"Thorin?"

At first, Thorin did not reply. He sat with his head in his hands, avoiding the burning gazes of his companions, both grieved and embarrassed. Would Fíli ever speak again? Would Thorin ever be able to come before his companions without his kingly presence and authority being challenged by his youngest nephew?

"Thorin, it's all right. We here pass no judgment."

Thorin looked up at Balin and smiled sadly. He knew that his companions would follow him no matter what; the past weeks—no, the past years—should have told him that.

"I know, Balin," he said. He looked around the table at the forlorn faces of his Company. They were all concerned for Fíli, he knew, and they were all loyal enough to keep this trouble to themselves. But there were others to worry about inside the Mountain. His eyes turned to Dáin.

"What happened to him, Thorin?" Dáin said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Thorin shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "None of us know. He won't…" Thorin gestured towards the door. "This is all he does."

"Azog got a hold of him, didn't he?"

"Aye," said Thorin. He closed his eyes, wincing at the memory of Fíli being dragged out and brandished before him, a trophy, another one of his family to be killed by the pale orc. The look on Fíli's face then told him that something had happened back in that fort, but what, they never found out—Azog had dropped Fíli, thanks to Bilbo, before he had been able to say anything, and he had not uttered a word since.

"His leg was broken—we know that, obviously," said Dwalin. "What that monster must have done to the lad… I'm sure that's shameful enough already for him. Dwarf bones aren't supposed to break."

"But there must be something more," Thorin said, turning to Dwalin now. "Dwalin, you saw him… he didn't fight. He didn't even struggle. Why?"

Dwalin shook his head. "I cannot say any more than you can."

Thorin ran a hand through his hair and sighed again, looking around the table.

"I know that you would all protect Fíli as much as you were able," he said, "and this is a time when I need you to do your utmost. We all know Fíli is normally capable and level-headed, and I believe that in time, he will get better. Until then, we cannot give others in the mountain reason to doubt that he is fit to one day rule in my stead. We must keep him safe from prying eyes and doubting hearts."

A series of nods and ayes came from around the table—even from Dáin, who stood and looked seriously at Thorin from across the table.

"You have my word, cousin, that I will keep my men in line as much as I can while they are in this mountain," he said. "You are my kin and you are my king."

"Thank you, Dáin," said Thorin, nodding gratefully. He raised his glass, and Dáin and the others did the same, and then they all drank together. The promise was made. They continued with their meal, though it felt quiet and empty without two cheerful young Dwarves sitting on Thorin's left and right.

Six weeks had passed inside the mountain, and Fíli still had not spoken—his demeanor had improved since he had regained ability to sleep comfortably and quietly, and he had found many ways to be helpful, but they had yet to hear a word pass his lips. The occasional laughter, perhaps, but never a word. But there was a reason for joy today. Óin had determined that Fíli's leg was healed enough to remove the cast.

They had kept the number of people in the room to a minimum so as to make sure Fíli was as comfortable as possible—just himself, Óin, and Dwalin. The only way to get the cast off his leg was to saw through the plaster, and though Thorin trusted Óin, he worried about how Fíli would react to being forced to stay completely still as a huge, serrated blade moved closer and closer to his skin, and the fewer people crowding Fíli (or witnessing his reaction), the better. Kíli had wanted to be there, but Thorin had told him no, as he tended to get overzealous about his brother's care when things got hairy. He was surely off pouting somewhere, but at least he had obeyed.

Everything was in place. Fíli lay on a cot in the middle of his room with his right trouser leg rolled up to his knee to expose the cast; a cloth was laid out beneath the cot the catch the plaster mess. Óin had his satchel of supplies at the ready, and Thorin stood by Fíli's side. Dwalin hung back by the door. He was only there in case they needed someone else to hold Fíli down, though Thorin hoped it wouldn't come to that. They were ready. Even Fíli seemed calm.

"All right, lad, here's what we're going to do," said Óin. "Only the outside needs to be cut through—we padded your leg quite a bit before we put plaster over it. So don't worry about the saw… it won't get close enough to your leg to cut it." He pulled the saw out of his satchel; it was big, and Fíli's eyes widened. Thorin laid a hand gently on his arm.

"Don't worry, Fíli," he said. "You know that we Dwarves are excellent at careful crafts with our hands. This is no different. Óin won't get your leg."

Fíli relaxed a little and nodded.

Óin continued, "We're going to take the cast off and then wash your leg, and then you'll be set, lad. But while I'm working, I need you to lie absolutely still. Can you do that? Are you ready?"

Fíli nodded, and Óin set the saw to the cast and started sawing away. Fíli tensed and bit his lip, and Thorin gently squeezed his arm; Fíli jumped, and Óin stopped, casting a glance from Fíli to Thorin.

"Absolutely still, Fíli," he repeated. "Thorin, just put a hand on his leg, will you?"

Thorin obediently pressed down on Fíli's right leg, and Óin began sawing again. When Thorin looked back to Fíli's face, he frowned; his nephew's face was tense. He was clearly trying very hard to hold it together, but Thorin knew him well enough to see the signs that he was on the very edge. His distant eyes glistened as they looked up at the ceiling, and he was breathing slowly and heavily. Thorin called his name softly, and Fíli's gaze turned to him; Thorin offered him a comforting smile.

"We're almost done," he said. "You are doing just fine."

Fíli offered a wobbly smile in return and then closed his eyes. A few moments later, Óin made it all the way through the cast, and it cracked. Fíli gasped, but Thorin's hand on his leg kept him from moving it, and Óin gently peeled away the plaster and the soft layers of padding beneath. A pale, healed leg emerged underneath, and Thorin wrinkled his nose at the smell of long–unwashed skin.

Óin motioned for Thorin to let go, and he did so immediately. Fíli let out a shuddering breath and relaxed as Óin began gently washing away the debris and dead skin, and Thorin moved closer to Fíli's head and smiled, squatting so that his face was level with his nephew's.

"You did very well," he whispered. "I'm proud of you, lad."

Fíli smiled, though a look of dismay flickered across his face. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and Thorin patted his shoulder.

"All right, lad, your leg is yours again," said Óin. "Don't scratch at the skin—it will be sensitive for a few days. And be very careful walking. You haven't used the muscles in that leg for six weeks. Don't forget that."

Fíli opened his eyes and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the cot and resting both bare feet on the ground. He reached out for help standing, and Thorin took his hands and helped him up. Though Fíli's first step on his newly-freed leg was careful, he still gasped and stumbled, and Thorin caught him and help him upright.

"Careful," he said with a chuckle. "You were listening to Óin, weren't you?"

Fíli grinned sheepishly, and Thorin swung his nephew's arm around his neck, bending a little so that he didn't pull Fíli's arm with their height difference. Fíli pulled towards the chair at his desk, and Thorin chuckled again and helped him to the seat. After he sat, Fíli attempted to stretch his leg, frowning fiercely and resting a hand on his calf.

"It's going to be stiff and sore," said Óin. "Like I said, lad—be careful."

Fíli nodded, grimacing. Óin and Dwalin set to work cleaning up the mess in the middle of the room, and after a quick glance at his nephew, Thorin joined in. Soon everything was tidied and out of the way, and Óin and Dwalin departed, leaving Thorin alone with Fíli.

Thorin leaned against Fíli's desk and watched him for a few moments as he slowly and gently rolled down his trouser leg over his newly-exposed skin. When he had finished, Thorin spoke.

"It wasn't the saw that made you nervous, was it?" he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. "It was me holding you down… being made to stay still, no way to get out."

Fíli looked up at his uncle suddenly, his brow drawn apart and his eyes wide, but as always, he said nothing. In this case, he did not need to. The look on his face was confirmation enough.

"Fíli," Thorin said, "what did he do to you?"

Fíli's lip trembled as he shook his head, casting his gaze downward. Thorin sighed, disheartened. It had been worth a try.

"Never mind, lad," he said. "You don't have to tell me now."

Fíli breathed a sigh of relief, and Thorin was silent. He wouldn't push Fíli now. He would open up one day. But Thorin was not sure how long he was willing to wait.

Silence. Thorin felt like he had gotten too much of it in the past two months, but at the same time, he relished it. No—silence wasn't what he needed. What he needed was some peace.

And that was what he was trying to get. It was already somewhat late, and he had told everyone to give him a mere hour to himself, to sit in his study undisturbed, warmed by the fire in the hearth and a book in his hands. He had found it dusty but untouched in his old chambers—now Fíli's—with the bookmark still in place, and he hadn't thought he could get so excited about something so simple, but he had. The book had drawn him in so many years ago, and every now and then he had thought of it, never thinking he would get the chance to read it again. But here it was, and now he was going to finish it.

The only sound right now was the crackling of the fire and the turning of pages in Thorin's book. This wing was reserved for the royal family, and though several in his Company counted as such, they were all preoccupied at the moment, taking care of business elsewhere in the mountain. He had not assigned his nephews duties, but he had a feeling they were together. Kíli seemed to think it was his personal duty to keep his brother preoccupied and happy, and if Fíli went somewhere, often Kíli followed. Of course, it had been like this since he was old enough to walk, but now the objective had changed; instead of following his brother around like an excited puppy, he hovered like a worried mother hen, at once being absolutely smothering and yet walking on eggshells. If Thorin ever found Kíli alone and pouting, it was a sure sign that his hovering had grown too much for his elder brother, and he had sent him away.

"You have to let him have time alone," Thorin had told Kíli. "You cannot always be with him."

"But he needs someone," Kíli had protested. "He's always looking off into space, Uncle, lost in his own little world… Who knows what he's thinking of? He's got to know we're there for him."

"He is well aware that you are there for him, Kíli," Thorin had replied. "But you have to give him space."

All Thorin had gotten in response was a dark look. Kíli had given his brother some breathing room for a few days, but then he had gone back to his old habits. Thorin had tried to separate them from time to time after catching a desperate look from Fíli, but he could not be there at every moment—he had his own duties to attend to. And for the time being, he was going to read his book. He sat absorbed; the long wait before coming back to this book had only increased its appeal, and it had yet to disappoint.

Voices began to filter into Thorin's awareness after a while, but he fought to ignore them. His hour was not up—it couldn't be. Whoever was in the hall would leave eventually.

"Fíli, please, just talk to me!"

Thorin furrowed his brow and lowered his book. That was Kíli's voice. He was at it again… Thorin put his bookmark in place, but he did not rise. He would only intervene if necessary.

"I just want to help you!" Kíli said, his voice wavering. "I've been waiting for two months for you to just tell me something—anything! What is stopping you? Why can't you tell me?"

For a moment, there was no sound, and Thorin wondered if Kíli had given up. Then, Kíli started shouting.

"Stop it! Every time I try to talk to you, you just run away! I'm tired of it, Fíli! Just tell me what's going on!"

There was a light thump and a strange, strangled noise. Thorin dropped his book, jumping to his feet, and ran to the door. Kíli spoke again before he made it into the hall.

"Oh no, Fíli, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… Fíli… Fíli—"

Thorin burst out of his room and looked left and right down the corridor, searching for his nephews. He spotted them not far down the hall to the right, and his heart lurched. Fíli knelt on the floor, his head in his hands, bent over double; Kíli knelt beside him, reaching out nervously but not touching his brother. Thorin ran towards them.

"Kíli, what did you do?" he shouted, settling next to Fíli and peering down at his face. Fíli's mouth hung open as if he were screaming, but he made no sound. Thorin looked back up at Kíli, who stared down at his brother with wide eyes, his face pale.

"I—I just wanted him to talk to me," he said, his voice wobbling dangerously. "I didn't mean to… I didn't want this to happen…"

Thorin looked down to Fíli again. His face was turning red, and he was shaking violently; he took in a deep breath suddenly and then opened his mouth to scream again, but yet he was still silent.

"Kíli, go," he said, his voice low and even, though his heart pounded fiercely.

"But—"

"You have done enough, Kíli, now go!" Thorin shouted, pointing down the corridor, and Kíli stumbled to his feet without another word and ran. Fíli suddenly cowered and let out a fearful gasp. Thorin reached out and took hold of Fíli's shoulders, but his nephew yanked out of his grip and crawled back, his eyes distant and filled with panic. Immediately Thorin held his hands up in the air and leaned back, trying to look as unthreatening as possible. Fíli leaned up against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest; he pressed his shaking hands back against his forehead, breathing hard, and his mouth dropped open again. No sound came forth.

Thorin had a thousand questions that he knew Fíli couldn't answer. He wished with all his heart that Fíli would tell him what was wrong, but he was clearly in no state to say anything to anyone—he couldn't even scream. The more Thorin watched him, the more it seemed apparent that Fíli was trying to scream but could not make himself do it. His mind raced as he sought for a way to pull his nephew from this state.

Fíli was only getting worse by the second. He was shaking so hard that even his breaths shook, and tears ran down his face unheeded. He tried to scream again to no avail. Thorin crawled towards him as slowly as he could, saying nothing, and Fíli did not seem to notice him coming closer.

It's all right. You're going to get through this. You'll be okay. Many comforting words passed through Thorin's head, but he knew saying them would be useless. Fíli had no words to offer, and he needed none. Suddenly it was clear—Fíli needed someone to meet him where he was, not where they wanted him to be.

Thorin was close enough to touch his nephew again now. Carefully, he reached out and laid a hand on Fíli's arm; Fíli did not react, and Thorin waited to see if he would. After about half a minute, Fíli suddenly noticed Thorin's touch with a startled gasp, but he did not pull away. His silent screams stopped and his hands dropped as his eyes met his uncle's; neither said a word. Thorin did not move.

Fíli opened and closed his mouth as if he were searching for words to say. After several attempts, he closed his eyes tightly and gritted his teeth, covering his face with his hands. Thorin gently laid his other hand on Fíli's other arm.

"Come here, lad," he whispered.

Fíli immediately leaned forward and pressed his face into Thorin's shirt, shuddering, and Thorin wrapped him in a protective embrace, taking care to hold him without making him feel trapped. Soon the sound of heavy sobbing resounded against Thorin's chest. He held his nephew close and stayed silent, waiting as Fíli slowly became less and less tense, though he continued to cry.

Eventually Fíli pulled himself in as close as he could, his shoulders dropping as he curled into his uncle's arms like a child. Thorin cradled him and pressed his nose into his golden hair, fighting the tears building in his eyes. He had not held Fíli like this since the lad was very small, and he had never thought he would again. His heart burned with grief and anger. What had that abominable orc done to Fíli? What was Fíli holding inside so deeply that he could not even bring himself to scream? Tears dripped into blond hair as Thorin rocked his nephew gently. It's all right now. You're safe now. Please tell me what happened. Please don't crumble away. I love you too much.

That was something he could say. "I love you dearly, my boy," he whispered. "Just as you are. You don't have to say a word, all right? You're alive and you're here with me. That's all I need from you. Do you hear me?"

A sound came from Fíli then as he nodded, though whether it was a sob or half of a yes was lost to Thorin. It didn't matter. Thorin pressed his nose back into Fíli's hair, waiting patiently as his golden boy let out a tempest of emotions in the only way he could. He would wait as long as he had to—for once, he had done and said the right things. For once, he had gotten it right, and he was not about to lose that ground now that he had gained it. If it was a step on the path of healing for Fíli, he would sit there for as long as it took.

And a long time it was before either of them moved. Finally Fíli's tears abated, though he stayed put for a while longer—so long that Thorin started to think that maybe he had fallen asleep. But then Fíli pulled himself up and out of his uncle's arms, looking around blearily before connecting his gaze with Thorin's. His eyes dropped, and he shifted awkwardly.

"I won't tell a soul, lad," said Thorin. Fíli's eyes snapped back up, and Thorin offered him a warm smile. He returned it halfheartedly.

"Come, let's get out of this drafty old hallway," Thorin said. "Where would you like to go?"

Fíli looked towards his room, and Thorin nodded and pulled himself up, groaning as his stiff muscles protested. He helped Fíli up and then pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to Fíli, who accepted it gratefully and cleaned his face. Thorin didn't want to think about the state of his shirt. They walked together to Fíli's chambers, and once inside, Fíli climbed onto his bed immediately, though he did not lie down. He reached for the cup on his bedside table and looked inside, then looked up at Thorin. The cup was empty; he needed water to take the Elvish medicine, and Thorin had a feeling he wouldn't want to go get it himself—not after the episode he'd just had.

"I'll be right back," Thorin said, taking the cup from Fíli's hands. He stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind himself. As soon as the door was closed, he dropped his shoulders and leaned against the wall, running a hand down his face and sighing. His poor boy… what he would give to fix all of this right now. He looked down at the cup in his hand wearily. Well, at least he could get him a cup of water.

The nearest water pump wasn't too far, and Thorin reached it quickly, giving silent thanks that the old plumbing in Erebor had lasted this long, saving him a trip deep into the mountain, where a cold underground river ran. He pulled the lever several times, waiting for water to bubble up.

"I didn't mean for this to happen."

Kíli. Of course. Thorin filled the cup and then turned to face his younger nephew. Kíli stood rigid, but his lip quivered, and his deep brown eyes were rimmed with red. A tear slid down his cheek.

Thorin weighed his words carefully. Here was a situation in which he could not let Kíli slide by, as he often did—wrongly, he was sure. He had never been as hard on Kíli as he had on Fíli. But this time, Kíli had to know that his actions had consequences. It was time for Kíli to grow up.

"I know you didn't mean for this to happen," he said, "but it did."

Kíli flinched and bowed his head, sniffling.

"I… I do not know how long this is going to take," Thorin continued. "Whether it be today or perhaps longer—much longer—before your brother speaks again. But we have known from the beginning that pushing him does no good; only harm. You know that, Kíli. You know your brother better than anyone else."

"It's been two months, Uncle," Kíli said, looking up with pleading eyes. His voice wobbled. "Two months, and he hasn't said a word. I want to help him, but all he does is push me away every time I try—it's like he's not even there anymore, like he died that day and he's just a ghost—"

"Don't you start with that now, too," Thorin said sharply. "Fíli will get better. I am sure of it. But you cannot give up hope, and you cannot push him as you have. He needs us to take him as he is, Kíli, wounds and all."

"I just miss him, is all. The way he used to be," Kíli said, wiping a tear off his cheek. Thorin furrowed his brow when he caught sight of Kíli's hand, and he reached out and pulled it towards him, inspecting it. The knuckles were bruised, and two of them were scraped raw. He looked up at Kíli inquisitively.

"I, um, punched the wall," Kíli said sheepishly, pulling his hand out of his uncle's grip. "It's fine, really…"

"Does it hurt still?" Thorin asked.

Kíli rested his uninjured hand gingerly over his wounded knuckles and nodded, pressing his lips together.

"Have Óin take a look at it," said Thorin. "You're an archer, Kíli—you can't go around damaging your hands."

"Aye, sir," Kíli whispered, avoiding his uncle's eye. He bowed respectfully and then turned to leave.

"And Kíli," Thorin called after him; Kíli stopped, but did not turn around. "Remember what I said. You are not to push him, and neither is anybody else. Make sure the others know."

Kíli bowed his head. "Aye, sir," he said again. "I will. Just… tell Fíli I'm sorry. Will you do that?"

"I will," Thorin replied, and Kíli trudged away.

Thorin looked after him plaintively, guilt stirring in his heart. He knew that Kíli loved his brother and would do anything to help him get better if he could—of course he understood that. But with Kíli's rash, impulsive nature, an emotional outburst could easily result in another episode. As much as he wanted to tell Kíli that it was all right and he was not to blame, the lad needed to understand the reality of the situation. Fíli could usually handle any outburst from his brother, but in this state, what he needed was gentleness and understanding, not the burden of caring for someone else's emotions. He clearly had enough of his own to deal with.

Thorin returned to Fíli's chambers to find his elder nephew in the same position as he had left him—leaning back against the headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest, staring out into nothing. His usual look. Thorin crossed the room and pulled the jar of Elvish medicine from the drawer of Fíli's desk. It was the third jar they had gotten from the Elves, and now that the Elves were all gone, he hoped it would be the last, lest he need to send a group to Mirkwood just to get more. He mixed a spoonful in with the water and sat down on the bed, laying a hand on Fíli's knee. Fíli blinked and looked at him, and Thorin handed him the water.

"Your brother is sorry," Thorin said as Fíli drank. "He wanted me to tell you that."

Fíli finished his water and set the cup aside, blinking tiredly and nodding. That was probably the only answer Thorin was going to get. He watched Fíli carefully, attempting to determine his current mood.

"Would you like me to go?" he said.

Fíli shook his head immediately, tipping a little to one side. Thorin reached out and caught him and pulled him back upright. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly this medicine worked. He scooted up beside Fíli and sat down, putting an arm around the young prince, and Fíli responded by resting his head lazily against Thorin's shoulder. No more words were spoken; they simply sat together, and eventually, Fíli's head dropped as his breathing became slow and even, albeit congested. Thorin smiled and rested his head on Fíli's, closing his eyes and making himself a promise.

Whatever Fíli needed, he would do his best to supply. He always had, of course, but this was different. If Fíli needed silence, he would get it; if he needed words, Thorin would speak. If all he needed was someone to sit by his side—well, Thorin could certainly do that.

A/N: I had some guest reviews last time I wanted to respond to, so here goes:

• You are certainly free to give your opinion—on my writing. My inbox is not a forum for angry rants about BotFA, and I have the right to make a request that it stay as such. If you have something negative to say about my writing, however, please feel free to say so. But I didn't write BotFA, and therefore your review should not be a review of the film, but this fanfic.

• With the book copies of Race Against Time, I want to clarify that I am NOT selling them. Well, in the respect that I am making absolutely no profit on this venture whatsoever—in fact, it's actually costing me money. I simply want to be able to give people my story in paper form, as several people have expressed interest. If you want a copy, all I ask is that you pay for the printing cost of the book ($14.60) and shipping (depends on your location). These are being printed on the Espresso Book Machine using a special package that is usually used for things like family photo albums and the like; the book does not have an ISBN and I am making no profit. I want to make that ABSOLUTELY CLEAR. I have spoken to the woman who runs the machine in the city where I live to make sure that what I am doing is legal. It's all set.

Please do review! I would definitely love to hear what you have to say about this chapter. Two left!