In that one moment when Kíli had his eyes closed, he allowed himself to panic.

It was like a heat wave, rushing through his head at a thousand miles an hour and paralyzing his limbs. All sound disappeared into a deafening roar as a tangible fear swept through his veins. Then, as quickly as the panic had come, it ended, and his mind was absolutely clear.

You have to save him.

Kíli opened his eyes. Fíli looked up at him, panting, his eyes wide and shining. Kíli ran forward and hooked his arms under his brother's armpits; carefully, he lowered him to the ground, taking care not to make any sudden movements.

"Don't panic," he said. "Stay with me, all right? It's not that bad! It's not that bad, all right?"

Fíli merely grunted, staring up into the foliage with wide, panicked eyes. Kíli looked down at the knife and swallowed. It didn't look that big, but blood was already seeping through Fíli's clothes.

"Don't move," Kíli said. "I'll be back. I'll be right back."

Kíli ran to their camp and snatched up his bag as quickly as he could; when he returned to where his brother lay, Fíli was gasping harshly, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Kíli took Fíli's face in his hands and turned it to face him.

"Look at me, Fíli," he said. "Don't look at it. Look at me. I'm going to help you."

"No," Fíli gasped. "No, don't—don't—leave me alone!"

"I can't do that, Fee," Kíli said. "You're going to have to trust me."

"Please," Fíli said, his voice cracking.

Kíli swallowed and bowed his head for a moment. Keep your composure, he told himself. He looked back up at his brother and offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Then he turned his attention to Fíli's stomach; the knife was stuck in several inches above the hipbone on his left side. He had heard Óin say once that he should leave something like this in for someone more trained to deal with—unless no help was going to come soon. Kíli looked around. They were too far from anywhere. No one was coming soon. He was going to have to take it out himself.

First things first: he had to cut away the fabric. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small knife.

"No!" Fíli screamed suddenly, dragging himself backwards.

"Fíli, stop!" Kíli said, diving after his brother and pushing his shoulders to the ground. Fíli struggled against his grip violently, pushing against his chest and whimpering, and Kíli fought for control as carefully as he possibly could. Fíli let out a scream that ripped through Kíli painfully, and he let go, staring at his brother with wide eyes.

"Fíli," he said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

But Fíli was beyond reason. His eyes shone with terror far past anything Kíli had ever seen; he looked up at his little brother and tears ran down his face unheeded, his arms crossed above himself defensively. He began to babble pleadingly.

"Please, please don't hurt me, please, I don't—I don't have anything you want, I don't know what you want from me, I'm sorry, I won't hurt you again, I'm sorry, please…"

Kíli felt his heart shatter as he watched his brother plead for his life. Never had Fíli ever looked so afraid, so vulnerable, as he did in this moment. The pain was so real that he jerked involuntarily, and Fíli yelped and flinched beneath him. For a moment he was blinded as tears built in his eyes; he blinked them away and let them roll hot down his cheeks. More welled up, and he shook his head quickly. Focus.

"Well, I'm going to save you, Fíli, with or without your help," he said.

Quick as lightning, Kíli grabbed Fíli's arms and crossed them tight across his chest. He leaned his weight on his brother's arms with the right side of his body and picked up his knife. Fíli screamed and struggled and pleaded, and Kíli did his best to ignore him, cutting away the fabric from the site of the wound. The knife was not large, and it was not in deep, but it was in deep enough to be stuck, and too much blood crept down his brother's left side. Kíli winced at the sight of it. He reached over Fíli's body and into his pack for a clean shirt and quickly ripped it into large pieces.

"Hold still," he said.

His brother did not listen; instead, his struggling and pleading only became more passionate. Kíli took a deep breath to prepare himself and blinked away more tears; then he pressed down on Fíli's abdomen with one hand, and with the other, he pulled the knife out.

Fíli screamed a bloodcurdling scream and began to struggle anew, and it took all of Kíli's strength to hold him still on the ground. Blood began to flow freely from the wound, and Kíli swallowed.

"Oh my… that's… that's a lot of blood," he said.

"Stop, stop, please," Fíli sobbed beneath him. Kíli closed his eyes for a moment and took another deep breath. Apply pressure. Fíli was not going to like it. He took his newly-made rag and pressed down on the wound, and a tearful gasp left Fíli's lips.

"Please, please, stop…" Fíli said, his words trailing off as Kíli continued to press down. Blood seeped through the cloth quickly, and Kíli added another cloth to the first. Fíli's struggling slowed, and Kíli did not relent.

"It's all right," Kíli said. "You don't have to fight. I'm not going to hurt you."

Fíli sobbed, but finally, he allowed his body to relax, and Kíli tentatively lifted his weight off his brother. A strained sigh of relief came from Fíli, and Kíli felt a new pang of regret in his chest. No matter how gentle he tried to be, he was still hurting him—and Fíli trusted him even less. He knelt beside him, keeping the pressure on his abdomen constant, and looked up to his face. Clean tear tracks ran down his dirty cheeks; his eyes were closed tight and his lips were pressed together. Kíli's shattered heart crumbled even more, and he sniffed. He could still feel the tears rolling down his own face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Fíli opened his eyes and met his brother's gaze.

"What?" he croaked.

"I'm sorry," Kíli repeated. "I didn't want to hurt you. I would never hurt you. Not if I could help it."

Fíli's brow furrowed as he stared at Kíli, and for a moment, Kíli could have sworn that he saw a flicker of recognition in his brother's eyes—but if it had been there at all, it was gone immediately, and the darkness that had become too familiar settled back in its place. Kíli looked down and took a deep breath.

For several minutes, there was silence between them; Kíli focused his attention on trying to stop the bleeding, and Fíli lay quietly, save for the occasional sniffle and hiccup as he continued to cry. When blood stopped trickling down Fíli's side, Kíli spoke.

"All right, Fíli, I need to bandage this now," he said. "I need you to sit up."

Fíli turned his head and looked up at Kíli plaintively and nodded, and Kíli reached for one of his brother's hands. With a gasp, Fíli pulled back, and Kíli sighed.

"I need you to hold these cloths in place," he said. "Give me your hand."

Fíli allowed Kíli to grab his hand, and Kíli placed it over the bloody cloths that covered the knife wound. He pushed down, and Fíli hissed.

"Keep pressing on it," Kíli said. "I'm going to help you up." He leaned over and slipped his hands under Fíli's shoulders.

"W-what are you doing?" Fíli said.

"I'm going to lift you up on the count of three. Keep pressing on that. Ready?"

Fíli took a deep breath and nodded.

"One, two, three."

Kíli lifted Fíli's torso carefully, but Fíli still cried out in pain, and he grimaced. He pulled Fíli forward and leaned his brother's head against his shoulder; then he took a particularly long piece of cloth and began to wrap it around Fíli's abdomen.

"All right, now move your hands," he said. Fíli did as he was told, letting his hands drop into his lap; the weight of his head pressed into Kíli's collarbone, and Kíli could feel every sniffle and every hitched breath against his shoulder. For a moment, Kíli paused as a warm feeling spread in his chest. He thought back to nights, so many nights, when Fíli had awoken from some bad dream and laid his head against his brother's shoulder just like this—sometimes he would simply breathe deeply; sometimes tears would fall. But the fact remained that it was the one instance, the only instance, when Kíli took care of Fíli—just like he was taking care of Fíli now.

But Fíli was not comforted by Kíli anymore. As quickly as the warmth had spread in Kíli's chest, it faded, and Kíli was left feeling cold and alone. He had Fíli here, but he did not have Fíli; he did not have his brother. These moments, these small moments when Kíli thought he had his brother back—they weren't real. They were illusions, deceptions he willed himself to believe and yet forced himself to push away at the same time. Not until he knew for sure that his brother recognized him would he allow himself to believe it.

As gently as he could, Kíli tied his makeshift bandage tightly around Fíli's abdomen. When he pulled the tie tight, Fíli gasped, and once again Kíli felt regret course through his veins.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm done."

Instantly Fíli attempted to pull back, but he had barely moved an inch when he groaned and his hand clapped over his wound. His head fell back against Kíli's shoulder. Kíli's hands moved of their own accord, ready to embrace, but he stopped himself. Fíli would not accept the gesture—it would only make him more afraid.

"Come on," he said softly. "We need to get away from these bodies."

"I don't—I don't know if I can walk," Fíli said tearfully.

"I'll help you," Kíli said.

"But I don't know if I can," Fíli argued. Kíli could feel the hot tears seeping through his shirt, and his stomach twisted painfully. He took a deep breath.

"You can lean on me," he said. "I know, it's not ideal, but please, just tr—just help yourself for a minute. You know we need to get away from these orcs."

Without waiting for a reply, Kíli shifted his weight and wrapped an arm around his brother; he took Fíli's arm and pulled it behind his neck.

"Ready?" he said.

"Please, I can't," Fíli begged.

"Just over there," Kíli said. "Right over there. It's not that far. Just to the fire."

Fíli looked towards the fire and swallowed. He looked at the dead orcs surrounding him, took a breath, and nodded.

"On the count of three, we're going to stand," Kíli said. "Just like before. One, two, three."

Even though Kíli bore most of Fíli's weight as they rose from the ground, his brother still let out a scream and nearly collapsed. Kíli's knees started to buckle, but he held himself and Fíli up.

"I can't, I can't," Fíli whimpered, clutching his stomach.

"You can," Kíli said. "Just put one foot in front of the other. I'll help you as much as I can."

Once they actually got moving, it was easier than Kíli thought it would be to keep going. They reached the fire slowly, and Kíli hooked his arms under Fíli's again and lowered him to the ground, holding his torso upright. Then he gently took hold of the back of Fíli's neck and the small of his back; Fíli gasped and started, but Kíli focused on lowering him as carefully as possible into a horizontal position. A strained whimper left Fíli's lips, but he allowed Kíli to continue until his blond head was touching the mossy ground.

"I'll get you a blanket," Kíli said, rising quickly to his feet. "I'll help you with a shirt later—for now, we'll just keep you warm."

Fíli lay wordlessly as Kíli snatched up his own blanket and laid it over his brother; Fíli avoided his caretaker's eye, turning his head to the side. Kíli watched a tear roll from the corner of his eye across the bridge of his nose. He swallowed.

"Lie still for a while," he said. "You rest. I'll figure out what to do."

Fíli did not reply. He lay still as directed, save for the occasional tearful hiccup, and Kíli left him alone for the time being. He built up the fire again and sat across from Fíli, his back to the flames and his knees drawn up to his chest.

What am I going to do now? he thought. Orcs had not been a part of his plan. Now Fíli was injured—and Kíli did not know how deeply—and their ponies had bolted. Orc blades were not clean, either, and Kíli was not an idiot; he knew that Fíli was at a very high risk for infection. He had to get him somewhere, and he had to get him there quickly.

Kíli looked out at the land south and sighed. They were so far from home, and Kíli would never forgive himself if this expedition became the death of his brother. Fíli's terrified face filled his mind, and he gasped tearfully and pressed his palms against his eyelids. He felt sick. Fíli should never have felt so afraid of him. What had that creature done to his brother?

He took a deep breath and lifted his head once again to stare out into the fields below the Hills of Evendim. Now was not the time to cry over what he could not change on his own. He had to find some place to help Fíli. He was not well-acquainted with this area, but he knew that they were close to the Northfarthing of the Shire; Hobbits were suspicious of Dwarves, but they were a kindhearted people, and if Kíli showed up at the door and asked for help, certainly they would give it.

From his place high up on the hill, Kíli could see the Brandywine winding through the Shire; it meandered west as it flowed further south, separating the Greenfields from the lands east that did not belong to the quiet land of Hobbit-kind. He thought back to the night before, just before he had fallen asleep, how he had seen the lights of Hobbit homes far below. They had not seemed so far off. He straightened and looked out into the fields. Surely there must be a home or a farm close enough to reach within a day, even going slow. He looked back at Fíli; he had stopped crying, it seemed, but Kíli could see the lump of his hand under the blanket covering his wound. If he could just get him there…

He opened his mouth to call Fíli's name, but then he stopped himself. Let Fíli rest for now, without the fear and stress of having to move in his condition. Kíli burned with anger at the orcs that had attempted to steal their ponies and kill his brother. Now he had a terrified and injured brother on his hands and the only way to get him to help was to make him walk.

He would deal with that in a little while. Fíli needed to rest. For now, he would sit and wait.