A/N: Hey guys! As always, an enormous thank you to all my readers for helping me preserve what little sanity I have left. So, I thought I'd take a break from exam prep because I was starting to draw tenuous parallels between Shakespeare and The Hobbit. ('Let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings…')

But I've decided that after this chapter I'll need to take a break whilst I'm sitting my finals – just to make sure I actually graduate from university! It'll only be a couple of weeks, though, and then I'll be back with regular updates. Now, on with Chapter Seven, with some extra Estel/Legolas bromance for Gratia Astra!

A single bead of sweat slipped down the side of Kíli's forehead as he dug his spade into the rubble. Metal scraped against stone, and as Kíli deposited the heap of debris to his side, his nostrils stung with the cold smell of damp earth and the strange, smoky stench the dragon had left behind. They were clearing out the passage-way to the larder and storerooms. The stone ceiling of the arched entrance-way had collapsed, but Dáin was convinced that the storerooms themselves had remained intact, and they needed the space. The digging party was also hopeful that it might find pots and pans, or tools, or even some rare herbs known to keep for years and years.

Kíli sank his spade back into the rubble, one foot on the lug to push it further into the stony earth. One of the knuckles on his right hand was bleeding. He had split open the stitches at the bottom of his index finger, but he said nothing. He needed the distraction of helping with the clearing effort. The dwarves he was digging with knew who he was, but they hadn't commented; they only passed him a spade and told him where to start. Kíli was joined by four dwarves shovelling rubble from the floor, and there were another three who had climbed up the mountain of debris and were loosening the larger stones with picks and axes. They worked in silence, and Kíli wondered if, had he not been there, they would have been joking and laughing.

In the gloom of the mountain, Kíli had soon lost his sense of time. Minutes, hours, days; in the dark, they all blurred into one another. How long ago was it that he had watched Legolas ride off towards the West? Days? Weeks? Kíli didn't know. He supposed it was early evening now, and he had been digging all day - since dawn. Guilt made his chest ache like his sore limbs, but part of him knew Fíli would have barely noticed his absence. The original plan had been to move Fíli into Thrór's bedchamber, but Kíli had changed his mind on the day of moving, realising Fíli would be mortified at the gesture. Instead, Fíli had been settled in a room just down the corridor from Thrór's. The room hadn't taken much cleaning up, and by some small miracle they had found two wooden bed frames, a little scarred but intact, so that the brothers could share the room in comfort. Two days after the move, Dwalin told Kíli that the room had once belonged to Thorin and Frerin. Kíli decided not to tell Fíli that.

Fíli was now able to sit up in bed, but all he had asked for was his pipe. He spent the days either sitting in bed, smoking and staring at the opposite wall, or sleeping. Or pretending to be asleep. Kíli had shared a room with his brother for seventy-seven years, and it hurt to think Fíli hadn't realised Kíli would be able to tell when he was asleep and when he was feigning it. But Kíli had finally taken the hint. Fíli didn't want to speak to him, or anyone, and so he left his brother alone.

Kíli slammed the head of his spade into the rubble with more force than was necessary as a new set of footsteps echoed around the passage walls behind him.

"Kíli?"

Kíli slowly turned. It was Balin.

"It's almost time for supper," Balin said gently. "Come along and get cleaned up, laddie. You've done enough for today."

The other dwarves had stopped working. The leader of their digging party, standing next to Kíli, was leaning on the grip of his shovel and eyeing the young dwarf with a small smile. "Aye," he agreed. "You've been a great help, lad. Go and get some well-earned rest."

Kíli nodded reluctantly and handed over his spade. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The dwarf didn't try to contradict him, even though his eyes lingered on Kíli's bloodied knuckle. Kíli sensed he had more to say to him, but thought better of it. And so he let Balin lead him away before anyone had chance to ask about his brother.

"Has Óin been in to Fíli today?" Kíli murmured, not turning to Balin as they made their way towards the Entrance Hall camp.

"Aye, he saw him this afternoon," Balin replied carefully. "He says his back is almost healed. It will scar, of course…" Balin trailed off, glancing across at Kíli with sadness in his eyes.

Kíli didn't say another word until they reached the Entrance Hall and the company's fire. Everyone was assembled for supper. Bifur had been left in charge of the smoking cauldron of stew, as Bofur was sitting behind him, paring what appeared to be a tree branch with his carving knife. Kíli drew up next to him, and his heart jolted when he realised what Bofur was doing.

"Kíli, lad!" Bofur looked up and greeted him with his usual cheer. Kíli's eyes didn't move from his knife. "Oh… I, er, know they don't look like much now, but they'll be fully functioning crutches in no time! I made a pair once for Bombur, years and years ago… But seen as Óin tells us Fíli is on the mend, I figured he'd want to be up and about soon."

Kíli stared at Bofur, his eyes beginning to sting; if nothing else, Bofur's endless, unfailing optimism would see them through. He managed a smile, and Bofur returned to work. Balin had set up a basin of warm water beside the fire, and ushered Kíli over to wash his hands and face. He was scrubbing the dirt and grime from his fingers when a soft, deep voice sounded behind him.

"My dear Kíli."

Kíli straightened up. Grabbing a cloth to dry his hands, he turned around to find Gandalf standing in front of him. The wizard's blue eyes were bright with a secretive, yet joyful glitter. He moved forward and put both his hands on Kíli's shoulders.

"This is why I have such faith in the small things," Gandalf said quietly, and his smile was so wide it was unnerving.

Peering around Gandalf's towering, grey form, Kíli could see the rest of the company were staring at them both with eyebrows raised.

"Fíli will not seek help, therefore help must seek Fíli," Gandalf continued, his voice conspiratorial, but full of warmth.

Kíli sighed, his gaze dropping to his feet. "Thranduil told you?"

"Yes, I was dining with him today and enquired after his son," Gandalf answered. "He appeared to have forgotten he had a son, but then he remembered he had sent him off on a rather important errand… Or rather, it was you who did the sending."

"What's he talking about, Kíli?" Dwalin said, in the growl he reserved for when Gandalf refused to talk plainly. Dwalin never had time for a wizard's riddles.

Gandalf moved away and went to make himself comfortable on the bench at Balin's side, leaving Kíli exposed to the enquiring stares of the company. Kíli looked from Gandalf, to Dwalin, to Bilbo – the only member of the company who knew what was coming. Of course, this moment was inevitable, but surely if Kíli admitted he had sought help from elves and a man they barely knew, it would reveal just how serious Fíli's condition actually was, and how desperate they were getting. Yet, Gandalf had successfully backed him into a corner.

"I sent word to Rivendell," Kíli said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I've asked Estel to come to Erebor, to speak to Fíli… about the succession."

A ripple of concern swept through the company. Brows were furrowed and nervous glances were exchanged. Only Dwalin kept his eyes fixed on Kíli. The truth, which most of them had secretly suspected, was finally laid bare: Fíli's mind was not recovering with his body, and he would continue to renounce the throne unless something or someone intervened.

"Who did you send?" Dwalin asked, and everyone's eyes returned to Kíli.

"Legolas, Thranduil's son," Kíli replied. Feeling the need to defend his decision, he added: "He's a fast rider and knows the way to Rivendell."

Dwalin grunted something inaudible.

"Dwalin," Balin warned. He turned to Kíli with the same sad smile the younger dwarf had glimpsed in the periphery of his vision when they were walking back to the Entrance Hall.

"You did right, lad," Dwalin said, with a sigh. "I just don't like the idea of that pointy-eared pixie thinking we owe him anything."

"We don't," Bilbo suddenly piped up, and all eyes turned to him. "I… I gave them the Arkenstone, and in return they've sent Legolas to Rivendell… Our debts are settled."

There was a silence as everyone mulled over this news. Mention of the Arkenstone and Bilbo's betrayal always created unease, but luckily Bofur, as ever, was on hand to diffuse the situation. "Well, one more face around our fire will be more than welcome," he said, beaming. "The more the merrier, I always say!"

With that, the company set about serving supper, and it wasn't until Gandalf stood up to receive his bowl-full that they realised Dáin's squire had been standing silently behind him for Aulë knows how long.

"Osrin!" Balin cried, when he caught sight of the young, dark-haired squire.

Balin had taken the ever-anxious Osrin under his wing, and Kíli couldn't quite remember the last time he had seen a dwarf who had fewer hairs on his chin than he did. He had the look of a baby owl about him, and Kíli wasn't quite sure how he had managed to survive the battle.

"And what can we do for you this evening?" Balin asked kindly, when Osrin stayed silent.

"My lord Dáin asks that Master Kíli take supper with him tonight," Osrin replied, his large brown eyes locking on Kíli.

"Dáin?" Kíli said quietly. He hadn't seen Dáin since the battle, even though this wasn't the first time the Lord of the Iron Hills had sent for him. After the incident with Agrór, Kíli had decided he would be quite content if he never saw his cousin again.

"Dáin is not your enemy, Kíli," Gandalf said carefully, his blue eyes reading Kíli's thought processes in his expression. "Whatever you may think, he does not wish you ill."

"Aye, he's been quiet as a mouse at our council meetings," Balin added. "He may be a terrible judge of character when it comes to appointing councillors… but he is still your kin."

Kíli wasn't in the mood for politics – not that he ever was, but the thought of sitting at a table with Dáin and his councillors made him feel physically sick. Durin help Agrór if he was there; Kíli would show him just how much damage he could do with a fork.

"Dáin isn't dining with his council this evening," Osrin said suddenly, and Kíli wondered where all this telepathy had sprung from. "He wishes to speak with Master Kíli alone."

Knowing he would probably regret it within minutes, Kíli sighed. "All right," he murmured. "I'll come."

"Kíli! Come in, come sit!"

Dáin greeted Kíli with a firm hand on his shoulder and ushered him into his tent, which was by far the largest of the main camp, and set a little apart, away from the draughts of the Front Gate. A table, with a chair at each end, had been set with a spread of colourful food, which seemed far too much for just the two of them.

"Ale?" Dáin asked, as Kíli took a seat.

Kíli nodded, and Dáin filled a silver tankard next to his plate. He then returned to his chair, opposite Kíli, and filled his own, newly-polished tankard. It seemed a completely different world to the company's fire and the mismatched bowls and cutlery.

"I hear you're doing a splendid job helping out with our clearing effort," Dáin said, smiling as he filled his plate from the pile of food in front of him.

Kíli tentatively picked at the cuts of salted pork closest to his plate. "I've been working with the diggers trying to clear the way to the storerooms," he answered quietly.

There was an uncomfortable silence, and Kíli made no effort to fill it. He had heard about awkward family dinners from many people, but had never actually suffered one before. Back in the Blue Mountains, he and Fíli had been forever causing mischief at the dinner table, brandishing their cutlery, and fighting over food. Their mother and Thorin had constantly scolded them, but then sometimes Thorin had joined in with their antics and Dís had to reprimand all three of them. There had never been a dull moment at their mealtimes… But now Kíli's appetite completely evaporated when he realised that he would never again share a meal with his uncle. He would never engage in a sly game of food-stealing, placing bets with Fíli on how long it would take Thorin to notice his chop had disappeared from his plate. And never again would they all enter into a competition of catapulting their unwanted vegetables across the room with their forks when Dís' back was turned. Looking back, Kíli realised how childish it all was… But still his whole body seemed to ache at the loss.

"I wanted to apologise," Dáin began suddenly, breaking the silence.

Kíli's head snapped up from his plate as he was dragged painfully back to the present.

"I heard about the incident with Agrór," Dáin continued, setting down his knife and fork. "And I just wanted you to know that he's been given a warning."

Kíli tried to avoid Dáin's eye, but it was difficult when his cousin seemed intent on searching out his gaze. He didn't want to talk about Agrór, or what he had said… The memory of it still stung, and made Kíli unconsciously fold his fingers into fists… He's going to go the same way as Thráin. You should just put him out of his misery!

"You have to understand that Agrór isn't as old or wise as he thinks he is," Dáin said slowly. "The lad hasn't a scrap of common sense… But he's very good with my finances and I, er, owe his father a few favours."

Kíli didn't say anything. He knew Dáin meant well, but if his ulterior motive for the dinner was to apologise for his scheming councillors, he had misjudged what Kíli really had on his mind.

"And how is Fíli?"

Kíli's heart jumped into his throat. Dáin hadn't misjudged at all.

"Oh…" Kíli fumbled with the words in his mind, and in his panic he replied: "I… I haven't actually spoken to him today."

Dáin studied him with a curious expression, and Kíli's eyes widened when he realised his mistake. Kíli didn't want Dáin to know that grief was slowly but surely driving a wedge between him and Fíli… and that fact was slowly but surely destroying him.

"Kíli… I'm afraid I must be blunt with you," Dáin said, with a sigh. "I have to ask you: if your brother doesn't change his mind, do you want the crown?"

"No!" The single syllable flew from Kíli's mouth as if it were a reflex reaction. "No…" he repeated, his voice softer. "I couldn't do that to Fíli."

Dáin nodded. "But would you object to my becoming King, should Fíli permanently refuse?"

Kíli stared at Dáin for a long time as his whole horrifying future stretched out before him, and his mind raced through what would happen if Fíli never got better.

"No," he said finally, but he wasn't going to elaborate on it.

"It was just an issue I needed to resolve with you, for my own mind," Dáin murmured. "But, of course, if I am crowned, you and Fíli shall still be princes of the realm and will have all that your titles deserve… And I would be honoured to have you sit on my council."

"I don't care about my title or the privileges that go with it," Kíli said darkly, and he rose from the table.

Dáin rose too, and it was clear that their meeting was over. Gandalf was right that Dáin didn't mean Kíli or Fíli any ill, but still he didn't understand what really mattered to Thorin's youngest nephew. Kíli would have given away all the gold in Erebor to see Fíli happy again, but he knew now that the vultures were circling, and time was running out.

"So, Arwen volunteered herself to accompany you," Legolas said slyly, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

Estel's gaze flitted to his left, where Arwen lay asleep, wrapped in her travelling cloak. She hadn't slept the last time they made camp, and Estel had never seen her so worried. His eyes moved back across the fire to Legolas.

Although Elladan and Elrohir were out of earshot, bedding down the horses for the night, Estel answered carefully: "She has not come for me, she has come for Fíli."

Legolas's smirk didn't waver. "Did she ever find out who sent the letter?"

"I cannot believe you remember that," Estel replied, his lips involuntarily twitching into a smile at the memory.

"Ten years is not a very long time for an elf," Legolas countered, beginning to enjoy himself. "And you have not answered my question."

"She never said anything… but it was fairly obvious who the sender was," Estel said, avoiding Legolas's gaze, turning over the blackened leaves of the fire with a tree branch.

Legolas's eyes, bright with reflections of the fire, moved from Estel to Arwen, registering just how close Elrond's daughter was lying to Isildur's heir. "I do believe you owe me money," he said furtively.

"That wager is not yet won," came Estel's reply, as he continued to stare into the fire. "She has said nothing of the sort to me. And it was a childish bet... best forgotten about."

Legolas leaned back, and Estel's gaze finally met his. "You have grown up, mellon-nin," Legolas whispered, and there was a strange sadness in his eyes.

Silence fell over the pair, and Estel decided a change of subject was in order. "How bad was the battle?" he asked, turning from the past to the present, and what awaited them once they reached the Lonely Mountain.

"The dwarves and Bard's men suffered heavy casualties," Legolas answered. "We lost a fair few of our own too. The orcs were all slaughtered and we chased the goblins back to the mountains… there were not many who could outrun us."

Estel had suspected that they had the elves of Mirkwood to thank for their relatively easy crossing of the Misty Mountains. "You said Thorin was slain by Azog the Defiler… Did he survive long enough to be returned from the battlefield? …And how did Fíli come to defeat Azog?" These were uncomfortable questions to ask, but Estel knew he needed to be aware of the specifics if he was to understand Fíli's plight.

"We only know what the hobbit told us," Legolas said slowly. "And even parts of that were hearsay. The only person who truly knows what happened is Fíli."

Estel nodded, but his silence urged Legolas to continue, hearsay or not.

"Thorin went missing during the close of the battle, and Fíli went to look for him," Legolas said, his brow furrowed as he ran over all he heard from Bilbo. "Even the halfling doesn't know how the confrontation unfolded, but the dwarves found Thorin already slain and Fíli unconscious in a far corner of the battlefield. It seems Thorin had strength enough to speak to his nephew before he died, but Fíli has not been forthcoming about what was said."

Estel made a steeple with his fingers, and rested his chin on his fingertips with a sigh. "And Azog?"

"The Pale Orc lay dead when the dwarves arrived… Fíli's sword was bloodied and he was clutching Thorin's oak shield."

Estel's eyes darted up from the fire. This was a development he hadn't expected. "Thorin's shield?"

"Yes… Fíli's supporters in Dáin's camp have taken to calling him 'Fíli Oakenshield'."

"People are quick to compare kings," Estel whispered. "There is much of Thorin in Fíli, but if he is to be a king, he must remain his own person."

"The dwarves have put an extraordinary amount of faith in you," Legolas said, after a pause. "And this trust between the elves of Rivendell and Durin's folk is virtually unheard of."

"Yes," Estel conceded. "We spent quite an eventful week together this summer. Arwen became close to the family when nursing Thorin and Kíli, and I talked Fíli round after a rather furious argument with his uncle." Estel looked down into his lap and added, almost guiltily: "And then Arwen and I helped Thorin's company escape Rivendell when the White Council was called to stop them."

Legolas couldn't help but smile, secretly impressed by his friend's show of rebellion. "The dwarves also escaped my father, though I had nothing to do with that."

Estel and Legolas returned their eyes to the fire, silently listening to the black crackle of the flames, watching the curled sparks kicked up by Estel's branch vanish into the darkness.

"Do you think you can help Fíli?" Legolas asked finally, without looking up.

"I do not know," Estel replied softly, closing his eyes. "But I hope so. I really do."

"No… No! …THORIN!"

Kíli lurched bolt upright in bed, woken by his brother's screams. His heartbeat pounding in his ears, Kíli threw off his blankets, and rushed to Fíli's side, scrambling onto his bed. Fíli was lying on his side, facing the wall, and his uninjured leg was kicking at his mattress as he manically twisted his bed sheets in his fists.

"Fíli! Fíli, wake up!" Kíli cried, wrapping his arms around his brother, and trying to loosen his grip on the sheets.

The nightmares had started the night Dáin had asked Kíli to supper, and every night since he had been woken by Fíli's cries for Thorin. Last night Fíli had clutched the sheets so tight he had drawn blood, and Kíli was determined for that not to happen again. He closed his own hands around Fíli's, rocking him ever so slightly as he quietened.

"Shhh… I'm here," Kíli soothed. "You're not alone."

After the first night, Kíli had learned not to tell Fíli it was all right, or that they were just dreams. Because it wasn't all right, and from Fíli's cries, Kíli could tell he was returning to the battlefield… and that hadn't been a dream. All he could do was let his brother know he was there, and Kíli was beyond relieved that every night Fíli let him comfort him, and didn't push him away. But when morning came, Fíli never said a word about what had passed during the night, and returned to smoking his pipe and feigning sleep.

Kíli felt Fíli's fear slowly ebbing away, and he grew limp in his arms, but he wasn't asleep, he was just exhausted. It only made Kíli hold him tighter, as he blinked back the tears. "Don't give up now, Fíli," he whispered. "You can't give up… You have to hang in there…"

And as a dwarf clung to his brother in the dark, begging him to keep fighting, five riders were galloping past the smoking ruins of Lake-town.

Coming up after the break: Estel and his Elven entourage arrive in Erebor, and Fíli finally makes some tentative, but promising progress. That's a tiny sneak peak for Chapter Eight, folks, but in the meantime, please do let me know your thoughts on this chapter!