DISCLAIMER: SAME AS BEFORE FOLKS. CHECK OUT DA EARLIER CHAPTAHS. DANKE KINDLEH.

Here's #13! Thanks for all your lovely comments everyone! You're all fantastic! ;)

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Down the hall, a short distance away, Thorin had made his way to the entrance of the cave. He stood there, enjoying the peaceful silence. Breathing deeply, he attempted to calm himself, hearing the Hobbit's words echo again and again within his mind. Part of him knew that the Hobbit really hadn't meant to insult, but he still felt a good deal of anger at the offensive comment. That, combined with how unwell he felt and the Hobbit's chattering voice had really been too much. Thorin would readily admit to himself at least, that patience had never been one of his virtues.

He clutched his stomach as another wave of churning broke over him. Leaning against the wall he gave a curse. Why was this happening? He did not have a weak digestion, and had never had difficulties with it. He thought that perhaps he might have eaten something to disagree with it, but then again the Hobbit had been right. He had not eaten the entire day. In fact, at the moment, Just thinking of edibles made him ill.

His head now sounded like a drum, with its constant beating making him feel as if his head would soon explode from the pressure. That type of pain however, he could bear easily. The pain he felt within his stomach was another matter entirely. He did not remember ever feeling this ill, not since long ago when he was a lad. The memory was just as clear and vivid in his mind as it had been one hundred and twenty years ago. He still remembered, the kind face of his mother as she nursed him back to health. Such a face would be hard to forget. The blur of his grandfather Thror, looking somewhat concerned but still keeping the regal bearing of a king, in the background. His father of course nowhere to be seen. But that had always been Thrain's way, always elsewhere, almost non-existent. Thorin still felt a great anger at how his father had been an unknown shadow to his children, but was grateful for his grandfather. It was Thror who had been the fatherly figure in Thorin's life. He had been strict, but fair. Teaching Thorin all that a prince and warrior must know. The knowledge that he had passed down had saved Thorin's life many times, and even to this day still aided him. He had always been a sure presence in Thorin's memory, like a pillar of stone with its strength. Thrain had done none of these things, acting like a ghost around the royal line, ignoring his family's need of him.

Thorin had been much like his grandfather, showing a great willingness to serve his people and make his forefathers proud. He readily bowed to duty and honor, realizing their importance. Thrain had had little interest in the running of his great kingdom, often causing Thror to despair of him. Perhaps this had been the reason why Thror had taken such great pains with his grandson, ensuring at least one strong king after him. Thorin had not disappointed, and slowly Thror had let more and more duties fall to the young prince, until finally Thorin took the place of the King's right hand man. Loyal to his king and people.

This had caused Thorin to be different from his siblings. Because of his great expectations, he often was the responsible and adult member in his sibling's wild escapades.

Frerin had been the jolly trickster of the family, and like Thrain showed little interest in the kingdom. Never taking anything seriously, he was full of laughter and looked at the world brightly with enthusiasm strangely akin to Fili and Kili. Thorin would never speak of it, but Kili looked nearly as his long dead uncle had. The uncle he had never known. Even favoring the Bow over sword as Frerin had.

Frerin required little to put a smile on his face, and was completely satisfied with his daily amusements, which often included practical jokes on unsuspecting nobles and servants. Thorin had often found himself torn between his duty and brotherly affection, finding Frerin in a pickle and becoming quite conflicted with the possible decisions. He would usually end up giving in, saving Frerin from whatever madness he had gotten himself into and keeping the entire affair quite secret. It would not have done to allow Thror to discover what the lads had been up to. Thorin had lost count of the times he had saved his brother from well earned chastisement.

Dis was a fiery girl, having a temper to be feared, but stubbornly loyal to her brothers. She too, would often do her best to help Frerin out of his difficulties, and aided Thorin often in his attempts. Even defending Frerin's choice of a bow as his main weapon. Never would she hear anything said against Frerin and Thorin, proud of both her brothers she would challenge any that said anything negative about them. She had a mass of blonde curly hair, which she often kept in complicated ways about her head. Thorin never understood how she had the patience to keep it in such a manner, preferring himself to let his own hair flow simply. But then again she was a girl, and girls were peculiar creatures.

When Frerin had died, he had taken a great deal of his sibling's hearts with him. Dis and Thorin had remained quite close, but spoke of him little. Frerin was a name unspoken in the heirs of Durin's presence.

Thorin remembered, grasping his brother's bloody hand in the battle of Azanulbizar. His last words still still written painfully in Thorin's heart, slain by the shining pool of Mirrormere in Moria, his blood mixing with its pure waters. Where Durin himself had walked his descendant Frerin died, a dream died as well. The dream of two brothers standing by one another for all eternity. All his life Thorin had believed that Frerin would be by his side, with him. He had never thought the day would come when he would say goodbye to the bright smile and shining eyes. But this dream was shattered. Like Thror, Thorin had built up many strong walls around himself, that only a privileged few knew the entrance to. With Frerin's death they had cracked. Thorin had wept then, one of the few times he had ever allowed himself to do so, and the last.

Thorin shook his head, willing himself to concentrate on other matters, forcing the aching memories back into the darkness. This was the present. The past was over and gone. He could not bring Frerin back by thinking on him. He must stay focused.

Quickly, his mind ran over the events of the day, trying to find what the source of his discomfort had been, and if possible how to remedy it. It was then that a nasty suspicion grew within his mind. Removing his armor, he knew there was one thing to do. Pulling the bloodstained tunic away, he was able to view the bound and damaged area. Gingerly he removed the strips of cloth he had placed over the wound in his side, hissing as his fingers clumsily came into contact with the area around the sensitive injury. The slashed flesh had turned into a disturbing hue somewhere between purple and grey, looking almost dead, with pronounced veins having a yellowish tinge and black clots of blood. Like a malicious grin, the opening jeered back at the Dwarf, crushing any hope of a painless journey.

Looking at it caused Thorin to feel nauseous. The Dwarf leaned up against the wall, feeling unsteady on his feet and needing something to anchor himself. If only the worthy Oin was here. He would know what to do. As much as it pained Thorin to say so, he was absolutely clueless with these matters, and had only a vague idea that somehow the wound must be kept clean. Wondering what exactly was the best way to go about this without causing too much discomfort, his thoughts were broken by a voice.

"That looks nasty."

Turning with a start at the voice, he found none other than Bilbo Baggins, who had followed after him on silent Hobbit feet, staring at him. (Or rather the ugly opening along his ribcage) Glaring at the Halfling, he rebound it, pulling his tunic and armor back on. The Hobbit gave a small sigh, looking quite sympathetic and worried. Thorin did not like this. He wasn't an invalid.

"What are you doing here?! Gawking?!" The Dwarf barked angrily.

"You stormed off. We need to stay together." Then a little more firmly the Hobbit added, "Thorin. You need a rest. You're not well. Not well at all." Bilbo shook his head, as if to further emphasize the point.

"Well I expect there's few who feel well under the same conditions." Thorin sarcastically answered. He stifled a groan. Mahal! What had he done to deserve this?!

"Anyone with eyes can see you're going to kill yourself if you keep on! I mean ,l- look at yourself! You look terrible!" Bilbo's voice had an urgent tone to it, he was truly disturbed by the Dwarf's state of health. It did not take an expert to tell that something was wrong.

The Dwarf seemed in too much discomfort to really think of a good retort to this, and merely glared fiercely at the Hobbit with narrowed eyes. Bilbo sighed, why were Dwarves always like this? Why was it so difficult for them to accept help?

Not waiting for Thorin to answer the Hobbit continued, "Look. Because of you my foot's had a good long rest, and I found I can put some weight on it. Not too much mind you, but enough. Let me help you back at least. Let me help you Thorin."

The Dwarf seemed to think of this offer for a good long moment, and then slowly nodded. Bilbo could not help but think that the Dwarf must be in a good deal of pain in order to actually accept help from him. It was unheard of from Thorin.

Taking the tall Dwarf's arm over his shoulder, Bilbo helped Thorin make his way back to their camp with some difficulty. Thorin was a good deal larger than Bilbo, and although he was doing his very best to carry himself, being ill he could not help but put some weight on the small fellow. Bilbo however was determined to carry all that was necessary. With some alarm Bilbo heard Thorin's breath coming out in a jagged and laboured manner, accompanied by sounds of pain that the Dwarf was doing a good job at silencing.

"Fool." Bilbo muttered under his breath. Thorin thankfully did not quite catch what was said, but still believing that the Hobbit had addressed him managed with some difficulty a reply.

"What?"

A little startled that Thorin had almost caught him, Bilbo quickly made an excuse.

"Oh nothing. I was just thinking out loud. That's all."

The Dwarf grunted in reply, dragging his heavy feet over the smooth floors to their destination. Why on earth did Hobbits talk so much? Honestly, Bilbo was getting to be as bad as Gandalf. Thinking out loud indeed!

Within a few moments they had returned to the empty storeroom, the torch had burned low, and Bilbo lit a new one and replaced it. Setting Thorin in a corner, he made sure the Dwarf was comfortable and lacked for nothing, until Thorin shooed him away claiming that he was not "an invalid!". Bilbo could not help but smile at the ill temperedness of the Dwarf, but humored his wishes.

Turning from Thorin, Bilbo meant to sit and think, but was stopped by Thorin's voice.

"Wait!" The Dwarf forced out, still looking quite ill if a little more comfortable.

Bilbo turned back to Thorin, wondering what on earth the Dwarf could want after demanding an eclipse of the Hobbit's presence.

"What..what about...what about watch?"

"I'll take it." Bilbo generously offered.

"No. I will...will do my share. You must wake me." Thorin hardly looked able to perform this task, and Bilbo still had not quite forgiven him for taking his watch. Regardless, of his illness, Thorin gave the Hobbit a commanding look. The Hobbit smirked inwardly. What was that Thorin had said? One good turn deserves another?

Thorin, almost sensing the Hobbit's thoughts continued, "Do not take more than an hour mind you."

"Go to sleep Thorin. Morning comes quickly, and probably quicker than you might expect." Bilbo almost laughed, seeing how much he sounded like Thorin.

The Dwarf also caught the similarity, and Bilbo could hardly believe it as he could almost swear that Thorin had rolled his eyes at the small speech. The Dwarf lord settled himself more comfortably, and within a few minutes was sleeping. His rest however was troubled, as he tossed and turned, groaning all the while.

Watching him, Bilbo wished earnestly that there was something he could do to relieve Thorin of his discomfort. It was then that Bilbo remembered the chats he had had with Oin on the subject of healing. He remembered a plant that was used often to relieve pain, and thought he had seen it outside the cave. The good fellow could not bear the thought of another person in such a state, and if there was a way to remedy it, would try his best to do so.

Getting up silently, he glanced at Thorin, who was still sleeping. Weighing as to whether he could achieve his goal before Thorin woke and found him gone, the Hobbit decided to give it his best shot. He doubted Thorin was in the shape to search for him should the Dwarf take it into his head that Bilbo was missing.

Sneaking forward on cat paws, he pushed the oaken door open an inch at a time, in order to cause as little noise as possible. The door was old, and squealed on its hinges more than once. The Dwarf however, being a heavy sleeper did not awake to it.

Breathing the cool air of the passageway into his lungs, Bilbo blinked as his eyes grew used to the darkness. He only hoped that the Dwarf would stay asleep while he was gone.

The Hobbit started down the passage, ears open and alert for anything that he might come across.

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Bilbo glanced about wildly. Was he going the right way?! Was he lost?!

Taking a step back he shivered. The night was growing cold, and he missed the warmth of that storage room. He wouldn't be really surprised if Thorin had woken up by now, and hoped that the stubborn Dwarf would heed his health and stay where he was. He could just imagine the fool stumbling around looking for him when everything was quite all right.

He jumped as he thought he heard a sound. Was it?

Taking a few steps back, he looked upwards, trying to see if there was anything above him. His foot pressed against a stone, that immediately sunk into the earth. He heard a sharp click, and many rolling gears. The ground opened with a rumble beneath him, yawning with a monstrous pit.

With a cry the Hobbit fell. What little light there was fading as all went dark, and Bilbo saw no more.