Kili lay pale and curled near the fire. His hands gripped the blankets close as he muttered quietly in his restless sleep. Gently, Fili brushed the boy's raven hair from his face and out of his mouth. Kili was never a very neat sleeper, and was always restless.

Watching his younger brother was just an excuse to focus on something other than the fog. It was thicker now, like a grey veil hanging over the entranceway of the cave. It left an restless fear in his heart. Sometimes, it looked like and hand, groping its way along the edges of the cave. While other times, he thought he saw figures moving around just out of his field of vision. But that had to be nothing more than a boy's sleep fueled imagination. Still, Fili kept his hand on his sword and stared worriedly at the mists.

From his lessons, Fili recalled, that fog was just a cloud on the ground. There was nothing supernatural about it, though in stories it was often the prelude to evil things.

The dwarf drew in a breath. It didn't seem to like the fire, so he tossed another stick on it and watched the yellow flames leap up and crackle warmly. Fire was pure, and Fili had learned to master its flames to forge swords and other wears valued by their people. There was nothing fire couldn't purify in the forge. Yet, he wasn't at the forge, and a part of Fili doubted even the fire would keep the oppressive white mists out of their cave if it dwindled.

It wouldn't hurt to add another stick to the fire and when the sticks ran out, he'd add some weeds off the wall. He hadn't said anything to Kili but he wasn't sure if they had enough fuel until morning.

For a moment, the tween Dwarf felt a surge of shame. Why was he bothered by a little mist? They saw fog all the time in the mountains, the moors and hills where they traveled. It wasn't unusual for the lowlands of the shire at all. Yet something about this haze made him shiver like a terrified child.

Fili laid his sword on his lap determined to chase his fears away. He was to be king of his people someday, and he wasn't about to disappoint his uncle.

Soft murmurs drew his attention to Kili once more. The younger dwarf dropped an arm against Fili's thigh as he rolled over so his head pressed up against Fili's side.

A smile spread Fili's lips, Kili slept anyplace at any time. He admired Kili' ability to be carefree and there were times he wished he could be as unburdened by the responsibilities of the throne too.

A flicker of moment outside caught his gaze. Fili quickly snapped to attention, and stared deep into the fog. Was it a trick of the light? He couldn't see much beyond the flickering of the campfire. With a grip on his sword, Fili leaned further and squinted at the mists.

The fog appeared thicker in areas, with thinner patches of gray and thicker patches of white. It was in the patches of gray that Fili saw something dark and ominous glide by.

The boy stiffened, back against the wall of the cave. "Kili?" His hand dropped on to the younger Dwarf's shoulder and gave it a shake, while the other gripped the hilt of the sword. "Kili, wake up."

When Kili failed to rouse, Fili started to worry. Even if he could sleep at a drop of a hat, Kili slept lightly, and easily woken. Instead he lay motionless and did not stir.

Looking briefly at his face, Fili frowned. The teenaged dwarf was strangely still with a mask of fear creasing his lips and brow.

Beyond the cave something stirred, and what looked like a thin skeletal hand with tight dried flesh groped into the little craves. Fili held in a gasp and his heart thumped into his throat. Instinctively he found his legs attempting to push him further away from the limb.

It reached out its long rot blackened fingernails clawing air until they almost touched the fire, and then faded back into the mists.

Fili swallowed the lump in his throat, and slowly reached for a stick of firewood. "Kili! Wake up!" He was surprised by how shrill his voice sounded.

Dread ebbed its way deeper into Fili's heart as he realized the very little cave they sat in was unnaturally formed. Its floor was too flat, and when he brushed away at the weeds and moss he could see the chalk white stone and bricks of a barrow mound entrance.

They couldn't see the road from where they were. There were on the furthest edge of the barrows.

Fili had led his younger brother into danger, because of the rain.

Another streak of movement and this time a taught pale face with cold sunken silver blue eyes appeared leaning into the cave. Its shallow features were tight with ghostly pale skin and adorned with wild white hair and a crown of gold and gems.

The rest of its body lurched in. It wore fine silken garments ragged and faded with time, and the plated armor dusty tarnished and worn from a tomb. The once noble king of forgotten days chilled the very soul of the frightened young dwarf. Seizing a thick stick from the fire, Fili jabbed it at the ghostly monster.

The thing shrank away from the fire and out of the cave, and Fili followed. The Barrow Wight was solid. A sword would work on it, he thought as he plunged after it.

But the monster was quick, and it's own sword parried his bow and drove him back a few steps.

Mists swirled about his legs and the wet splash of rain stung his face. Fili regained his footing and jabbed the fire out into the fiend's face. It snarled and swung its sword into the stick close to his hand.

Fili gasped as his hand slid up against the edge of the sword and the stick cleaved in two dropped onto the ground into a puddle. An icy cold numbness swept up his arm paralyzing it.

Only the light from the cave from behind him reflected against the mists around him, making them translucent and smoke like. For a moment, Fili lost sight of the wright.

Hefting his sword, the dwarf made a circle, peering into the fog. His horror grew with a sense of helplessness. How could he take on an undead monster? His one arm was useless and he had no real combat experience.

And why hadn't Kili awoken? Was it some sort of spell?

Fili trembled. It was hard to keep focused on the fog. It moved eerily fading from thick to swirling smoke against ebony night. To make matters worse, the little fire in the cave only allowed him to see less than three feet from his nose.

Something soundlessly moved at the very edge of his vision, Fili spun around ready to swing and froze.

Cold silver eyes burned in the luminous haze. The boy's fear grew, and he felt his fingers loosen on the sword.

It was singing, a low ghostly mournful voice that seemed to ebb the will from Fili's heart. The fog, the rain, even Kili seemed to vanish in the dreary hopelessness of the song.

Cold be hand and heart and bone,

and cold be sleep under stone:

never mare to wake on stony bed,

never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead.

In the black wind the stars shall die,

and still on gold here let them lie,

till the dark lord lifts his hand

over dead sea and withered land. *

It came closer, its unholy gaze swallowing his. The sword fell from Fili's hand. Terror gave way to grim loss, he couldn't fight, he couldn't save Kili, he just wanted to sleep, and let his mind drift along the words chanted by the being before him.

The Barrow Wright closed in it's frozen hand encircling about his. Suddenly his entire body went cold and numb like his arm, and Fili pitched forward. Blackness engulfed him before he hit the earth.

*Barrow Wright poem from Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R. Tolkien