So today's chapter comes a little earlier than usual because: yay, it's Saturday!
And because I'm a big old meanie, we'll venture out to a new chain of events that you will hopefully enjoy. Wonder if the dwarves will ever make it to Erebor at this rate.
Oh, I've been asked whether the story had finished with the last chapter: no. No it hasn't. And it won't for quite a while because there's still too many ideas in my head and I want to write them all down.
Thanks again for all the reviews and kind words! It's the best motivation there is! :)
Thorin never apologised for the slap in the face, nor for the harsh words he had said to his nephew. He believed it to be a valuable lesson and left Fíli to live with it and though the youngster struggled for a while, trying to find his high spirits again, he came by about three days later.
Dáin and his warriors had left the Grey Mountains the day after the battle for their aid was not needed anymore. Their goodbyes were warm and friendly and Fíli and Bilbo were worried, for Kíli looked like he was about to cry while they watched the great dwarves of the Iron Hills disappear across the bridge. The day after, Thorin's company packed up and even Dwalin, who had been forced to rest and not move a muscle, seemed better and walked without any help, keeping the pain at bay with a good sip of grog every now and then.
They left the Grey Mountains by sunrise and travelled towards the east, the Mountains to their left and to their right lay the dark borders of Mirkwood.
Though Gandalf had tried to convince Thorin of asking for provisions from the elf king, Thorin refused to hear any of it. For it was the great King Thranduil that had triggered Thorin's hate for elves nearly 200 years ago and ever since, the dwarven king had never entered his realm and didn't plan on it.
Fíli and Kíli, who had grown up with stories about Thranduil, watched the border of the forest with renunciation and for once, none of them was keen on venturing in. Bilbo, accepted amidst them again, travelled by their side and on the first day, everything seemed fine. They laughed and joked as if the grim battle in Mount Gundabad had never happened. The brother's were lively and cheerful and only Thorin noticed that they had become even more inseparable, sleeping closer to each other at night and protecting each other from nightmares.
By the end of the first day, they even snuck up on poor old Dwalin, who was walking a few feet ahead of them.
"So, Mister Dwalin!", Kíli began, gently nudging Dwalin in the ribs. The old warrior simply glanced at him, knowing that nothing good could come from this.
"What do you want?", he mumbled.
"We were wondering", Fíli grinned. "You told us a tale when we were young, remember? That tale about that great warrior that had never been defeated in battle, nor suffered from any wound bad enough to bring him down?"
"What of it?"
"That warrior wasn't you by any chance, was it?", Kíli asked innocently.
"Of course not!", Fíli exclaimed. "Don't you remember, stupid? The warrior in the tale was never wounded, yet old Mister Dwalin here is limping badly and he looks very worn out!"
"Oh, of course! Yes, stupid of me to assume", Kíli nodded.
Dwalin halted, leaned onto his battle hammer and smiled.
"Want to hear another story then? A better one, I promise", he asked.
The boys looked at each other for a second before they slowly and carefully stepped a little closer, for whenever Dwalin smiled, one could never been too sure. Even Thorin, who had been walking in front of them, listened up, watching his nephews.
"It's quite a famous story, ye two will like it", Dwalin began. The youngsters curiously looked at him. "It's the story of two little shits who pestered an honourable but unfortunately injured man until he beat the crap out of both of them with the haft of his hammer. They say the boys were not able to walk or sit weeks later for their asses were blue and purple and shining like the Little Lune on a sunny day."
Smiling, the boys wished Dwalin a nice day and a good journey and hurried back to Bilbo, who couldn't help but laugh at the faces of the youngsters. When Dwalin had caught up with Thorin, the king gently patted him on the back.
"Thanks for that."
"Anytime."
On the second day, Fíli had grown unusually quiet. He still laughed and joked but left most of the talking to his brother. He couldn't handle the heat of the day very well and often wandered in the shadows of the forest, Kíli never leaving his side once.
On the third day, Fíli didn't say anything anymore, nor did he listen to the happy chattering of the remaining dwarves. Bofur and Bilbo tried to convince Kíli that the loss of the battle still stuck in Fíli's bones and made him weary but the youngster wasn't convinced for he knew when something was wrong with his brother. Fíli shrugged it off though, smiling and assuring Kíli that he was alright.
On the morning of the fourth day, Kíli's shouts woke up the whole camp. Fíli had slept uneasy during the night, tossing and turning and mumbling in his sleep and when Kíli awoke at sunrise, he found his brother next to him, pale as snow with dark shadows under his eyes, the blond braids plastered to his heated and sweaty skin.
"He's sick Thorin! You have to do something!", Kíli nearly panicked for his brother did not react to words or touches anymore and seemed like he suffered from horrible pain and vile nightmares.
"Óin, see to him. The rest make a fire and gather the remaining herbs we have left."
Once they had removed Fíli's coat, jerkin and vest and opened his shirt, Óin gasped in shock and Kíli felt his stomach turn. The wound on Fíli's side, caused by Bolg's mace down in the mountain, was badly infected, blood and pus leaking out and it reeked of decay and rotten meat.
"I thought you tended to that wound!", Thorin bellowed, looking at poor Óin accusingly.
"I didn't even know he was wounded! He never came to me, just smiled and said he was fine!", the apothecary defended himself and Thorin growled in frustration.
"Stupid boy!", he snarled. "I told him to get the wound fixed! What is wrong with that dwarf?"
"He merely tried to look strong", Gandalf muttered, watching Fíli with a worried look on his face. "This wound needs medical attention immediately and you know we are short on medication."
"We have some herbs left."
"And King Thranduil will have just the right herbs for this kind of infection. You know very well that the elves are better in healing than the dwarves."
"And you know very well that I will not enter those woods!", Thorin thundered.
Any attempt to convince the king of Thorin's Halls otherwise was to no avail. Though Óin explained that he did not have enough medication left to treat Fíli, though Kíli screamed and shouted at his uncle, though Thorin, deep inside, knew very well that his nephew might die of this infection, he remained stubborn. And he hated himself for it.
When nightfall came and Fíli still lay by the fire, shaken with ague and burning from fever, Thorin still hadn't changed his mind. He sat a few feet away from them and ignored Balin and Óin who still tried to convince him to enter the woods and seek help from the elven king. Kíli had lost his voice over all the screaming and cursing and had settled down next to his brother. He stroked his hair and wiped the sweat of his forehead and fought with his own agony, for he couldn't face losing his brother. Not again. Not ever.
Bilbo awoke in the middle of the night from a quiet rustling sound and as he glanced over to were Fíli was bedded, he saw a shadow in the dark, searching through his belongings. When he crept closer, he recognised Kíli who was quietly gathering his weapons, putting on his jerkin, coat and cloak.
"What are you doing?", the hobbit whispered.
Kíli spun around, obviously startled by the Halfling.
"Bilbo! Nothing, I- go back to sleep", he quickly replied.
"Why are you packing up?"
Kíli's face was determined and grim as he shoved his remaining belongings in his bag.
"I will go and seek out Thranduil", he declared.
"Alone?", the hobbit piped up, staring at the young dwarf in shock.
"Alone indeed. I don't care what Thorin says, I will not watch my brother die from a fever. Not when there's help nearby."
"But you don't even know where to find him!"
"In those woods. Somewhere. I will surely find him and then I will ask him for help", Kíli glanced at the dark trees and tried to hide all insecurity and fear, for the Mirkwood was diseased and foul and nobody in their right mind would enter it alone.
Bilbo glanced at Fíli, who was asleep but his breathing was shallow and slow and his face tense from pain and fever. In the end, the hobbit wasn't sure what had possessed him, but he quickly began to gather his own belongings, packing his pipe and the handkerchief that Bofur had given him.
"What- no! No Master Baggins, I will not take you with me!", Kíli protested but Bilbo didn't listen.
"I know he's your brother and he means more to you than he does to me but he is my friend and I would feel terribly guilty if I hadn't done my utter best to save him!"
Kíli watched him shoulder his bag and small smile crept on his lips.
"Very well then, since you have made up your mind already-"
"I have indeed!"
He was actually very much afraid, for he didn't know where they were going and what to expect. The tales he had heard of the great elf king had been anything but positive and Bilbo was not entirely convinced that seeking him out sounded like a good idea but he would not let the youngster wander into those woods alone.
Kíli gently brushed a strand of hair from his brother's sweaty face and placed a tender, small kiss on his forehead.
"Don't give up, you hear me? I'll be back soon and then you're going to be alright", he whispered. "Just don't you dare die on me while I'm gone."
They snuck out in the dark of the night and wandered along the border of the forest for a while but none of them dared to enter just yet. The thick undergrowth did not look inviting and strange noises came from beyond the trees, that none of them had ever heard before.
"So… which way is it then?", Bilbo asked.
"I don't know", Kíli admitted.
"You follow the border of the forest a little down south", a voice sounded and both turned around startled, to find Gandalf standing behind them, leaning on his staff. "By sunrise you will have reached a passage made from ivy that will lead you on a path. Follow that path and do not leave it once. If you lose your way in those woods, you are lost for good."
The hobbit and the young dwarf stared at the wizard in disbelief but Gandalf continued as if there was nothing strange about this.
"The path will eventually lead you to a dark river, but do not dare drink from it. Cross the bridge and you will see the gates to Thranduil's palace. One thing you may never forget, Kíli. Thranduil is a king and a powerful one at that. He knows more than you, he has seen more than you and dwarven stubbornness will lead to nowhere. Be humble, be patient, be kind. You will need to prove to him that the dwarves are still worthy of saving."
"You make it sound like an impossible task", Kíli muttered and his heart sank down into his belly.
"Well, your uncle did a good job in offending Thranduil more than once and you will not be able to count on Thorin. Your brother's life is in your hands and your hands alone", Gandalf reminded him, knowing very well that his words were not exactly helping the youngster.
"Won't you come with us?", Bilbo asked.
"No, for one will have to convince Thorin to stay where we are until you have called for aid", Gandalf reminded them. "Though I doubt that he will get very far, considering the state that your brother is in. You better hurry, Kíli, son of Dís. And may Mahal be with you on this quest."
Kíli nodded, slowly understanding the importance of this trip. For he had refused to truly believe that Fíli might die and it slowly dawned upon him.
When he set off, Bilbo by his side after they said their goodbyes to Gandalf, he had grown very quiet. The dark forest lingered to their right and the hobbit felt uncomfortable and very much wished to shoo the fear away by chatting but he did not dare to disturb the dwarf, for he could only imagine what was going on in Kíli's head.
"He will make it", Bilbo tried after a while. "He's a fighter. And he would never leave you."
"He promised he wouldn't", Kíli replied quietly. "We promised each other, actually."
"Is that what you did that evening in Rhosgobel?"
"Yes", Kíli smiled a little.
"Well. I suppose it is something that brothers do", Bilbo pondered.
"Do you have a brother, Master Baggins?"
"No. No I don't. I don't have any siblings."
"It's a nice thing, you know", Kíli said, looking up at the stars above them. "To have a brother. They protect you and keep you warm and teach you everything they know. They take the blame when your mother scolds you, they stand up for you and they know how to beat you up well enough until you learned your lesson. And when you're close to losing them, you're close to losing the most important part of your life and it feels like choking slowly."
Bilbo smiled gently.
"You won't lose him. I'm sure of that."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I don't know, I just- am. I suppose", the hobbit shrugged and they kept on walking through the darkness, talking quietly and none of them knew what was ahead. For the Mirkwood was deep and dangerous and an unknown magic lay upon it, that had slowly begun to swallow the great kingdom of Thranduil and bury it in darkness.