They had obviously drawn up a list of taboo subjects, and while Óin avoided blunders by hardly speaking, Kíli often froze mid-sentence or clumsily stumbled into a jarring change of subject. Neither was it lost on Fíli that Thorin's shield, which he had seen lying in the corner of his tent, had disappeared overnight.

Seeking to break the obvious tension between the brothers, Óin loudly finished packing up his medical chest. "Right, I want to let some air get to those wounds, Fíli… So if it's alright with you, I'll go get some food now and I'll move you onto your back in an hour or so."

Fíli nodded his ascent, and with that Óin left the tent.

There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Kíli's eyes suddenly widened. "Fíli, you're freezing!" He put a hand on Fíli's arm, the bristling hair and goose-pimpled skin beneath his palm only confirming it.

"Here…" Before Fíli could protest, Kíli was unfolding Ori's blanket and carefully laying it over him. He spread it out up to Fíli's waist and then tucked in the rest over Fíli's arms, leaving his back still exposed to the air.

The blanket was actually a welcome relief from the cold… and it smelled of burnt wood and Bofur's cooking. Fíli's stomach knotted itself when he realised just how much he missed the company. His mind was a mess and he was so conflicted: he couldn't bear the thought of facing any of them, but still he longed to talk and laugh with them as if nothing had happened. The protective instincts that had surfaced in Rivendell also returned; he wanted to know that they were safe, that they had enough food and warm beds… And he knew he wasn't the only one grieving. They were leaderless, and he only wished he had the strength to be the leader they needed.

"How are they? The company?" Fíli asked quietly.

"Oh… Well, Ori is keeping himself busy, as you can see," Kíli replied, nodding to the blanket, obviously pleased with the change of topic. "Dori still enjoys fussing over him, and Balin is, er, dealing with Dáin and his men… Bofur's stews are becoming quite famous – we often get people circling round our fire in the evening… Bifur keeps going looking for Bombur. We haven't quite been able to get him to understand that he's gone back to Ered Luin for a while…"

Fíli's chest tightened as the image of his mother falling to her knees with a cry flashed before his eyes. Kíli froze, as if he had shared Fíli's vision, and a familiar look of regret and concern marred his features.

Knowing that, for the rest of their lives, no conversation would ever be free of such black triggers, Fíli fought through the constricting pain throbbing within his ribs where his heart used to be. "And Dwalin and Bilbo?" he pressed.

"Dwalin's, er, walks are getting shorter," Kíli answered, managing a smile. "He's started taking meals with us too."

Kíli had initially been very cagey about Dwalin, but Fíli had finally got him to admit that out of the remaining members of the company, Dwalin had taken Thorin's death the hardest. Fíli knew Dwalin had been the one who found Thorin out on the battlefield, and he was sure Dwalin's grief rivalled his own. The cracked part of his mind that was slowly loosening his grip on the sane world often whispered that Dwalin wished he had died and Thorin had lived. Dwalin wasn't the only one who wished that.

"Fíli?" Kíli put a hand on his arm, pulling him from the perilous mire of his thoughts. He always did this whenever the blue of Fíli's eyes seemed to fade to grey, signalling that his brother was somewhere else, and he had to bring him back. "Did you hear what I said? Dwalin's doing a lot better…"

Fíli's eyes became alert again. "And Bilbo?" he asked carefully. He could sense Kíli was hiding something, and there was a reason he was yet to mention their burglar.

"We… We haven't seen much of him recently," Kíli admitted, shifting on his stool.

"Kíli." Fíli said his brother's name in warning, frustrated with Kíli's efforts to prevent his upset. He needed to know if Bilbo was alright – he was as much a part of the company as anyone else.

"Dori told me that Bilbo got in quite a state when they found him and told him about… about Thorin," Kíli said, looking at the floor. "At first he hid it well… But now I… I think he's suffering because he and Thorin never reconciled before…"

Suddenly Fíli found himself back on the battlefield. He could feel his own blood, hot and sticky beneath him, spreading out and colouring the dust, and he could see the sky blazing a poisonous yellow above him… And Thorin was there, lying beside him, only a few inches away, but he couldn't move, he couldn't reach him. "Tell the Halfling… Tell Bilbo… I'm sorry…" Thorin's voice sent shivers ripping down his spine far worse than the spikes of Azog's mace and a tight fist closed around his heart with iron fingers.

"Fíli…? Fíli!" Kíli whispered urgently, his hand on his shoulder again, dragging him back into the present. "Oh Durin, Fíli, you're sweating…" He placed a cool hand on Fíli's forehead.

Fíli peered up at him, trying to control his shallow breaths. Kíli was studying him with the strangest expression on his face and, for once, Fíli couldn't tell what his brother was thinking.

"Did Thorin say something to you? About Bilbo?" Kíli breathed, his face pale.

Fíli couldn't quite believe Kíli had figured it out. "Yes," he answered, the single syllable almost getting stuck in his throat. "He… He wanted me to tell Bilbo he was sorry."

Kíli slowly withdrew his hand from Fíli's forehead, sighing with what Fíli guessed was relief.

"I should've said something sooner," Fíli murmured, the knot in his stomach only tightening when he thought of Bilbo's unnecessary anguish.

"No… No, it's alright," Kíli soothed, running a hand up and down his arm.

At that moment, Fíli knew he needed to be alone. The last flashback to the battlefield had taken its toll, but he daren't ask Kíli to leave. Ever since the night when Kíli had fled from his tent he had been scared of driving his brother away; the fear of him never returning still lingered in his mind.

"Have you eaten today?" Fíli asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I'll get round to it," Kíli replied, one eyebrow raised.

"Please… Go get something to eat, I won't have you starving yourself," Fíli urged, praying Kíli would take the hint.

"I'll wait until Óin comes back," came Kíli's answer, but then Fíli's lips unconsciously twisted into a grimace, and the truth dawned on him. "Oh… Are you sure you'll be alright?"

Fíli nodded grimly. "… Make sure you thank Ori for the blanket."

Kíli stood outside Fíli's tent, taking a moment to compose himself. There was a sickly feeling anchoring itself to his stomach, its black roots digging into his insides like claws. Óin could confirm that Fíli's injuries were healing, but Kíli knew his brother's other injuries, the ones Óin couldn't heal, were getting worse. Sometimes, while they were talking, Fíli would freeze and the light would go from his eyes. Kíli always managed to bring him back, but these episodes were becoming more and more frequent. Inhaling deeply, Kíli decided to put on a brave face for the company – he knew it was what Fíli wanted.

Following the smell of Bofur's stew, he headed down the row of tents. There was a group of Dáin's councillors gathered outside the main tent, and they stopped talking as Kíli passed. Balin had reluctantly filled Kíli in on the discussions of Dáin's council meetings, and what the councillors were up to. Although the meetings didn't seem to bode well, one positive thing that had emerged from them was Fíli's knew epithet: Fíli Oakenshield. The name had spread like wildfire through the camp, and everywhere it was whispered, support seemed to spring up for Fíli. The company had adopted it too, but Kíli knew Fíli was far from ready to hear it. He told Óin that it was never to be uttered in Fíli's presence, and he had tried to stop anyone saying it too close to Fíli's tent. He had moved the oak shield to Thorin's tent the night he and Fíli had argued, and he wasn't sure if Fíli had ever noticed its presence. Ignoring the councillors' piercing looks, Kíli walked quickly past them to the company's fire, which was crackling merrily to the right of the main tent.

"Kíli!" Bofur greeted Kíli with a cheery smile, as he always did. "We saved some stew for you, lad."

The whole company, save Bilbo, were present beside the fire. Dwalin shuffled up the bench so Kíli could sit down at his side. His dark blue eyes searched the younger dwarf's face as he settled next to him; Kíli's expression gave Dwalin the answer he was searching for, but no comment was made.

"Did he like the blanket?" Ori asked shyly, as Bofur handed Kíli a steaming bowl of stew.

"Of course, and he wanted me to thank you for it," Kíli replied, making Ori's eyes light up. "In fact, he cracked the first smile I've seen since he woke up." That, at least, wasn't a lie.

"But he still doesn't want visitors?" Dori said quietly.

"…No," Kíli answered honestly. "Not just yet."

There was a moment of silence, as if in mourning, and Kíli's appetite evaporated completely. He poked at the stew with his spoon, begging someone to fill the void of conversation that was becoming suffocating.

Sensing Kíli's distress, Dwalin muttered: "That raven has been sat there all morning." He nodded behind him, indicating Fíli's tent, where Kíli could make out the black silhouette of a raven, perched on the top of the tent's front pole like a weathervane. He had noticed the bird when entering Fíli's tent with Ori's blanket, but hadn't realised how long it had been there.

"The ravens have chosen their king," Óin said suddenly, without looking up from his bowl. "And they will keep watch until they see him crowned."

Kíli looked to Balin, and Balin smiled knowingly. The smile was half-way to Kíli's lips when he froze. He could hear Dáin's councillors laughing behind him and he was sure they had just said Fíli's name. Ears alert like a fox, Kíli listened as the company fell silent.

"… Fíli Oakenshield?" a councillor scoffed. "We don't need another Thorin!"

In an instant Kíli was on his feet. He moved so quickly that he could hardly register his own movements and the camp was a blur until he found himself outside the main tent, glaring at the councillors, his face feeling hot and his heart throwing itself against his ribs.

"You're not worthy enough to even utter my uncle's name!" Kíli said, through gritted teeth.

The offending councillor, young and red-haired, turned to look Kíli up and down, his expression something close to amusement. The other councillors all fixed their eyes on Kíli, but some took a step back, indicating that their cohort was on his own.

"Kíli."

Dwalin had come to Kíli's side. He spoke in warning, but his expression was equally murderous – and probably the reason why a few councillors had recoiled.

Yet the youngest councillor, rather foolishly, appeared unfazed. "You really think your brother will be King, boy?" he sneered. "We all know his mind's touched… He's going to go the same way as Thráin. You should just put him out of his misery!"

Kíli lunged. A roar ripped from his throat as he launched himself at the councillor, one hand grabbing his coat, the other pulled back into a fist. He would have tackled the councillor to the ground and beaten him to within an inch of his life, but strong hands wrapped around his arms and dragged him back. Two councillors helped the younger straighten up, but he shrugged them off with a snarl. His black eyes burned into Kíli, and Kíli tried to lurch forward again, but Dwalin wrapped his arm across his chest, holding him back.

"If you utter another syllable I will put you out of your misery!" Dwalin growled. "Actually…" Dwalin released Kíli's arm and reached behind him for his axe, Grasper, which was strapped to his back.

"Dwalin!" Balin said sharply, moving between Kíli and the councillor, who was pretending he hadn't flinched when Dwalin went for his axe.

Before Balin could restore order to the situation, Grefur appeared from the main tent, his expression furious as he looked from Kíli, being restrained by Dwalin, to the group of councillors.

"Have you been harassing one of my patients, Agrór?" he barked, and the young councillor noticeably cowered. It seemed Grefur's reputation had reached Dáin's council chamber. "Well?"

"That… That animal attacked me!" Agrór cried, regaining himself, and thrusting an accusatory finger at Kíli.

"But as you are a blithering idiot, I highly doubt it was unprovoked," Grefur replied, keeping his eyes fixed on Agrór. "Now I want you and your lot to clear off. I don't like politicians gathering in front of my tent. Makes the place look untidy."

With that, Grefur disappeared back inside the main tent, without as much as a glance at Kíli. It seemed the head-healer disliked politicians more than he disliked his patients, and Kíli was glad of it; it didn't take Agrór and his cronies long to stalk back down the row of tents. But the red-haired councillor's lingering look of malice as he walked away left Kíli rooted to the spot. Dwalin's hands were resting on his shoulders, and now served less as a restraint and more as a means to keep him upright. He was sure Dwalin could feel him shaking, and his face was burning as his eyes began to sting. The white-hot rage that had gripped him when he sprang at Agrór was gone – replaced now by an icy feeling of fear: fear that Agrór was right, fear that Fíli might fall prey to the same madness which stole their grandfather. He had promised Fíli he wouldn't let that happen.

Kíli knew then that he couldn't help his brother. But he also knew that there was someone in Middle Earth who could.

The air felt a little clearer and warmer as Kíli and Bilbo moved out of the shadow of the Mountain, heading towards the slopes on the west side of the river. Bilbo looked straight ahead, leading the way, and Kíli followed silently at his side. They had spoken only briefly about Kíli's request in Bilbo's tent; Bilbo had spent the remaining fifteen minutes apologising for the mess. The crumpled bedclothes, books lying sprawled, face-down on the floor, and scattered garments told Kíli that he hadn't been the only one having trouble sleeping. But at least the relentless apologies made him feel like Bilbo was still Bilbo, despite his absence from the company's fire.

"You're not wearing your sling anymore," Bilbo commented quietly, glancing across at Kíli.

"No… I think Grefur got bored of reminding me about it, so he's let me be," Kíli replied, unconsciously flexing his bandaged fingers.

Silence fell over them again, and Kíli decided there would never be a good time to come out with what he needed to say. "I spoke to Fíli this afternoon," Kíli began, though he was unsure of how to continue.

"Yes?" Bilbo murmured, wondering what response the young dwarf expected, as this wasn't an unusual occurrence.

"He told me something… about what Thorin said, out on the battlefield, before he…"

Bilbo slowed his step until he and Kíli came to a stop, turning to face each other. "Something?" The hobbit's eyes were shining as he peered up at Kíli, having obviously cottoned on to where this conversation was leading.

"Thorin wanted Fíli to tell you that he was sorry," Kíli murmured. "I'm afraid Fíli didn't tell me anymore…"

"No, no… That's more than enough," Bilbo said, his voice wavering. "More than I deserve." He closed his eyes and pinched his nose with a sigh. "I… I only wish I'd had a chance to speak to him again… to make proper amends…"

Kíli put a gentle hand on Bilbo's shoulder. Bilbo opened his eyes, blinking back the tears as he looked up at Kíli. "Oh, I'm sorry… Listen to me, going on like this… I know I have no right to say such things to you, of all people, Kíli."

"We're all allowed to grieve, Bilbo," Kíli said quietly. It was something he had heard Balin say to Dwalin, late one night when Dwalin had grown defensive over his excursions to the battlefield. It seemed the fitting thing to say now.

Bilbo nodded. "Right, yes… Look, we're almost here."

Their attentions turned from thoughts of the dead to thoughts of the living: Thranduil's camp lay just a little further up the slope. Kíli followed Bilbo with caution, aware that he was the first dwarf to approach the Elvenking's camp since the battle. The elves' tents were made of a ghostly white, the fabric patterned with silver vines and leaves. Kíli looked about him, unnerved that he couldn't see any shadows moving across the tents. His fingers itched for his sword or an arrow, but he and Bilbo had agreed it would be best to arrive unarmed. They had just passed the first few tents when two sentries appeared, as if from nowhere, blocking their path.

"Good evening, Eldir," Bilbo said genially, peering up at the tall, blonde elf and his companion.

"Good evening, Master Baggins… and guest," Eldir replied, his eyes moving to Kíli, making no attempt to hide his suspicion.

"This is Kíli, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield," Bilbo explained; the wince as he said Thorin's name was in his eyes, not his voice. "We must speak with Thranduil."

"And what is this regarding?" the second sentry asked, arching his eyebrows.

Kíli was reminded of the Elvenking's haughty gaze. All these blonde, impossibly tall wood elves looked the same to him – he had no idea how Bilbo could tell them apart.

"Our business is with your king," Kíli said, his voice dangerously low.

"And our business is to prevent anyone bothering our king with trivial matters and to ensure his safety," the sentry shot back.

Bilbo quickly moved between Kíli and the elven sentries. "Please, Eldir, Cethe, we're unarmed… This is a diplomatic visit of great importance. You must let Kíli and I speak with Thranduil."

Eldir and Cethe exchanged glances, but seemed to reach an understanding that Bilbo and Kíli were not worth the trouble.

"If you would follow me," Eldir said, his gaze lingering on Kili. He then turned on his heel and continued on down the row of tents, heading towards a large pavilion erected at the row's end.

Kíli and Bilbo followed in silence, until they reached the pavilion and were shown in by Eldir. As soon as Kíli entered everyone fell silent. The hush seemed to give way to whispers as he and Bilbo made their way towards Thranduil, who was slouching in a throne placed on a dais at the other end of the tent. It was not as impressive as the Elvenking's great antlered throne of his woodland hall, but the king himself seemed just as aloof and formidable. Kíli thought he recognised Legolas, Thranduil's son, standing at the king's right side, but again, he wasn't sure he could tell these blonde elves apart. He could, however, recognise Tauriel, the fiery-haired leader of Thranduil's guard, standing to his left.

"Master Baggins and Master Kíli, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, your grace," Eldir announced, stopping at Kíli's side and giving a short bow.

Bilbo and Kíli took this as their cue to follow suit, and Kíli gave an awkward bow, his brown eyes remaining fixed on Thranduil as he did so. The Elvenking's expression was inscrutable… apart from a familiar look of boredom which masked any other impressions.

"If this is about the Arkenstone…" Thranduil began irritably.

"No, it's about my brother," Kíli cut across him, taking a step forward.

Thranduil shifted in his throne, a look of anger flashing in his cold eyes. It took the Elvenking a long time to answer – it seemed to take him a full minute to slowly arch one eyebrow – but finally he replied: "Thorin's golden heir? We hear he is refusing the throne."

Kíli could feel Bilbo cringing beside him, but he didn't begrudge Bilbo's passing this information onto the elves. They could sneer and smirk all they wanted, but at least they had no power to take the crown from Fíli.

"Yes," Kíli said carefully. "I can't change my brother's mind. No one in Dáin's camp can. But I think I know someone who can help. I need to speak to Estel, Lord Elrond's ward."

Whispers in an unfamiliar language, like the rustling of leaves across stone, circled around the pavilion. Legolas was studying Kíli with a curious expression, but Thranduil only looked annoyed.

"Well, I assure you we are not hiding Isildur's heir in this tent," Thranduil said dryly. "But this is intriguing… Why, pray tell, have you come to me with this matter?"

"Dwarves are not known for being fast riders," Kíli replied, as Thranduil leaned forward in his throne. He couldn't tell if the Elvenking was genuinely interested or mocking him. He bristled at the thought of the latter, but he forced himself to continue. "And this is an urgent matter. I was hoping you would be able to send an emissary to Rivendell, to ask Estel to come to my brother's aid."

At this Thranduil sat back with a smirk. "Oh, I see, you believe that because we are elves we can go bursting into each other's halls with messages from dwarves?"

Kíli felt colour flooding his cheeks. "No… I –"

"Is this not a matter for Gandalf to attend to?" Thranduil continued, his drawl rising over Kíli's words.

"I need Gandalf here to stop Dáin ascending the throne before my brother even has a chance to recover," Kíli said, his voice suddenly coloured with conviction. He glared at Thranduil, his hard, brown eyes belying his young dwarven years.

"Ada, I could go." Legolas suddenly stepped forward, his eyes moving slowly from Kíli to Thranduil.

"You will do no such thing!" Thranduil snapped, turning to his son. "You are a prince of the Woodland realm, Legolas, and I will not have my son reduced to a dwarf's messenger boy."

"But I know the path to Rivendell and I am one of our fastest riders," Legolas answered adamantly, surprising Kíli with the look of determination in his bright blue eyes.

"I need you here," Thranduil said, his glare warning Legolas that this was the end of their discussion.

"Wasn't it only this morning that you were pointing out how useless I am?" Legolas countered innocently.

Kíli saw Tauriel's lips twitch into a smirk and the ghost of a snigger swept around the pavilion. If looks could kill, Legolas would have been dead many times over, but he stayed hovering dutifully at his father's side, waiting for Thranduil's reply. Thranduil turned away from his son and his black gaze fell on Kíli.

"This matter is irrelevant," he said, a definite edge in his voice. "What I would like to know, master dwarf, is why you wish to send for a king who does not want his crown to counsel another king who does not want his crown. Do you believe that two reluctant kings make an eager one?"

The triumph in Thranduil's voice set Kíli's teeth on edge, but he was determined not to be beaten. He was done playing the Elvenking's games. "Estel and Fíli have an understanding. Estel knows the burdens of the crown better than anyone, and he once told Fíli that just because he doesn't want his own throne, it doesn't mean he doesn't want others to want theirs. He has managed to talk Fíli round before, and I'm sure he can do it again."

Kíli stared defiantly up at Thranduil, his shoulders shuddering slightly as he tried to regain his breath. Thranduil only stared back, his expression unfathomable.

"Please, if you won't do this for Kíli, do it for me," Bilbo said suddenly, taking a step forward. "This is the favour I ask in return… Send Legolas to Rivendell, and your debt is repaid."

Kíli looked from Bilbo to Thranduil, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. The Elvenking sat stoically on his throne, his deadpan expression rendering his thoughts unreadable.

But finally he answered: "You have yourself a deal, Master Baggins."

A/N: Wow, that was quite a bit longer than I expected, sorry! But well done if you've ploughed through it, and please do let me know your thoughts!