Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

38. Awakening

Kíli was in that pleasant edge of sleep just before waking, where the mind and body were not aware enough to be hurt, scared, or cold, when hands jolted him from his placid state.

*Claws, gripping him so tightly that they added yet more stinging cuts to his abused skin. Voices, jeering and laughing, the harsh tones grating upon raw nerves as he bit back a sob, helpless to stop the pain they would undoubtedly inflict. He had to find a way to fight, to get away-*

"Kíli!"

That voice, he knew that voice! It was safety! He had to fight, to reach for it! His limbs flailed out, but without much force or coordination. Someone cursed softly, a low oath in Khuzdul, not the evil Black Speech, and the hair that his good hand tangled in was soft and fine, braided, not the coarse wisps that some of the orcs sported. It was enough to make him pause. Hands grabbed his head, preventing the thrashing from restarting and he berated himself for the lost opportunity to escape, but the hands were gentle and soft, warm, not the cold, rough, leathery disgusting things that made his skin crawl. It was enough to allow the last vestiges of the flashback to fade, refocusing on the words someone was saying almost in his ear.

"It's all right, little brother, you're safe now! You're safe."

Fíli. There was a ragged desperation to those words that made Kíli believe his brother had been repeating them for quite some time while he was caught in his nightmarish memories. Letting out a sob of relief this time, Kíli allowed his body to go limp, the energy of fear and anger draining to leave him barely able to keep awareness. Strong arms enfolded him carefully in a hug, water dripping from him, and he relaxed into the familiar hold. The younger prince would have gladly stayed there for hours, but all too soon, his brother gently released him, stroking the wild brunette strands of hair away from his face. When Kíli let out a soft whine of discontent, all the sound that he could bring his raw throat to make, a low chuckle warmed him.

"Relax, I won't go far, but the healers grow impatient to tend to your wounds."

Fíli started to hum low in his throat, the sound carrying Kíli back to that last peaceful night in Bag End, as the company gathered around the hobbit's fireplace. Caught up in the memory and unwilling to force it away in favor of paying attention to whatever unpleasant things the healers were about, he hovered there awhile, feeling his body manipulated by multiple sets of hands. Some were too large to be dwarrow, but he was too comfortable to feel alarm, almost hearing the bass rumble of Thorin and the lighter baritone of Bofur as the mournful tune spoke of loss and ruin.

As the song at last faded, he realized that some of the sound was actually coming from those around him were talking, but he was too lazy to make sense of it, allowing them to fade to a pleasant buzz. There was a lulling quality to the voices, so much better than the grating harshness of orcs and goblins. Safe. He was with friends, his wounds being tended, his mind allowed to relax. He had to keep repeating that over and over to himself, a mantra that stopped him from slipping back into captivity. Hearing Fíli's familiar baritone, light and teasing, helped immensely. His older brother seemed to sense when he was dancing upon that edge, pulling him back from the nightmares and darkness each time with finger strokes through his hair and murmured reassurances.

All the while, the water was being gently dabbed from his skin, not rubbed, which was a relief, as he still felt every brush of air or cloth. He was no longer so hot, but his body still felt stretched and too small, every press of a finger, no matter how light, a bruising force. He must have muttered something aloud, though how anyone could understand his harsh croaks was a mystery, because they whispered back that it was the effects of the drugs he had been forced to drink. It would fade, given time. It was more important now that he not accidently slip back into the stone, for that would make his fever flare again.

Just as he was beginning to shiver a bit, his torso was wrapped in cotton and they began drying his arms and legs, the soft textile feeling so good that another whimper of relief escaped him. Fíli hushed him, another voice joining in. When was the last time Erebor had received a shipment of the southern cloth so fine? Cotton was a rare commodity in the northern climates, where most of their clothing was made of wool, leather, or the rough spun lower grade cotton that was all most traders carried so far. A voice chuckled, and this time he was able to understand the words.

"You're not in Erebor, remember? Gondor included plenty of high grade cotton among the healers' supplies they sent. Good thing, too."

That was not Fíli...

"Senata?"

His voice sounded harsh to his own ears, making him wince, but at least it was somewhat audible, which was better than he usually did after a high fever. A few sips of water pressed to his lips aided, as well, though he would much prefer ice just now. Or the snow flavored with maple syrup that the hobbits liked so much. He had not had that treat since leaving the Blue Mountains so long ago. It would feel so good upon the burning fire of his throat…

"Aye, I'm here, my prince. But you had better stop talking and use Iglishmêk if you need anything, or you won't have any voice left at all."

That was true enough. Shaky fingers crooked into an 'okay' sign, glad it was one that could be done with only a single working hand. Too bad he could not so easily describe the treat he craved. Perhaps the sign for snow and- He gasped, all thoughts of signs and sweets vanishing in renewed pain as cloth caught on the rough edge of one of the innumerable cuts on his legs.

"Sorry, sorry..."

It was not Senata who apologized, and it took Kíli a moment for his memories to supply a name for that voice. Wyvern, the healer from Gondor. Senata let out a grunt, hands shifting underneath where they held his body in the air.

"Let's lay him down; we need to treat those cuts again before they really start to hurt him."

The cotton was pulled away, but before the prince could object, his naked body was eased down onto a surface covered in lamb's hide. It was sheer bliss, the downy wool cushioning without rubbing or placing undue pressure on sensitive skin. The cotton sheet was settled on top of him except for wherever the hands worked, gently dabbing an ointment onto his cuts. It smelled sharp, but fresh, with an underlying cool quality that cleared his head, stealing away the pain as muscles he had not realized were tensed relaxed, reveling in the cessation of the endless torment he had been living with. He groaned in pleasure, ignoring the laughter that gained him as he tried to decide if he were comfortable enough to slip back into sleep even with the hands still moving him.

Dreams were just playing at the edges of his consciousness, pleasant memories of hunting with his brother in the woods of Ered Luin, when someone touched his damaged shoulder. The pain returned with a roar, blazing through him with such strength that he screamed, unable to stifle the instinct. Rings of raw fire encircled his wrists and ankles while his shoulder throbbed in time with his too fast heart, leaving him squirming in a futile attempt to get away. Stone, he needed to find the stone, cool and unyielding, to hide until his tormentors went away! Voices shouted all around, harsh, demanding, urgent, too loud, but he could not move to block them out.

"What's wrong with him? What did you do?"

Fíli, panicked and angry, allowing his royal tone to take over, pulled his brother back from the brink of surrendering to the inviting stone.

"We didn't do anything, it's that horrid mixture they forced down him! Thank Mahal Kifir and Ori had enough presence of mind to swipe one of the skins they left, or we would have no idea how to treat him! Talk to him, keep him with us!"

His longing had some effect, however, for a rumble sounded, the bed he was on shaking slightly.

"Kíli! Fight it! You cannot hold yourself to the stone now! Let it go!"

Fíli's desperation tugged at him, warring with the instinct to flee the pain, go away. He had been raised to listen to his brother, however, the ingrained habits of childhood stronger than any inhuman rock. Kíli fought to break the tie he could sense to the floor and walls surrounding them, making an effort to thrust away the stone that came at the merest thought, much easier than it ever had before. He could not give in! Stone was bad, bringing more heat and illness!

"Shhh... It's okay, Kíli, just breathe through it. Stay with us, little brother! I'm here, I won't leave…"

Lips pressed against his forehead as a whiff of mint distracted him momentarily from the agony consuming his body. Liquid splashed on his face, running down his cheek and tickling the skin, but he could not move enough to wipe it away. Without the buffer of the stone, the pain was overwhelming him, trapping him in unending agony that would not abate.

"Easy, love, easy... Can you not give him more for the pain?"

"Mother?"

He could do no more than mouth it between gritting his teeth to trap the screams, though soft moans escaped; the whimpers of a babe. This was almost worse than those horrific hours in Laketown, caught in the throes of the morgul poison. Several more drops of warm water hit his face as Dis let out a little laugh that was half sob.

"I'm here, Kíli."

"Lady, we cannot give him a pain draught with the herbs already in his system. The stress could stop his heart. Keep talking to him, try to keep him focused on you. The pain should ease again soon."

A hand pushed back tangled hair as he hissed, tensing at someone else spreading ointment on his wrists and wrapping them in cloth. He knew it was more of that fine cotton, but it felt coarse and itchy to him just now. He squirmed about some more, longing to rip it off and dig his nails into skin to stop the crawling sensation, but knew he could not.

"Kíli! Focus on me. Fíli is here, too. Thank Mahal your fever is staying down, at least."

Well, that was good. Why did healers always have to fuss so? If they had just left him alone, allowed him to slip back into sleep when the pain had been all but gone-! He shuddered, desperate for anything to distract himself. Unable to form Iglishmêk words while his arms were held by the healers, he forced a broken whisper out.

"S-safe?"

Fíli snorted, and Dis gave a sigh. Both knew he was not asking about himself.

"Yes, everyone is safe."

He frowned as whomever was working on his bad shoulder finished, carefully placing his arm back across his chest. There was something about the vagueness of that answer that bothered him, someone he was overlooking.

"Fíli, can you lift him a bit so that I can wrap this?"

Wyvern's voice was right next to his ear, making him wince. Of course the healer had to wait until the pain was beginning to ebb again! Kíli braced himself, but as his brother lifted him to a seated position, the dizziness it provoked was worse than the pain. The fight moved from willing away the agony to keeping his stomach and its meager contents where they belonged. When his hand and arm were secure against his chest again, however, Fíli did not ease him back down, allowing him to settle against his chest instead. Kíli found his lips stretching into a hint of a smile as he turned his head into the leather and fur fringe of the coat his brother wore.

Musky, with the tang of steel and oil overlaying the rich scent of the leather. A hundred childhood memories, mere snippets of time, ran through his mind, each centered on that unique scent of 'Fíli', all else receding into mere annoyances. How odd, that with his sight cut off, it was this smell that finally convinced something deep within him that he was safe. That this was not another hopeful hallucination. Tears pricked his eyes under the bandages, burning a little as he nestled in closer, studiously ignoring the hands on his legs and feet. Thankfully, Fíli did not say a word, content to hold him close and allow Kíli to get his bearings.

There had always been an unself-conscious closeness to their relationship well beyond what was normal between even dwarrow siblings. A pat on the back, a hug, the ruffling of hair, a steady presence behind him as they awaited foes, he was used to his brother touching him, counted upon it as an unspoken reassurance that all was well, a dozen non-verbal messages passed between the two in seconds. It was as well that they had married twins who shared a similar closeness, or their wives may have become jealous, causing contention within the family.

Austri and Vestri, however, had seemed to accept it without it even needing to be discussed, scoffing at any who tried to make more of it than a very tight sibling bond. To them, it was as natural as breathing to finish one another's thoughts, or ask a question with a glance. When the quartet was together, he had it on very good authority that outsiders found it rather disconcerting, for the two sets of siblings simply widened their bond to include the other pair, forging a circle of mithril that could not be broken. When one spoke, all within Erebor knew without question that it was the voice of all four that they heard.

He sensed someone moving close to crouch in front of them and almost pulled away, but that hint of mint and fresh spring air reassured him. Their mother would never dare to pull one from the other right now. Dis liked to put athelas in her clothes chests to scent them, so the clothing flooded the air with it whenever she moved. The plant, of course, gave off a slightly different scent to all who encountered it, and for Kíli, it had always been a mountain morning, with pine, lilac, and a hint of mint on the breeze. The smooth rim of a cup touched his lips, taking him by surprise. He instinctively jerked away, the feel of the water skin being cruelly jammed in still too fresh.

"It's just broth, love."

HIs stomach gave a rumble at that, making several of the healers laugh. Someone drew the cotton blanket back over him and added another one. Body reveling in the soft warmth from both blankets and the dwarf at his back, he sighed, glad they seemed to be done. One shaky hand came up to collide with his mother's.

"L-let me?"

It was half-plea, half-demand. He did not want to lie here placidly anymore, allowing someone else to feed him, even Dis. Fíli jiggled behind him, and it took a moment to realize his brother was silently laughing as their mother let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Well, there's the Kíli we know and love!"

Fíli gleefully noted, giving him a gentle hug.

"Hmmm..." Dis made a hum of agreement, but she guided his hand around the clay vessel. "How about a compromise? You can hold it with my help. You really don't need another bath just now, especially of beef broth."

"'Kay."

He was running out of energy to talk, so he concentrated on keeping the hand she guided with the cup steady. The calluses from her leather working tools were rough against his sensitized skin. She must have been working long hours on something to distract from having 'her boys' gone on another dangerous quest.

The broth was rich and meaty on his tongue, flavor exploding in his mouth and almost making him moan in pleasure. There was an underlying tartness to it, however, that clung to his throat after swallowing and he frowned, suddenly suspicious. His mother tsked at the hesitation.

"It's what few herbs they can give to help with the fever and aid you to sleep again. You need the rest and nourishment, Kíli."

He obediently accepted another mouthful, though he was a bit put out. How much more sleep could he get before life started to slip past without him? Besides, the very thought of being alone in the darkness once more... His hand tightened, keeping the now empty cup, and his mother's hand, near.

"N-not alone?"

"Oh, love..."

Dis cupped one cheek, pressing a kiss into it as Fíli hugged him from behind again.

"Never, Kíli, unless you ask us to. One of us will be here."

Good. The pressure in his chest eased as the fear subsided, his body beginning to feel oddly light, as if he could float away on the next breeze. Clearly, whatever herbs the healers had felt comfortable giving him were beginning to work. He just wished he could roll his head to the side, watching the night candle slowly burn down as he had as a child. He hated the darkness so; it made him feel alone and vulnerable, as he had when Therin-

Therin!

The shock of memory was enough to make him gag, the broth threatening to make a reappearance despite his hasty swallows to keep it in place. Had it really happened? His own brother deliberately leaving him vulnerable to their enemies? Mahal, could it not have been a hallucination like so much else?

"Therin?"

The name was a bare whisper on lips that did not wish to produce sound, to confirm his fears, as he was eased back onto the padded wool. He felt Fíli's involuntary flinch at the question, then his brother was running his hand through his still damp hair again.

"Kíli, now is not the time."

Unable to speak further, Kili's hand blindly latched onto leather and metal, giving an insistent tug with what little strength he had left. He must know what they had done with him! The drugs were tightening their own pull, threatening to send him back into sleep without the answer he must have. His brother gently disentangled his fingers, laying them back under the blankets with a pat.

"Alright, but only because I know you won't let this go. He admitted what he had done and awaits judgment, serving with the regular warriors under a pledge of honor until then. He can wait until you are well enough to deal with such things."

The brunette nodded, letting himself sink down into the slumber that he craved. It was good that they were not keeping Therin imprisoned. Imprisonment meant torture and death, a fate he would not condemn anyone to, no matter how they had wronged him. But that was not right, his still mildly fevered mind whispered. His kin would not treat a prisoner as orcs did. His brother must have misunderstood his reaction, because Fíli's aghast reaction pulled Kíli back from sleep slightly.

"You cannot allow him to simply walk away! Kíli, you were almost killed!"

He barely had the energy left to shake his head, the sharp exchange between his mother, Fíli, and a deeper voice no longer kept him from rest. The half-sleep he drifted into, however, trapped him once more in that weird realm where his mind somewhat worked, but his body did not.

For a moment, fear descended, but a distant murmur reassured him that he was not alone. The problem of Therin nagged, festering like a heat blister that he knew he should not touch, but could not help himself. He just wanted all the strife and bad feelings to end!

Peace...

He knew it was the one thing that was impossible now. He had allowed his impetuous brother to escape the consequences of his actions once before, and Therin had learned nothing. Fíli would wish for a harsh punishment, though he would not press his views upon Kíli beyond urging him to make sure justice was done. Some part of Kíli screamed that Therin would deserve it, too, reveling in the idea of sharing the pain he had gone through. It would show the little brat just what he had done in a way nothing else could. Yes, vengeance would be good.