"He's gettin' worse every day, Thorin," said Dwalin.

"I've noticed," Thorin said, resting his head in his hands. It was why they were having this meeting in his study. How could he not notice the rapid deterioration of his elder nephew's condition? He had been bad enough right after the battle, and things were only going from bad to worse. Dwalin rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Someone needs to talk to him," Balin added. "Perhaps we can make him come around…"

"We've already tried that," Kíli countered. "Any attempt to make him talk just makes him withdraw even more."

Thorin pulled his head out of his hands and looked up at Kíli across his desk, furrowing his brow. "I thought I told you to leave him alone," he said. "We agreed, Kíli."

Kíli ducked his head. "W-well, I did," he said. "I meant before that. Although there was one thing—when we were writing the letter to Ered Luin—he didn't seem to have a problem with writing things down…"

Thorin straightened in his chair, wincing as his cracked ribs creaked and cut off his breath. "Do you think he would tell us what is wrong if he could write it down?"

Kíli shook his head forlornly. "That's what I said, and he shut down immediately," he said. "Wouldn't write anything after that, save to sign his name."

Thorin slumped back down in his seat, resting a hand on his burning ribs. Was there to be no end to this torture? Fíli's terrified face as Azog held him aloft, taunting Thorin with his own nephew, flashed in his mind's eye. He closed his eyes as a wave of guilt crashed over him. He had sent Fíli into that tower. He had told his nephews to scout. He was responsible for sending Fíli into that trap, and now he was paying dearly for it. Azog was dead now, but he still seemed to be holding one last victory over Thorin's head.

"There's something he's afraid to tell us," said Kíli quietly. "I don't know what happened, but for some reason, he is determined to keep it to himself."

"And it's killing him," said Balin. Thorin opened his eyes and looked up at his old friend.

"And what do you suggest I do?" he said. He knew what Fíli's silence was doing to him; everyone did. It only took a glance to see the dark circles under the prince's eyes, his stooped shoulders, the ever-present thousand-yard stare. Often he disappeared for hours at a time, wandering the halls of Erebor alone, even though he had been told many times by Óin to keep still and rest; not only did he have a broken leg, but he had suffered a severe concussion, as well. Thrice in the past two weeks, Kíli had had to escort his brother back to his room after the elder had nearly collapsed, exhausted from the over-exertion of hobbling around on his crutches. Thorin had half a mind to take the damned things away to force his nephew to stay still, but Fíli was determined to be useful in whatever way he could be without using his voice, and the more time he spent occupied, the less time he would have to think. Besides, he usually returned on his own.

Balin shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't have an answer to that," he said. "We just have to keep a close eye on him."

"That's what we've been doing," Kíli said. "How does that solve anything?"

"Sometimes only time can solve these things, laddie," said Dwalin. "Something we all should remember."

Thorin nodded thoughtfully. He had been through plenty of battles and seen plenty of Dwarves go through post-battle stress, just like Fíli. The only difference was that this time, it was his own nephew that was affected. It was his own actions that had led to this.

"There is… one more thing," said Balin. "Dáin's men… they've been talking."

Thorin stared at Balin, his mouth pulling into a deep frown. "What do you mean?"

"Fíli's silence has not gone unnoticed," Balin said, grimacing. "Especially his tendency to stalk about the Mountain with nary a word. He's been startling people."

"Go on," Thorin said. He was well aware of this. He'd been startled several times himself when Fíli had suddenly appeared beside him.

"They've been calling him the Ghost of Erebor," Balin said hesitantly.

"What?" Kíli shouted. "The—the insolence! How could they speak that way about him?"

"Calm down, laddie," said Dwalin. "The whole mountain is going to hear you."

"As they should!" Kíli said, losing none of his volume. "He is my brother, and he is the prince of this damned mountain! They have no right to say such things!"

"Mind your throat, Kíli," Thorin said.

"My throat is fine," Kíli snapped. "It's been two weeks."

Thorin sat quietly with his head bowed. He was just as offended as Kíli, but his nephew had already voiced his own thoughts. There was no need to reiterate them.

"Uncle, you have to do something about this!" Kíli said, his voice taking on a hint of desperation. "You can't let them talk about Fíli like that!"

"If any of you hear such a phrase again," Thorin said, "let the offending Dwarf know that such disrespectful language is unacceptable."

"Thank you," said Kíli, finally relaxing.

Thorin nodded. He surveyed the Dwarves surrounding him seriously, his gaze settling back on Kíli.

"Where is your brother now?" he said.

Kíli's shoulders dropped. "I don't know," he said. "I never know anymore."

"See if you can find him," said Thorin. "Send him to me, will you?"

Kíli sighed. Thorin knew he was tired of going on searches for his brother, but Kíli was in much better shape than he at the moment; though he was capable of moving, he still tried not to as much as possible. He had been told that he was lucky none of his broken ribs had punctured his lungs, and he did not wish to try his luck. He didn't seem to have much of it.

"Thank you, Kíli," he said.

Kíli rolled his eyes and bowed before seeing himself out. Thorin rested an elbow on his desk and dropped his forehead into his hand; Dwalin and Balin stared at him, waiting for commands of their own. He waved his other hand at them loosely.

"You are dismissed," he said.

Balin nodded and made his way out, and Dwalin stopped to squeeze his friend's shoulder before walking off without a word. Thorin rested his other elbow on the desk and closed his eyes, his head resting in both hands now. That meeting had solved nothing.

He was so tired… he had gotten plenty of rest, but it had not seemed to do him any good, what with all the work he still had to do. Luckily, his company and Dáin's men were willing to carry out tasks for him while he recovered, but the responsibility for it all weighed heavily on his shoulders. At least Thranduil and Bard appeased—seemingly. It was good enough for the time being. He had enough to worry about with his own people without worrying about another king—two kings, he reminded himself—practically on his doorstep with a grudge to bear. And he had thought getting rid of the dragon would be the hardest part of all this… how naïve he had been.

At least his mind was clear now. Before the battle was a strange blur, filled with images of gold and memories of rage—wishing he could throw Bilbo right over the walls of Erebor, and being too consumed with counting gold to worry about the fate of his nephews. He cringed. How could he have been so foolish—so sick—so wrong?

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and he realized with a start that he must have dozed off at his desk. He could feel the burn of someone's gaze on him, and he looked up. Fíli stood before him, leaning on his crutches. Thorin jumped. How Fíli managed to be so quiet even with those things, he did not know.

"Fíli," he said. "Hello, lad."

Fíli stared at him. Thorin cleared his throat.

"I have a task for you," he said. "Ori is going through the old maps of the city from the library and documenting which halls have been destroyed by the dragon. Dáin's men will report to Ori, but I have heard that you have done a decent amount of exploring already. I would like you to help him mark down what Dáin's men discover, as well as adding your own knowledge."

Fíli opened his mouth as if to protest, but he snapped his jaw shut and nodded.

"And Fíli," Thorin said, "this doesn't mean that you should continue wandering off. You need to rest, my boy. Please take care of yourself."

A flurry of indecipherable thoughts passed through Fíli's shining blue eyes in a moment, and then he bowed his head; his golden hair fell forward, partially obscuring his face. Thorin pulled himself out of his chair, clenching his teeth as his torso protested, and walked around the desk, stopping in front of Fíli. He gently rested his hands over his nephew's hair and bent his head down, touching their temples together. Fíli's shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. He pressed his head against his uncle's and took a hitched breath. Thorin thought hard, searching for the right words of comfort.

"Whatever happened, it is over now," he said. "You are going to be all right." He strove for something else to say, but nothing came to him, so he stood in silence, waiting for Fíli to respond in some way. Fíli nodded his head and took a heavy breath. Thorin pulled back, pulling Fíli's head up until their eyes met. A storm of emotions raged in Fíli's shadowed gaze—torment. That was what Thorin saw. It rent his heart, and he wished more than anything that Fíli would simply tell him what was wrong. But he had to give him time.

"Go and find Ori," he said, relinquishing his hold on Fíli. "Take it slowly, please."

Fíli nodded once again and turned to go, his crutches moving silently across the marble floor. Thorin watched him go, feeling an ache in his heart. Fíli was a strong lad. He would recover—of course he would. He had to.

"You would think they would be happy with what they have already received," Thorin grumbled, staring at the papers on his desk. Trade agreements. It had been a long time since he had had to draft such things.

"Aye, but we need food for the Mountain," said Balin. "We can't grow it underground."

"I know," Thorin said with a sigh. He shouldn't be begrudging the spending of gold, anyway. Not after everything that had happened. "I'm just tired of looking at this. I feel like I'm being tutored by your father again."

Balin chuckled. "You were nearly as impatient as Kíli with your lessons," he said. "I remember that much."

Thorin looked up at his old friend with a fiendish grin. "And I learned a few good tricks to distract him, too."

Balin's eyes grew wide, and he made an affronted noise. "Are you saying you taught Kíli to do the same?" he said indignantly.

Thorin's grin grew wider as Balin's frown grew deeper until he could not help but laugh. He most certainly had taught his nephew a few tricks, if only to get back at Balin for being the better student and making him look bad for years when they were young. Balin's mouth opened and closed as he stared at his friend in shock, and Thorin could only laugh harder.

Suddenly, a voice came loudly from the hall.

"Thorin! Thorin!"

Thorin looked up as Ori burst unceremoniously into his study. Balin straightened next to him.

"Ori, what on earth is the matter?" Balin said.

"It's Fíli," Ori said, breathing hard. "H-he just fainted—I got Óin already, but I thought I should get you too—"

"Where is he now?" Thorin demanded. He was already on his feet, ribs be damned. This was the fourth time in two weeks… he had thought that keeping Fíli occupied with Ori for several days would keep him still, but it appeared that his plan had not worked.

"I'm not sure," said Ori breathlessly. "I—I didn't want to give Dáin's men more reason to talk, and Bifur and Bofur were already in the library… I don't know if he's come to… if they would bring him somewhere else…"

Thorin walked as quickly as he could to the exit of his study and rested a hand on Ori's shoulder.

"Good thinking, Ori," he said distractedly, thinking. "Go back down to the library and tell them to escort Fíli to his chambers. Have them bring him through low-traffic areas—we don't need gawkers. Have you seen Kíli?"

Ori shook his head. "Last I saw him was this morning at breakfast… I think he mentioned spending the day outdoors."

Thorin grimaced. Of course Kíli would choose today of all days to get some fresh air. "Well, get to the library, anyway," he said. "If they're not already on their way up to Fíli's chambers, send them that way. I will meet you there."

Ori nodded and dashed off again, and Thorin looked to Balin. The old dwarf's lips were pursed, and he was shaking his head.

"He should only be resting," Balin said. "He's exerting himself too much."

"But if he has nothing to do, he's going to drive himself mad," Thorin replied, starting towards Fíli's chambers. Balin followed. "You know how he is. He dwells on every detail of things that go wrong. He worries too much."

"Aye," said Balin thoughtfully. "It's a difficult balance. Maybe he needs more than what we are currently giving him."

"He clearly needs more than what we are currently giving him," said Thorin, opening the door to Fíli's chambers and stepping inside. "I feel as if we are failing him. He is still getting worse."

"And Dáin's men are noticing," Balin said in a low voice. "Thorin, he can't keep on like this forever. They're already calling him a ghost—it's only a matter of time before they start wondering if he's truly fit to be heir."

Thorin rubbed his forehead wearily. He had been trying not to think of that. "I know. I'm well aware, Balin. I…" He drew his hand down his face, feeling the bump of the still-healing gash under his palm. "But he's a strong lad. He always has been. He can get through this."

Balin didn't answer, and Thorin closed his eyes and sighed. This whole situation was a mess. Regret coursed through him as he considered the events that had led to this moment. Every single one of them had been his own doing. He had done this to his nephew, and now he was paying dearly for it. He wondered if his sister would forgive him if Fíli never recovered. He knew he would never forgive himself.

They waited in silence for several minutes. Thorin took a seat in an old chair, grunting as his torso burned, and Balin stood at the doorway, peering left and right down the corridor. Thorin heard the sounds of people approaching before he saw them, and Balin backed into the room to allow space for the others. Bofur and Bifur came in carrying a litter, on which lay Fíli, his eyes closed and one hand on his forehead. Thorin furrowed his brow and stood to his feet, once again ignoring his ribs.

"Why is he—"

"He's all right," Bofur interrupted, glancing up at Thorin. "Well, you know what I mean. This was easier than making him walk all the way up here, what with his leg and all…"

"He could barely walk, anyway," said Óin, taking up the rear of the group with Ori. Balin shut the door behind them. "Get him onto the bed."

Bofur and Bifur lowered the litter onto the bed, and before anyone could help, Fíli pulled himself off it and rested his head on the pillow, facing the wall. Thorin glanced at Óin, and the grey Dwarf stepped forward and sat on the bed beside his patient. Bofur and Bifur stepped out of the way.

"Fíli, turn and look at me," he said. Fíli slowly rolled onto his back and looked up at the apothecary with shadowed, heavily lidded eyes. Óin frowned, and when he spoke again, his tone was softer. "You're doing too much, lad. You need to lie still and rest. I've been telling you that for two and a half weeks."

Fíli's brow furrowed, and he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. Thorin looked back and forth between his nephew and his cousin and stepped closer to the bed.

"Why not, Fíli?" he said. "Why will you not rest?"

Fíli's opened his eyes and settled his tortured gaze on Thorin, and his lower lip began to tremble. He shook his head again and looked away.

Thorin pressed his lips together, fighting the frustration that warred inside him. If Fíli would just speak, they could help him, but that was not an option—and Kíli, the one Dwarf who could practically read Fíli's mind, was nowhere to be found. He thought hard on Fíli's non-verbal cues. Maybe it wasn't that Fíli wouldn't sleep, but that he couldn't. It was a reasonable explanation. He had been kept awake many times by his own thoughts, some of those times in the very recent past.

"Perhaps a sleeping draught would help him rest," he said, addressing Óin.

Fíli reacted strongly to that. Immediately his eyes widened, and he began to shake his head furiously. His lips parted, but the only sound that came out was a heavy, tearful breath. Thorin furrowed his brow.

"Fíli, what is the matter?" he said.

"You must rest," Óin added. "You cannot continue in this way. If a sleeping draught will help you sleep, you should take it."

Fíli had not stopped shaking his head. He pressed his hands into the mattress and pulled himself up, but Óin pushed him back down, and he whimpered. One of his hands came up, and to Thorin's great surprise, he signed a word. Please.

"Why?" said Thorin. "Fíli, just tell us why."

Fíli shook his head. Please, he signed again. No.

"He's addled," Óin muttered.

"He's communicating," Thorin replied, staring at his distressed nephew in awe.

"He needs sleep," said Óin, turning to Thorin. "Desperately. It's why he keeps fainting. His head is still recovering from the blow he received in the battle. I say we put him out anyway."

Thorin wanted to agree, but the look in Fíli's eyes made him nervous. He wished his nephew would tell him what was wrong, but even the two signs he had just seen had only been made out of pure desperation. He did not expect more. But still… He came forward and lowered himself, grimacing, until he was sitting on the bed. Fíli pulled himself back frantically until his back touched the wall, shaking his head again, but Thorin crawled further onto the bed and knelt beside him. Tears streamed down Fíli's face as his wide eyes shifted from Thorin to Óin to the other Dwarves, who all still silently occupied the room. Thorin followed his gaze.

"Anyone who does not need to be here should leave," he said. "That means everyone except for Óin."

Balin, Bifur, Bofur, and Ori all silently left the room with drawn faces, bowing on their way out. Once the door closed, Thorin turned back to Fíli.

"Fíli, whatever is ailing you is only going to get better with rest," he said. "Let us give you something that will put you to sleep. You cannot go around the Mountain collapsing. Others are going to talk. You know that."

Fíli merely signed no again. Thorin sighed and looked at Óin, who beckoned him over. Thorin slid off the bed with a wince and faced Óin with his back to his nephew.

We should give him a sleeping draught anyway, Óin signed, taking care to keep his hands hidden from Fíli. He cannot refuse to sleep forever.

How are you going to do that? Thorin signed back. It was true—Fíli desperately needed sleep. Half a moment's glance could tell anyone that. But if Fíli refused to be put out for whatever reason…

You hold him still and I will make him take it, signed Óin.

Thorin's heart sank into his stomach, and he looked back at Fíli, who had curled himself up in the corner of his bed. Make him take it. At least Fíli would get some much-needed sleep… he turned back to Óin and nodded, and Óin pulled his satchel off his shoulder and began to dig inside. Thorin crawled back onto the bed and reached out with both hands.

"Fíli, lad, it's all right," he said. He took Fíli's shoulders and pulled him into an embrace, and Fíli pressed his face into Thorin's shoulder. Guilt ravaged his heart.

"Just lie down, at least, all right?" he said softly, pulling Fíli away from him. "Lie down, lad." Obediently, Fíli lay down, taking in deep, shaky breaths; once his head was on the pillow, Thorin looked to Óin, who climbed up onto the bed with them, holding a spoon steadily. Fíli's eyes drifted to it, and his face melted into abject horror. Immediately Thorin pinned down his arms, and Fíli fought against his grip, pressing his lips together and shaking his head. Thorin clenched his teeth, desperately trying to ignore the jostling of his wounded ribs.

"Óin," he ground out.

But Fíli would not stay still. His feet pushed against the mattress and his back arched; he turned his head, keeping his lips pressed together. Óin, undaunted, reached forward and simply pinched Fíli's nose shut. Fíli struggled for a few moments more, but finally, his mouth opened as he gasped for air. Quickly, Óin turned Fíli's face towards him and slipped the spoon into his mouth. He held Fíli's jaw closed until the younger Dwarf swallowed reluctantly, fresh tears falling down his face. Then Óin pulled himself off the bed and nodded to Thorin, who let go of Fíli's arms and pulled his nephew's head into his chest. Fíli had stopped fighting now; he wept into Thorin's shirt, his body limp in surrender.

"I'm sorry, my lad," he said. "But it's for your own good. Sleep now."

Fíli shook his head, but the draught was already taking hold on him. The time between his breathy sobs became longer and longer until eventually they stopped completely, replaced by the even breathing of sleep. Thorin held him for a while longer; finally, he laid Fíli's head back down on the pillow and looked at him forlornly, brushing wet strands of hair off his face.

"Fíli, what in Mahal's name has made you so afraid?" he said.