A/N: Hey everyone! Just a mini author's note to make up for the mammoth one last chapter: thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed, and favourited – you're all unbelievably awesome – and the soundtrack to this chapter is 'Sleeping Sickness' by City and Colour, give it a listen. Sorry I can't reply to your review, Milistasiadurin, but thanks so much for reading!

The snow began to fall just as the lights of Dáin's camp came into view. The sky was a thick, inky black and so the flakes only seemed to materialise when they were already half-way to the ground. In the darkness, the snow looked almost grey, like ash settling at the foot of the Mountain. Kíli and Bilbo walked in silence; they had just watched Legolas ride off into the black of the western horizon, and Bilbo was in no doubt that Kíli was replaying this moment over and over again in his mind. Stealing a glance at his companion, Bilbo saw Kíli lift his head towards the sky, gazing up at the feathered flakes of snow with a flicker of childlike wonder in his eyes. It was a bittersweet moment for Bilbo; part of him was glad to discover that a shred of Kíli's youth had survived the battle, but he also knew how unlikely it was that this this fragile fragment would survive the next few weeks. The prince's innocence had come to an end.

"So that's where you've been disappearing off to," Kíli said suddenly, a nod behind indicating the diminishing spectres of the Elven tents.

"Yes," Bilbo replied softly. "Sometimes to Bard's camp too… I suppose I just found it difficult being – " He stopped, glancing across at Kíli with contrition.

"It's all right, Bilbo," Kíli murmured, a weary smile communicating that he was getting rather tired of people tip-toeing around him.

"Well… It's just that you and Fíli, you reminded me so much of Thorin… It became a bit too much to bear, when I thought of how we parted," Bilbo continued. "But I don't think I need to stay away anymore… And I have missed the company."

"We've missed you too," Kíli said quietly. "Bofur should be ready to serve supper when we get back, if you want to join us. I'm sure everyone wants to see you."

"I have missed Bofur's cooking," Bilbo smiled. "You would have thought after thousands of years the elves would have mastered the art, but their food is quite dull in comparison."

Kíli almost laughed as his gaze turned back towards the Moutain, but then a shadow fell over his face. The snowfall was growing heavier and the flakes were beginning to cling to their clothes. They melted in Kíli's hair, making thick strands stick to his forehead and neck.

"I hear Dáin's men are doing an excellent job clearing out the Mountain," Bilbo said, trying to avoid a return to grim silence.

"Yes," Kíli replied slowly. "Dáin knows winter is coming, and we won't survive it out here. They've almost got the Entrance Hall cleaned up – Dáin thinks we should be able to move the camp into there by the end of the week. And they're trying to make a few smaller rooms pass for inhabitable… as well as part of the vaults, for Thorin's funeral."

Kíli's expression remained stoic as he spoke, but Bilbo could tell he had more to say, so he stayed quiet.

"I know we can't wait forever, but I want to at least wait until Fíli is well enough to be there," Kíli said, keeping his eyes on the Mountain. "… But I hear the councillors are being cruel task-masters with the clearing effort. I know they're trying to hasten the funeral so they can hasten Dáin's coronation."

Although Kíli's obvious exhaustion prevented any venom from being injected into the words, Bilbo still felt the anger twisting itself into a tighter knot in the young dwarf's chest. Even Bard's men had heard of the greed of Dáin's council.

"Estel will come," Bilbo said, unable to stand the look of despair in Kíli's eyes. "He'll talk Fíli round, just you wait and see." He wasn't sure he believed it, but he knew they must hold onto what hope they had.

Kíli was about to reply when shouts from Dáin's camp reached their ears. His eyes met Bilbo's for a split-second, and then he broke into a sprint. Bilbo fought to keep up with him, the snow flying into his eyes, as they arrived at the end of the row of tents. The company's fire was abandoned, but a boiling pot still smoked, hanging above the flames.

Suddenly Bofur appeared, rushing down the row to meet them. "Kíli! The lads have just gone looking for you…We had no idea where you'd got to!"

"But I told Ori to –" Kíli began, just as Ori appeared, as if from nowhere, at his side.

"I'm so sorry, Kíli!" Ori cried, his eyes round and wide, his face looking as ghostly as the snow. "I was late to supper, and I didn't have chance to say anything before…" He trailed off, his terrified gaze flitting to his left.

"Before what…?" Kíli breathed. And then he heard his brother's voice, clear and terrible, echoing down the row.

"Fíli was asking for you, but we didn't know where you were… We panicked and told him you were missing," Bofur admitted, stumbling over the words.

"You did what?!" Kíli didn't wait for an explanation. Wanting to throttle Bofur and Ori was a new experience, but he pushed the thought from his mind as he set off in another sprint in the direction of Fíli's tent, only relieved that no one tried to follow him. He almost slipped on the snow that was beginning to settle on the frost-hardened ground, but still he hardly faltered. He didn't stop to draw back the tent door-flap and simply burst through it with an outstretched hand.

Fíli was sitting bolt upright in bed. His bandaged chest was heaving and his teeth were bared as Óin tried to wrestle him back into his pillows. As soon as Kíli appeared, he stopped struggling and his shoulders slumped, though his blue eyes remained hard and wary, as if he wasn't sure if he was imagining him. Óin spun around when his patient gave up the fight, and let out a sigh.

"About time!" the healer panted. "I'll leave you to it… But you make sure he doesn't try to get out of bed!"

Kíli nodded, and Óin quickly disappeared from the tent. He moved to sit down on the edge of the bed at his brother's side, and Fíli's gaze dropped to his lap.

"Óin told me you'd gone missing…" Fíli whispered, sounding breathless. Kíli could see his shoulders shaking. "I… I thought you'd left or that… I don't really know what I thought…"

"I was just with Bilbo… Ori didn't pass the message on in time," Kíli replied quietly. Fíli was still refusing to meet his eye, and a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead. "You know I'm not going anywhere."

Slowly, the brothers inclined their heads together, their foreheads touching, as they both tried to control their shallow breaths.

"I'm sorry," Fíli said, his voice cracking. "I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you…"

"We're taking care of each other," Kíli replied firmly. "And you were half-way out of bed when I got here… You've got strength left in you yet."

Kíli's boots ground the fresh snow into the frozen layer beneath it with a satisfying crunch as he made his way to Fíli's tent. The camp was a hive of activity, and all around him he could see dwarves hurrying to and fro, preparing for the move. He slipped into Fíli's tent and scraped his boots on the bare earth at the foot of his brother's bed. Fíli was asleep. The incident earlier that week had taken its toll on him, and for the past few days they had only woken him for the small meals he could manage and to coax more medicine into him. Kíli wanted to see it as a positive that Fíli had managed to sit up in bed, but his brother's resulting exhaustion had dampened his spirits. At least this meant Fíli had not pressed the matter of Kíli's whereabouts, and neither had the company; the embarrassment over their mistake had ensured their silence. Kíli knew he would have to tell them sooner or later – before Estel's appearance revealed it anyway. Though he suspected Thranduil would eventually send word to Gandalf, and news travelled fast in Dáin's camp.

Waking Fíli was never a very pleasant experience for Kíli. When Fíli's eyes fluttered open there was always a flash of the brother Kíli recognised, but then his expression would become closed and stony, as the memory of everything returned. Kíli was scared that one day soon he would wake him and the flash would never appear, meaning his brother had truly fallen beyond his reach. Moving to Fíli's side, Kíli placed a hand on his shoulder, and prepared himself for that moment.

"Fíli?" Kíli said gently. His hand moved to Fíli's forehead and he smoothed back his hair. It was the way their mother used to wake them when they had to get up early for their studies or training.

Fíli stirred. His blue eyes, blurry with sleep, moved to Kíli. There was the flash of warmth and recognition which made Kíli's heart leap in relief, but then the light vanished and the blue hardened. Kíli tried to convince himself that the flash had lasted longer than usual this time.

"What time is it?" Fíli asked, his voice scratchy with sleep.

"Almost noon," Kíli answered, though he was almost drowned out by a crash from outside the tent, followed by several colourful insults barked by Grefur.

Fíli's eyes widened as he listened to the noises surrounding them. "What's going on?"

"We're moving into Erebor today," Kíli explained carefully. "Grefur sent me to wake you. We're going to move you in first."

"No."

There was no further comment, just a single icy syllable.

"Fíli…" Kíli began softly.

"No, Kíli," Fíli cut across him. "I mean it. I won't be moved in first. You move our people inside before you move me."

Kíli's stomach jolted; he hadn't expected that. And the way Fíli said 'our people' – it was only one step away from 'my people'. Maybe he said it because he wanted no special royal treatment; nothing to remind him of the throne he was refusing. But there was also a wilful look in his eyes, intimating that he might no longer care about himself, but he still cared about his kin. The determination in Fíli's voice suggested he might well match Thorin for stubbornness… And somewhere in the darkness, a flicker of hope was rekindled.

"Are you sure?" Kíli said slowly, and Fíli nodded. "Erm… I'll be right back."

Kíli straightened up and left the tent. Speaking to Grefur the Homicidal Maniac was not something he enjoyed doing, and the thought of contradicting the head-healer's orders made him unconsciously flex the fingers of his right hand, as if to check they were still attached. But the matter could be brought to no one else. With no sign of Grefur outside, Kíli made his way to the main tent. He found Grefur inside, with his team of healers scurrying around him as he told them exactly how incompetent they all were.

At the sight of Kíli, Grefur's growls ceased and he moved towards him. "Is the lad ready?"

"He doesn't want to be moved first," Kíli replied, trying and failing to put as much tenacity into his voice as Fíli had done.

"What?" Grefur snapped, narrowing his black eyes at Kíli.

"Fíli wants everyone else to be moved into the Mountain before we move him," Kíli repeated, with greater conviction.

Grefur stared at him for a long time, and Kíli prepared himself to duck when the older dwarf inevitably pulled out his right hook.

"My decision has nothing to do with your brother's status," Grefur said finally, and Kíli had never heard him speak so quietly. "We're moving him first because he has the most serious injuries. This cold isn't doing him any good."

Kíli wasn't quite sure how to answer; his mouth opened and closed without a sound as he tried to process the fact that Grefur seemed to understand Fíli's situation better than most.

"I don't think Fíli will see it like that," he murmured. "Please… If we try and move him now, I think he'll put up a fight."

Again, Grefur's eyes were fixed on Kíli for an unnerving amount of time, but then he let out a growl. "Fine!" He turned away. "If the lad has a death-wish I'm more than happy to grant it!"

Fíli kept his eyes focused on the roof of the tent whilst he waited. His gaze traced the outline of snow settled there, where the fabric darkened like an ominous cloud formation. He had drifted in and out of consciousness all afternoon, but was glad he hadn't properly returned to sleep. Waking up was painful. Every time he was dragged back to the world, he had to relive all that had happened to remind himself why he felt so hollow. It was like a wound being constantly re-inflicted, cutting deeper with each awakening. His only solace was that Kíli was usually at his side whenever he was brought back. Fíli was sure his brother was the only part of himself he had left.

His physical injuries, at least, appeared to be healing, and sometimes he found himself resenting that. His back no longer felt like it was on fire, and he could feel the scabbed skin crackling beneath him like dying embers. Even the pain in his leg had dulled to an ache, like everything else. So why was he still so sure that he was dying? Out on the battlefield, when he thought he would never make it back, he had been terrified… But now he felt very little of anything. That was, until Kíli had brought the news that he was to be moved into Erebor first, and then he had been distraught. He wasn't quite sure what had sparked his reaction – he only knew he had no right to be moved out of the snow before anyone else. The company and Dáin's men must go first. It was what Thorin would have done. Fíli's heart jolted when he thought of Thorin, as it always did. He had asked Kíli several times to move their uncle before they moved him, and he wasn't satisfied until Kíli returned with news that Thorin's body had been placed in Thrór's recently cleared-out bedchamber.

There was a sudden rustle and Fíli looked up just as Kíli entered the tent. He caught sight of the yellow glow outside before the doors of the tent flapped together. Kíli came and sat down at his side with a small smile.

"Shouldn't be long now," he said quietly, but there was a troubled look in his brown eyes.

"What's wrong?" Fíli asked, furrowing his brow.

Kíli shifted on the stool, glancing towards the tent's entrance. "You're going to have to meet some of Dáin's healers, to move you into Erebor."

Fíli was aware of that; it was something he had been trying to prepare himself for all afternoon. But he suspected Kíli had more on his mind.

"We've prepared a room for you," Kíli continued, and Fíli could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "But the only way to get to it is through the Entrance Hall… And the new camp has been set up there. So when we move you in… Well, everyone is going to be there."

Kíli bit his lip; something Fíli hadn't seen him do for years. Fíli looked away, back up to the roof of the tent. "That's all right," he replied. It wasn't. It wasn't all right at all. But he knew there wasn't much he could do about that. He would just have to grit his teeth and bare it… And try and sleep it all off in the new dark of the Mountain.

"Would… Would you like me to retie your braids?" Kíli asked, rather tentatively.

"You don't want everyone to see what a wreck your brother has become?" Fíli said, and his tone was almost wry.

He hadn't expected the hurt that sprang into Kíli's eyes. "That's not what I meant," Kíli whispered.

"No… I know," Fíli replied, his voice full of remorse. "And yes, please… You know my own braiding never was as good as yours."

Kíli managed a smile as he set to work. He slowly slipped the silver bead from one of the braids of Fíli's moustache – which had become rather sad and limp – and carefully separated out the strands of golden hair, ready to be retied. A silence fell over the brothers as Kíli worked, and Fíli closed his eyes, trying to imagine them both back by the fire of their living room in Ered Luin. Their mother would be darning their socks as she hummed an ancient song, the words long forgotten, and Kíli would be constantly telling him to keep still and complaining about his own hair…

"Fíli?"

Fíli's eyes flew open. Had he been asleep? Had he dreamt the fireside scene in the West? He felt Kíli's tension before he turned to him, and lifting his head, he discovered that they were no longer alone in the tent. There was a tall, bald dwarf – who looked uncannily like Dwalin, if a little scarier – standing at the foot of his bed, and a crowd of healers standing behind him, spilling out of the tent. Fíli felt sick. He swallowed but couldn't relieve his raw throat. Trying to keep calm, he turned to his right and looked up at Kíli, who was now standing at his side. Kíli smiled in encouragement, but then his gaze moved to the bald, dour-faced healer who had come around to Fíli's other side. This could be no one but Grefur, whom Kíli had told him so much about.

"Evening, lad," Grefur said, with a stiff nod.

Four other healers – one holding a stretcher, vertically, at his side – shuffled into the tent. And then, to Fíli's horror, they all bowed. It was an awkward, unsynchronised performance, and Fíli was sure he was going to throw up.

"All right, enough of that!" Grefur said sharply, and the healers quickly straightened up and crowded around Fíli's bed.

The stretcher was laid horizontally and, with a healer holding it at each end, they aligned it with Fíli's bed. Grefur, Kíli, and the two other healers each took a corner of the bed sheet Fíli was lying on.

"This isn't going to be pleasant for you, lad," Grefur warned. "But it'll be quick, and then we'll have you settled in your new bed in no time."

Fíli nodded. Closing his eyes, his fingers curled into fists around his blankets.

"On three," Grefur instructed. "One… Two… Three…"

Kíli and the healers slid Fíli across onto the stretcher, pulling the bed sheet to the left and Fíli along with it. Fíli gritted his teeth as his back flared up in protest and a bolt of pain shot up his leg, but he didn't make a sound. And then he was moving. Opening his eyes, the yellowing canopy of the tent disappeared from above him, and was replaced by a white dome of cloud. It felt like an age had passed since Fíli had last seen the sky. In the fading light, the clouds were bluish and bruised, and there was a faint pink blush in the west where the sun was setting. A chill wind sent a few strands of hair fluttering across his face, and Kíli, who had appeared at his side, quickly tucked Ori's blanket in around his shoulders.

Trying to ignore the jarring movements of the stretcher, Fíli kept his eyes on the sky. Something black and cross-shaped was moving against the clouds. Squinting, Fíli realised it was a bird. His stomach convulsed when an image of crows circling in a burning yellow sky flashed in his mind. But it was too big to be a crow… It must be a raven. The bird seemed to think itself part of the convoy, and it followed them until they reached the Front Gate. The world had been eerily silent until that point, but when they passed into the Mountain, and the dark rock closed over their heads, a cacophony of sound reached Fíli's ears.

Breathing suddenly became painful. The shouts and the clanging and the crackle of fires made Fíli's head ache and he wouldn't turn to look about him, he only kept his eyes trained on the high, cavernous ceiling. But then, slowly, the noise faded and was replaced by an ominous hush. Whispers began to build like the wind. Fíli couldn't quite make out the words, but still the scattered syllables roared in his ears, and his stomach turned over and over again.

And then a single shout rang out in the darkness: "Long live the King!"

Fíli's heart stopped. Instead of searching out the source of the cry, his eyes darted to Kíli. All the colour had drained from his brother's face. The stretcher-bearers sped up their pace, jerking Fíli back against the sheets. As soon as they were clear of the Entrance Hall, Fíli lurched to his left and threw up over the side of the stretcher.

Having received news of a solitary Elven rider entering the valley from the east, Lindir had pulled on his cloak and descended the main steps, preparing to greet this curious visitor. Winter had come to Imladris and the air felt noticeably colder. Even wrapped in his cloak, Lindir felt a chill, and sincerely wished this rumoured rider would make greater haste.

After several idle minutes had slipped by, Lindir finally heard the clatter of hooves. A white horse cantered into the stone courtyard, and the hood of its rider's travelling cloak fell away, revealing the elf's light blonde hair. A few fly-away strands from his braids fluttered about his face. Lindir moved down the steps to meet him, wondering if he had come from Lórien or Mirkwood, or somewhere stranger.

The rider dismounted and stroked his horse's grey muzzle, whispering praises in lilting Sindarin. Reaching the bottom of the stone stairs, Lindir realised, with a jolt, that this was Legolas; Thranduil's somewhat wayward son. He was sure he recognised him as one of the elves Estel was forever bringing back to the Last Homely House to disrupt Lindir's schedule and increase his duties.

"Mae govannen," Lindir said carefully.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," came the blonde elf's urgent reply.

Annoyed by Legolas's skipping of pleasantries, Lindir answered curtly: "Lord Elrond is dining with his family. He does not wish to be disturbed."

"His family is the reason for my coming," Legolas said, undeterred. "I am here for Estel."

Of course you are, Lindir thought irritably. He mentally ran through all the arrangements he would have to make for guest quarters to be prepared and meals to be changed.

"Please," Legolas said quietly. "I have come from the Lonely Mountain. It has been a long journey and my last stop was days ago."

Lindir froze. He hadn't expected that. The Lonely Mountain had become a rather taboo topic after the company of dwarves had escaped during the night many months ago. He never expected to hear it mentioned again, especially not by an elf of Mirkwood.

"Very well," Lindir said, unable to deny his curiosity. "We will see that your horse is fed and watered." He nodded to a servant who had appeared from the stables and was waiting, cautiously, at the edge of the courtyard, and then turned back to Legolas. "If you will follow me?"

"We do enjoy your visits, Estel… " Elladan said, with a smirk.

"…But this one has gone on rather longer than usual." Elrohir finished his brother's sentence, mirroring his smile.

"And we are getting a little sick of the sight of you," Elladan added pleasantly.

"Well, then you will be pleased to hear that I plan on returning north in the next week or so," Estel replied, catching Arwen's eye, and wishing he didn't get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Estel didn't mind Elladan and Elrohir's banter, but he was aware that everyone at the table was trying to cover for Lord Elrond's silence. Elrond hadn't said a word since they sat down to eat and his brow had been permanently furrowed. Most of his plate remained untouched. Elrohir opened his mouth to make another snide remark, but then Lindir suddenly appeared through the doorway onto the terrace, and he wasn't alone.

"Legolas! Mellon-nin!" Estel said, before Lindir could make introductions. He was so surprised to see his friend that he had to stop himself rising from the table and rushing to greet him. But Legolas didn't return his smile. Estel's mind began to race through possible explanations for his arrival… They had been hearing some disturbing reports from Mirkwood.

"I bring news from the Lonely Mountain," Legolas said, his expression sombre.

Estel's stomach lurched. He and Arwen exchanged a fearful glance; it was the message they had been expecting for months, but its messenger was unexpected. Estel's gaze moved back to Legolas.

"The dragon Smaug has been slain and Erebor is reclaimed," Legolas continued, his blue eyes inscrutable. "But there was a battle before the Front Gate. Thorin Oakenshield is dead."

Estel felt Arwen tense at his side, and he gently slid his hand over hers under the table. She turned to look at him and her eyes were shining.

"And his nephews?" Estel breathed, his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

"Kíli sustained only minor injuries, but Fíli was seriously wounded trying to protect his uncle," Legolas replied. "And now he has renounced the throne. He will not speak to anyone save his brother and their healer, and the dwarves fear for his mind. Kíli came to my father and requested that we send word to Rivendell; he asks that you come to Fíli's aid."

"Of course," Estel said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Of course I will come. Delaying my return north will pose few problems."

"I will come with you," Arwen said suddenly, and all eyes moved to her.

"No, Arwen," Elrond said reprovingly, speaking for the first time, though the deep lines in his brow remained.

"Ada –" Arwen began to protest, but her father silenced her.

"It is a long and dangerous journey to the Lonely Mountain. If this is your attempt at alleviating your guilt over letting Thorin's company escape –" Elrond paused. The hurt in his daughter's eyes told him he had gone too far. "Arwen…" he continued, his voice softer.

"I sent Thorin to his death," Arwen said, her voice trembling only slightly as she spoke over him. "I owe it to his kin to help where I can."

Elrond sighed, sitting back in his chair. "I know you will go, whether I allow it or not," he said quietly. "But I will not have you and Estel travelling alone. Your brothers will accompany you."

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances, but didn't comment. They knew better than to question their father's judgement. Estel kept his hand pressed over Arwen's and he could feel her fingers trembling beneath his palm, but his eyes remained fixed on Elrond.

"Did you foresee this?" Estel asked carefully, wondering at Elrond's troubled silence over dinner.

Elrond took a long time to answer, but finally he murmured: "Yes. We all did."

A/N: Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter, guys, but I'm afraid that with my finals looming I can't guarantee regular updates – I'll just try not to leave you hanging for too long. Please do review and let me know your thoughts!