A/N: Another chapter? WHAT. How did this happen. The answer is I don't know. The answer is also I'm really good at not doing homework.

Thanks to my tumblr buddy madammadhatter for reading this over for me before I posted.

The closer the wagon got to the Brandywine Bridge, the more distressed Eva seemed to be. Kíli watched her closely as they chatted, wondering what was on her mind.

"Are you sure you're all right with this?" he asked finally.

Eva cast a distracted glance in his direction. "Oh, yes," she said. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Kíli nodded and remained silent. The hobbit sitting beside him was young—much younger than himself. How old had Bella said she was? Twenty-two? Twenty-three? For a dwarf, that was practically still a child, but he knew that hobbits did not live as long. Perhaps for her own kind, she was more mature than he thought. But still…

"Aren't you worried about what your parents will think?" he said.

Eva smiled. "I know it's dangerous outside the borders of the Shire, Kíli, but here, we don't even lock our doors at night. If I'm gone too long, they'll be upset, but they won't fear too much for my safety."

Kíli blinked. This concept was so foreign to him—his own mother worried over him when they were gone for a few hours, even though both he and Fíli were highly-trained fighters. Things were different in the Shire, he supposed. He couldn't imagine not locking his door at night.

It took a few more hours, but they finally reached the Brandywine Bridge. Eva pulled the wagon to a stop and looked at Kíli.

"This is where I stop," she said. Kíli and Eva exchanged glances, and Kíli nodded. He stepped down out of the wagon.

"Fíli, we're here," he said. He climbed into the back of the wagon and shook Fíli's shoulder, but Fíli did not respond; he shook his shoulder again, but still Fíli remained asleep.

"Fíli!" he called, shaking harder. Fíli's eyes opened slowly, the blue irises barely visible beneath his eyelids.

"What?" he said grumpily.

"We're here," he said. "We've reached the bridge. Come on—we have to go on foot from here."

A look of panic crossed Fíli's face then, and Kíli's heart dropped. He knew that Fíli would not want to walk, but he could ask no more of the young hobbit that had helped them this far. He had no right to. Had Fíli not been in so much pain, he never would have accepted her help in the first place; going against his own guardians' word was one thing, but encouraging a young hobbit to do the same was something completely different.

"Come on," he said. "I'll help you."

Slowly, Kíli pulled Fíli out of the wagon. They moved carefully and Fíli kept one hand over his wound, his face set in a seemingly permanent grimace. He grunted as Kíli pulled him towards the edge of the wagon.

Eva watched the two of them with a strange look in her eye, which seemed to agitate Fíli even further. He cast a glare in her direction, and she blinked rapidly and opened her mouth to speak.

"Wait."

Fíli and Kíli stopped and looked at the hobbit. She swallowed and looked around warily before speaking again.

"Don't get out," she said. "I'll take you to the Old Forest."

"Eva, no," Kíli said, ignoring the elbow to his ribs from his brother. "I can't ask you to do any more for us. You're going to get in trouble."

"Kíli," Fíli ground out quietly.

"I don't care," Eva said. "Please—let me take you farther. If I can just get you to the border of the Old Forest, I'll feel much better about this."

"Kíli, please," Fíli whimpered. He caught his brother's sleeve and tugged, and Kíli turned to look at him. His eyes were wide and pleading. Kíli didn't need any further persuasion.

"Thank you, Eva," he said. "Thank you so much."

"Let's get a move on," said Eva. "We've still got a few hours ahead of us if we're going to make it there by sunset."

Kíli helped Fíli back to his spot in the back of the wagon, and instantly the elder dwarf curled into himself and closed his eyes. Kíli eyed him worriedly.

"Is it worse?" he said.

"It just hurts," Fíli replied, keeping his eyes closed. "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

"Maybe I should just—"

"No," Fíli interrupted. "Just leave me be."

Kíli twisted his mouth and stared at his brother, but Fíli remained curled up. He turned his head and his hair fell over his face. With a sigh, Kíli pulled the blankets out of his pack again and laid them over his brother, who pulled them up to his chin and lay quietly. Kíli took his place again at Eva's side.

"Thank you again," he said.

"I can't make him walk if I can take you farther," Eva said quietly. "Aren't you worried for him? He won't let you look at his wound…"

"He's always been like that, though," Kíli said. "He never makes a fuss about being hurt. It's just the way he is."

"Still, doesn't it worry you?" she said.

"Aye, but he doesn't trust me right now. I can only do so much."

"If I were you, I'd do whatever I needed to anyway," Eva sniffed.

"I—I can't, Eva," Kíli said. "You don't understand. He's being remarkably cooperative right now. What he's been like…"

"Which you won't tell me," Eva retorted.

Kíli looked straight ahead and sighed. He didn't want to relive the past couple of weeks. However much Eva wanted to know, he just wasn't willing to share. He shook his head.

"I just can't," he said. "I'm sorry. I don't want to talk about it."

"All right, never mind," said Eva. "I'm sorry for prying."

Kíli said nothing in reply. He kept peering out at the road ahead; they had crossed the bridge, and now they were finally on the Great East Road.

"Shouldn't we be heading towards Buckland?" Kíli said. He was familiar with this road; it led to Bree, not to Buckland. They should have turned south and gone through the North Gate.

"Not if you're going to the Old Forest," said Eva. "There's a hedge all around Buckland to the east, and I don't know where you can get through it. Better to just go around it."

Kíli had heard of this hedge—or the High Hay, as the Bucklanders called it. They had built it to keep out the Old Forest, though Kíli did not understand why they would need to keep out a forest at all. They were just trees, after all—what could they do? But hobbits were not dwarves, and whatever their reasoning was, he was sure it made sense to them.

After a while it began to rain again—a soft, warm rain, unlike the torrential downpour from the day before. Still, the moisture clung to his skin and his clothes and left him feeling damp and uncomfortableand Eva's curls clung to her forehead. He heard Fíli groaning from the back, but when he asked what was wrong, Fíli simply told him to leave him alone. Eventually they veered right off the Road and started to go through the country. The grass was tall and unkempt, but the land was beautiful, even enchanting, in the mist. Flowers grew high in patches here and there, and their vivid colors brightened the otherwise grey landscape. Kíli watched them distractedly, trying not to think about the road ahead.

The rain continued for the next several hours, even when they stopped to eat in the back of the wagon. Fíli actually sat up and ate with them; it seemed that the day's rest had done him some good, though he still looked pale and would not let Kíli touch him. After their supper, they set off again, and the Old Forest finally came into view. Even from a distance it seemed dark and foreboding; though Kíli could not see anyone, he felt as if someone was watching him from afar, waiting for him. He tried to shake the feeling off, but it remained. Eva looked even more nervous than he felt.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. He wasn't sure why he was whispering, but he felt as if he should.

"I'll be fine," Eva whispered back, though her voice was higher than usual. Her brown eyes looked ready to fall out of her head, but she sat up straight and set her mouth in a grim line. Kíli could tell she was determined to go on, so he did not press her further. The two of them were silent; an oppressive gloom hung over them, only growing stronger as they approached the forest. The awful feeling of being watched grew stronger, and Kíli was reminded of a cave, a dark, wet cave—

"Stop," he gasped suddenly.

Eva stopped the wagon immediately and turned to look at her friend. Kíli buried his face in his hands and took a deep, shaky breath.

"Kíli?"

Kíli did not respond. He knew the feeling that was coming, and he did not welcome it. The fear that he thought he had left behind was coming at him full force. How was he supposed to go through this forest? How was Fíli supposed to go through this?

"Fíli," he said, whirling around and looking at his brother. Fíli was sound asleep, but his brow was creased in a frown. Kíli jumped into the back.

"Kíli!" Eva called, but he paid her no mind. He sat beside Fíli and watched him carefully, but he did not touch him. He was afraid of what would happen if he did. If he was feeling like this, he could only imagine what Fíli would feel when he awoke.

"He's fine," he whispered to himself. "He's fine. I'm fine. We're fine."

"What's going on?" Eva said.

"It's—you wouldn't understand," Kíli said. "Something—something happened to us. This place…"

"Reminds you of it?"

Kíli nodded and swallowed. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and shook his head. He would be fine. He could do this.

"Sorry," he said to Eva, climbing back into the front. "I'm all right. I'll… I'll be fine."

Eva eyed him warily, but she did not protest. Instead, she started them off again, and the forest loomed closer.

Kíli forced himself to stare at the trees before him. Some were straight and tall; some were short and gnarled. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to them. Moss grew on the trunks and branches, hanging down like long, ghostly fingers. Kíli shuddered, thinking of one of those touching him. He covered his face with his hands. Something was watching him.

"It's strange, isn't it?" Eva whispered. "You can feel it…"

"Aye, you can," Kíli said hoarsely. He forced himself to look up again. He would overcome this—he had to. Eva said nothing more, and neither did he, and Fíli remained asleep in the back. Kíli would let him sleep until the last possible moment.

Eva suddenly stopped the wagon, and Kíli turned his gaze to her questioningly. She was watching him with a critical eye.

"Kíli, what's the matter?" she said. It sounded like a question, but Kíli knew it was a demand. He had heard that tone plenty of times from his mother. Still, this hobbit was not his mother, and he had no obligation to answer her.

"I'll be fine," he said. "Keep going. I'll be fine."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Eva pressed.

Kíli shook his head. "Not unless you can change the past," he said. "We have to do this. I've made it this far—this is the only hope I've got. I have to keep going."

"We can turn around, Kíli," said Eva. "You don't have to—"

"No!" said Kíli vehemently. "I've been through so much to get this far, and I won't turn back now."

"What is so important about this forest?" Eva demanded. Her high, clear voice cut through the dense air like a knife.

"I need Fíli back!" Kíli said. "This—this shell of a dwarf—this isn't my brother! He's been caught up in some nightmare—he doesn't know who he is, he doesn't know who I am—and no one knew what to do! I was the only one who knew what to do! I was the only one who knew something was wrong!" He could feel his hands shaking; Stop, he told himself, but the gloom before him was addling his mind, and he did not listen to his own admonishment. "I was the only one who tried anything! My uncle didn't know what to do—my mother couldn't do anything—they didn't even know where to start! At least I'm out here! I don't care if it kills me. I won't give up on him. I won't!"

Kíli looked at Eva; she was staring at him with wide eyes and leaning away from him, as if she expected him to strike her. He looked down at his shaking hands and clenched them into fists, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "It's not your fault. It's just been hard, is all."

"I'm sorry I asked," Eva replied. She set the wagon in motion again, and Kíli bowed his head, letting his hair fall over his face.

"We're here."

Kíli looked up at the forest looming before him. The sun had set, but with the clouds above and the forest ahead, it felt like the darkest night Kíli had ever seen. He took a deep breath. He had mastered himself a while before. He could do this. Fíli could do this. They didn't have another choice.

"Thank you, Eva," he said.

"You're welcome," said Eva. She looked uncomfortable in the shadow of the trees, and Kíli laid a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you," he said. "I hope your family won't be too upset with you."

"I'm more worried about you," Eva said, still watching the trees warily. "I've never heard anything good about this forest."

"I'm a trained fighter—I'll be all right," Kíli said. "Don't worry about me."

"And your brother?"

"I'll keep him safe."

Eva looked from Kíli to Fíli, who was still asleep in the back of the wagon. She bit her lip.

"I wish I could help you more," she said. "But I can't—I can't go in there."

"And I'm not asking you to," said Kíli. "I wouldn't ask you to. I wouldn't let you, even if you insisted."

Eva smiled warmly at her new friend. "Promise me one thing, though," she said. "If you manage to accomplish what you've come here for—please come back to the Shire. I would like to know that you and Fíli are all right, and I know that my mother would, too."

"I don't think your father would approve," said Kíli with a grin.

"Well, I'd rather know you were safe," said Eva. "Please promise me."

"I promise," Kíli said, taking her hand. She smiled and nodded.

"Thank you," she said. "Now, you'd better get going. I have to get back eventually."

Kíli felt a nervous lurch inside at the thought of going into this forest on foot. He wished dearly that they still had the ponies, but that couldn't be helped now. He hopped off the wagon and searched the bare ground for fallen branches that could be used as a walking stick. A few yards into the forest he found one, thick and sturdy, but still attached to a fallen tree. He set a foot on the trunk and yanked the branch free; a shudder seemed to go through the trees around him. He cowered for a moment, looking up into the foliage with nervous eyes. Stories from his childhood and his books started filtering into his mind—tales of trees that could feel, talk, even move. They were never fond of dwarves. He ran back to the wagon.

"Is he still asleep?" he said.

"I think so," said Eva. "He hasn't moved."

Kíli broke the thin end off the branch in his hand and tested it against his weight—sturdy enough. It would hold Fíli. He climbed into the back of the wagon and shook his brother's shoulder. For once, Fíli jumped awake. He looked up at Kíli with wide eyes.

"We're here," he said. "I got you a walking stick."

Fíli grimaced but offered no protest as Kíli helped him out of the wagon. He took the walking stick and leaned upon it heavily; Kíli stayed beside him, making sure he did not fall. Fíli looked up at the gnarled trees before him and immediately shrank back.

"No, no, no," he whimpered, pressing into his brother. Kíli took hold of his elbows and squeezed reassuringly, but Fíli only shook his head and took another step back.

"It'll be all right, Fíli," he whispered in his brother's ear. "It's not what you're thinking. This is not the same."

"It feels the same," Fíli hissed. Kíli held onto him tightly.

"It isn't," he said firmly. "Listen to me, Fíli. It's not the same. You will be all right."

"I don't want to do this anymore," Fíli said. "I don't—I can't do it…"

"Fíli, we've made it this far," he said. "Where are you going to go?"

"I—I don't know," Fíli said. "Somewhere—anywhere but here—"

"Come on, Fíli," Kíli said. "You said you would come with me here. All the way. Then, once we're done, you can go wherever you wish to go."

"I didn't know it would be like this!" Fíli argued. He tried to pull away from Kíli's grip, but Kíli turned him around to face him and held on. Fíli grunted.

"Let me go," he said.

"Please, Fíli, just a bit farther," Kíli begged. "I will not let anything harm you. You have my word."

Fíli stopped struggling for a moment and looked into Kíli's eyes. The unnatural darkness that had been ever-present in his gaze was still there, piercing into Kíli painfully. But beyond that, there was a glimmer of trust that Kíli had not seen in what felt like forever, warring with the darkness; the struggle was clear in Fíli's face.

"Fíli," he breathed. "Please."

Fíli blinked, staring into his brother's face; after a long silence, he nodded slowly.

"All right," he said. "I'll go."

Kíli grinned broadly and almost hugged his brother, but when he moved forward, Fíli jumped back. Kíli stopped himself and his grin faded. The flame of joy that had been growing flickered a bit, but it did not go out. He helped Fíli put on his pack and then put on his own; then he turned to Eva, still sitting atop the wagon.

"Thank you, Eva," he said. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough for your kindness."

"You can return me in kind by letting me know you made it all right," Eva said with a smile. She looked around nervously at the creaking trees. "Now go. I'll see you again."

"Until next time," Kíli said. With that, Eva turned her wagon around and headed back the way she came. Kíli hoped her travels would be safe and easy—this close to the Shire, she was sure to be fine, but he still felt guilty for leaving a young hobbit, not even an adult, to travel through the night on her own.

"All right, Fíli," he said, turning back to the Old Forest. "Let's get this over with."

Kíli knew that they were probably going slowly with Fíli, but he honestly had no idea what speed they were going at all. They simply walked, going whichever way the path led—if it was a path. Kíli had a sneaking suspicion that they were being led somehow. That feeling of being watched was ever on him, but no matter where he looked, there was nothing to see. Slowly he began to realize that maybe, just maybe, it was the trees themselves that were watching.

Fíli was not faring well. He had rested all day, and at first he had seemed to be doing better, but his energy had faded quickly. Now he trudged along behind, pale and even sweating. Kíli stopped many times to make sure he was all right, but each time, Fíli waved him off, saying that it was just soreness—he was fine. Kíli didn't want to fight, so he let him be. They would stop soon to sleep, anyway. Kíli would insist on checking on him then. It was late, but even Fíli had wanted to press on as long as possible. They both wanted to be out of this wood.

The rain had passed and the clouds had rolled away; the full moon shone through spaces in the foliage, but its illumination seemed strange and weak. They could see the path, but still it seemed to be drenched in darkness, as if a veil hung over their eyes. More than once Kíli waved a hand before his face, trying to push it away.

"I wish I could sing in this place," Kíli murmured. He stepped out of the way of a branch that had suddenly appeared in his path.

"Why don't you?" said Fíli.

"I don't know," Kíli replied. "I just feel like it would make them angry."

"Who?"

Kíli looked up anxiously. "The trees," he whispered. The leaves rustled in reply, and both dwarves stopped and looked around. The branches above them creaked and groaned; Kíli took hold of Fíli's arm, and Fíli stepped closer to him. Kíli backed into a tree that he was sure was not behind him a moment before.

"Oi! Stop that!" he called out. His voice seemed thin in the close air. "We're not going to hurt you!"

The shadows of the trees seemed to close in even more at Kíli's outburst, and Fíli shrank back, nearly stumbling over himself; Kíli caught him and held him upright, but Fíli was shaking and his eyes were shut tight.

"Go away, go away, go away," Fíli whispered fervently. The trees only loomed ominously in response.

"Come on, Fíli," Kíli said, tugging at his brother's arm. "Let's keep going. I think we should keep moving."

Fíli moaned and lurched forward, catching himself with his walking stick before he fell. Kíli reached out a hand to steady him, but he drew it back when Fíli cast a glare in his direction.

"I'm fine," he said.

There did seem to be an established path through the forest, but where it went, Kíli could not tell. All he knew was that they were moving steadily downhill. Water dripped slowly from the trees, landing more often than was natural on Fíli and Kíli's faces; roots seemed to appear before their feet suddenly, though neither dwarf saw them move, and branches whipped their faces on more than one occasion.

This forest does not want us here, Kíli thought. He had believed in fairy tales from a young age, but living trees had always seemed a bit outrageous, even to him; living in the mountains, there had been plenty of trees, but they had never seemed as alive as the ones here. These trees had invisible eyes, invisible ears, invisible mouths that whispered to each other—They're here, get them out, get them out. Or maybe keep them in, keep them in forever. Kíli didn't know how trees talked—he was a dwarf, after all. One that loved the outdoors more than most of his kind, but a dwarf nonetheless.

They passed the time in silence, their pace becoming slower and slower as Fíli struggled to keep up. Kíli kept himself a few steps ahead, but he checked back every minute or so to make sure Fíli wasn't too far behind.

"Do you want to stop?" Kíli called.

"No," Fíli rasped. "I don't want to sit still. I slept all day. Let's keep going."

Kíli stopped and turned around, looking over his brother worriedly. He was sweating visibly and his face glowed white in the gloaming. Still he struggled on, but Kíli did not move.

"Fíli, we need to rest for the night," he said. "Please."

"Keep going," Fíli grunted. "I'm not stopping in this place."

"Fíli!" Kíli said forcefully. "You need to stop."

"No!" Fíli shot back.

Kíli threw his hands in the air, exasperated. If Fíli was so determined, he wasn't going to be able to stop him—not without physically forcing him to lie down. He was not going to break the fragile trust he had finally begun to rebuild over this.

"Fine," he said. "But only for a little while. Then we're stopping."

Fíli said nothing; he simply carried on walking. Kíli, tired of walking slowly, scouted ahead a bit. The winding path had carried them to what seemed to be the heart of the forest, and Kíli was sure that he could hear flowing water in the distance, breaking the silence ever so slightly. He jogged back the path to where Fíli trudged along, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

"I think there's water nearby," Kíli said. "If we can make it there, will you rest?"

Fíli made a noncommittal grunt, and Kíli rolled his eyes. People always called him the stubborn one, but Fíli was just as bad, in his opinion. He turned and was about to start off again when he heard a thud behind him.

Instantly Kíli whirled around, searching for the source of the sound; a rush of blood roared in his ears and his vision blurred as he caught sight of Fíli collapsed on the ground.

"Fíli!" he cried, running back to his brother and dropping to his knees. Fíli lay face down, shivering violently, and Kíli rolled him over onto his back. Fíli moaned but did not fight him; his half-lidded eyes roamed aimlessly and then fluttered shut. Kíli gently patted his face.

"Fíli, Fíli, stay with me," he said anxiously. Fíli stirred but did not open his eyes, and Kíli took a deep, shaky breath. Trust be damned—he was going to check on that wound whether Fíli liked it or not. He dropped his pack and tugged at Fíli's shirt, revealing the stained bandages underneath, and then unwound the bandages as quickly as he could. Beneath the cloths was a festering mess of infection, oozing and red, and Kíli cursed loudly.

"Fíli, why wouldn't you tell me?" he said. "Why would you—Mahal, Fíli, why would you keep this from me? We could have stopped! We should have stopped!"

"Wanted to… keep going," Fíli mumbled quietly. Kíli ran a hand through his hair and stared at the wound in panic. He didn't know how to deal with this. He was not in the place to deal with this—but if he didn't get help, Fíli's life was in immediate danger.

"Fíli, stay awake, all right?" he said. "Whatever you do, stay awake. You are not allowed to die on me, do you hear? You'll be fine."

Fíli did not speak, but his eyelids fluttered open again, and Kíli breathed a sigh of relief. But as soon as they had opened, they closed again.

"No!" Kíli cried, patting Fíli's face again, but Fíli did not respond. A boiling fear and frustration rose from his gut, and he bent over his brother's body and touched his forehead to Fíli's chest. A scream emerged from his throat before he could quell it, and once it started, he could not keep it back. When he stopped, the air felt different, as if his scream had rent through some kind of spell. He took hold of Fíli's shoulders and shook him violently.

"Please, please, no," he sobbed. "Please wake up, please get better, I don't know what to do, Fíli, I need you—please—I can't do this, I'm not you, I don't know what to do!"

Fíli remained quiet and still despite Kíli's pleadings, and Kíli let out a wail of anguish. This infection was too much for him. He didn't know how to fix it—if someone didn't come along soon, Fíli was going to die.

No, Kíli told himself. I can't let that happen. I will not lose him.

"Help!" he screamed, ignoring the hostile silent whisperings of the trees nearby. He didn't care about them. Let them be angry and foreboding—he had Fíli to worry about. "Help! Someone! Anyone, please!"

The oppressive silence took over once more as Kíli fell silent; even Kíli's panting seemed distant and muffled. He looked about wildly, praying for someone to find him.

"Help!" he shouted, pushing every bit of strength within him into his cry. Tears rolled down his face as he looked about desperately, but there came no reply. Why would there be a reply? People didn't live in the Old Forest—except this useless enigma of a man named Tom Bombadil, apparently. Kíli cursed himself for being such a fool. He dragged his frightened and confused brother all the way here with no plan, no clue as to where this mysterious figure would be at all. He had betrayed his family and gotten his own brother injured and possibly killed.

Selfish, his mind told him. Selfish, selfish, selfish. This wasn't for Fíli. This was never for Fíli. This was all for you.

Kíli could not argue against the voice in his head. He had been reckless. He was always reckless. No matter how many times someone reprimanded him, told him to think, he never thought enough. Now look what you've done. The ramifications were far too dire this time.

"I'm sorry, Fíli," he said, pressing his hand to Fíli's chest. "I'm sorry I'm such a rubbish brother, I'm sorry I've brought this upon you—"

Suddenly he stopped as a strange sound reached his ears. As it came closer, it seemed as if the air itself cleared; suddenly the trees didn't seem to loom over him and Fíli so much, and the moonlight seemed to become brighter. Someone was coming, and he was singing; the words became clear, and Kíli stood, searching for the source of the nonsense song he recognized—he had heard it before on Bofur's lips.

It was the song of Tom Bombadil.

DO YOU KNOW how long I have waited to get to this point? FOREVER. That's how long. Forever and a half.

Man, this is the longest chapter I've ever written. I don't know what happened there. I wrote it so freaking fast and I'm actually proud of it. Who knows when the next chapter will come, though? Will it be tomorrow? Will it be next month? I cannot say! All I can say is that you can bet I'll write it because I've been waiting for this next chapter since I posted Chapter One... and so have you. *hint hint*

I wrote a oneshot that is on my profile, too; it's called "Words He Never Should Say." It's a Fíli/Kíli family fic set when Fíli is 10 and Kíli is 5. If you love mildly angsty fluffy baby Durins, it's your thing.

Please review! Especially on this chapter. And I'll try to write the next one soon. You have no idea how much I am dying to get there.