I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.

Please review! I love getting them- they keep me encouraged! J

MY APOLOGIES for the month long gap between chapters :( My girls got very, very sick with ear infections and croup for two weeks, and now my youngest, after a week of being better and playing catch up to all the work that needs to be done, came down with hand/foot/mouth disease ;( So please bear with me on updates. Life sucks of late...

Fili felt more tired than he ever recalled feeling in his life. His whole body hurt, the effects of over a week with minimal movement stiffening his muscles and joints. Groaning, he managed to force his heavy lidded eyes open, only to stare up at the polished wood beams above him in confusion.

"Wh-wha—" he began, when a loud growl reached his ears. Eyes widening as he vaguely remembered being chased by wargs, the young prince jerked upright in panic, only to cry out in pain as his shoulder smacked into an ornately carved wooden table leg. Several large onions rained down on him as he fell back against the hay covered floor, breaths coming quickly as his eyes scrunched shut.

Heavy boots pounded on the floor around him, concerned voices mingling together amidst the rushing sound in his ears. He heard his name called out, but his mind refused to comprehend the words. All he could feel was pain radiating from his shoulder to his bound arm.

His arm…

Memories assaulted his mind, of flames and wargs, and searing pain as teeth clamped down on the injured limb. Of his uncle in the goblin tunnels, reaching for the young woman's boot and missing by a thread. Of Kili's brown eyes wide with fear, his screams mingling with Fili's own as he fell out of sight. The screams suddenly ceasing amidst the chaos, and there being only one explanation.

The young prince felt strong arms reaching around his shoulders, sitting him up. His eyes opened, only to look into the worried face of his uncle.

"Fili—" Thorin began, but the young heir cut him off.

"Get away from me," the young dwarf growled lowly, causing his uncle's eyes to widen in shock as his jaw dropped.

"Fili, lad, it's Thor—"Balin said next to him, looking at the young dwarf in confusion. Fili cut him off as well, his look darkening as white hot anger coursed through his veins.

"I said get him away from me! He killed my brother!"

XXX

Thorin felt his heart nearly stand still. The angry words rang through his mind, full of facts that he couldn't deny. He had known ever since his hand caught nothing but air that Kili's death had been his fault, but it was only now that the bitter truth had finally been uttered out loud.

Fili reared toward him, having finally wrenched his uninjured arm out of Balin's grasp, and the dwarf king did not even try to move out of the way as his nephew's left fist collided with his face. Tears filled his vision from the impact, his ears ringing slightly, but he did not cry out. Gasping in pain as the motion twisted his injured torso, he turned his head at Balin's cry just in time to see Fili rush to his feet.

"Fili, no!" Balin cried out as the young prince shoved him aside and began to run toward the other side of the large dwelling with impressive speed. "Dwalin!"

The burly warrior immediately ran after the lad and caught him, the young prince fighting his grip as best he could. Gloin and Oin were hot on his heels, the latter shouting about rupturing stitches even as the red haired dwarf moved to aid Dwalin.

"Easy lad," the large dwarf said softly, holding Fili's arms firmly but gently and taking care to not place undue pressure on his wounds.

"No!" the young prince cried out forcefully, kicking and shoving as hard as he could. "Let me go!"

"You're only going to hurt yourself more," Gloin added, coming around his young cousin's back to prevent him from escaping his other cousin's grasp.

"I don't care!" the young dwarf cried, fighting for a few more moments before collapsing in the warrior's embrace.

"No," he whispered shakily, burying his face in the furs on Dwalin's chest with a sob. "Kili…he-he killed him…my Kee…" Dwalin's eyes softened.

"Fili, lad, your uncle didn't kill him," he said quietly as he rubbed the young dwarf's back. "It was an accident, is all."

"No, it wasn't." Thirteen bewildered pairs of eyes moved toward the dwarf king, who made no move to get up off his knees. "I didn't catch her boot in time. I-I should have been faster, reached more…." Tear filled eyes looked up at the silent company, Fili's sniffles barely audible in the thick furs.

"If anyone is to blame, it should be me," he whispered. "I…I failed him."

He looked down as he felt a heavy hand lay on his arm. Balin's tear filled eyes met his own, the old dwarf swallowing thickly.

"We all failed them," he whispered. The old dwarf exchanged a look with his brother, and Dwalin nodded, moving along with his cousin to aid the exhausted young prince toward the back of the stables even as the rest of the company began searching the large home for food and blankets for the night.

The dwarf king swallowed thickly, eyes following the four as they slowly moved away from the group.

"Their death is not on your shoulders alone, my friend."

XXX

Bilbo watched as Dwalin and Gloin led Fili into the furthest corner of the stable where there appeared to be no animals, and set him down amongst the soft hay strewn out on the floor.

His mind was filled with memories of a loss he himself endured 7 years prior- his own mother's untimely death at the age of eighty two. He well remembered the disbelief that she was actually gone, the anger he had felt at her leaving him, the repeated pleas for Eru to bring her back, and the deep anguish that led the hobbit to experience many a sleepless night in his grief.

He also remembered blaming his father's earlier death, convinced that if Bungo hadn't died when he did, she would not have succumbed so young. Belladonna Took had been the daughter of the Old Took, who had lived to over one hundred and thirty years, so her early death was quite puzzling to the folk of the Shire.

Folks quickly deemed that it had been the death of her beloved Bungo eight years prior that had led to her unexplained deterioration and finally to her death. Bilbo had been very close to his mother, though he more resembled his father in temperament, so when he heard the whispers and the rumors, in his anger and grief he had come to believe them.

He remembered quite clearly his white hot anger at Bungo, and the one time he had ever been violent being when he'd ripped his father's picture off the wall and hurled it across the room. The glass shattered into over a dozen jagged pieces, and he had collapsed on his armchair and sobbed for two hours afterward.

Eventually, enough time passed that the hobbit had accepted her passing, though he was quite protective of her belongings that he inherited. He was especially protective of her pottery, as it had been something she prized quite highly.

Now, as he watched Fili's grief unfold before them, and Thorin's in turn, all pottery throwing was forgotten in his compassion. The young dwarf had lost his brother, the one person in the world that Bilbo could see from the very beginning he was closest to. Thorin, despite his gruff manner, was also clearly quite fond and close to the lads, and often reminded Bilbo of how a father regards his children.

And the hobbit knew- the one person Fili kept turning away was the one person he needed the most.

XXX

Bofur could tell that his brother was uncomfortable, as he was. The obvious tension between their king and prince seemed to make the air very thick, and it was quite awkward, especially for the miner and toymaker.

Bofur had never liked confrontation. He supposed that, when they finally reached the mountain, he would have to learn how to handle confronting a dragon at some point. But, while he was an easy dwarf to talk to, he had a difficult time with tension, especially amongst those he cared about.

He envied Oin, and Gloin, and Balin and Dwalin. They were Thorin's own kin- granted, they were distant cousins, but still kin, and therefore could help without it being awkward or intruding. His brother and cousin, however, though part of Durin's line, were so far removed from the elder line that they couldn't be called kin no more than a man from Gondor could be called close kin to a man of Dale.

As such, though he greatly wished he could help, he did not want to intrude on what was clearly a family matter. He, though having been too far away to aid Thorin at the time, saw the whole event surrounding Kili's death, and knew without a doubt that the dwarf king could hardly be blamed for his nephew's fall and had done everything he could to try and stop it.

It was an accident, pure and simple. And the dwarf, having worked in the mines of Ered Luin and seen the damage that unexpected cave ins and other freak accidents could cause, had dealt with plenty of accidents in his lifetime. And also as an experienced miner, he knew that, no matter how clear it was that it was an accident, someone will still blame themselves for the death of others close to them.

He could only hope that someday, even if the pain of the lad's passing lingered, that his king and remaining prince would realize that Kili's death was not their fault.

XXX

Fili's wounds had been tended, though it had taken a great deal of persuasion from Oin to redo the stitches that the young prince had ripped during his mad dash.

Thorin watched from around the corner as the healer finally stood up with a bowl full of bloody rags, knowing immediately that Dwalin had stepped up behind him.

He had known Dwalin since Thorin was just a lad beginning in weapons training. Given his noble status, Dwalin had been in the same training class in Erebor, and the two had become fast friends. Both would rather skip politics and fancy words and take care of business in the way dwarves usually did, by the sword or axe. While Thorin bemoaned the diplomacy lessons he was forced to endure because of his princely status, he relished the time afterward where he could go to his weapons training, for it meant being able to be amongst friends instead of boring teachers.

He and Dwalin made an impressive pair, both quickly outpacing their peers in weapons proficiency. The two were often asked to spar as examples to the younger classes, and moved together in tandem. When Erebor fell, Dwalin became Thorin's guard, the guard he'd had from birth having been killed during Smaug's attack, and the dwarf king could ask for no better person than the one who knew him best.

They were shield brothers, warriors and brothers alike in name if not by blood. So when the burly warrior came up behind him, Thorin knew it was Dwalin before a single syllable was uttered.

"How has it come to this?" the dwarf king whispered, feeling the warrior's large hand settle on his shoulder. Thorin turned toward the warrior, their eyes meeting even as his own misted.

"I have failed everyone I have ever cared about," he continued, swallowing thickly. "My mother, my grandfather, my father, my brother, and now my nephews and sister."

Thorin made a fist and smacked the side of it into the ornately carved square wooden post in front of him, before leaning forward until his forehead rested against it. His breaths shuddered as he fought the tears that threatened to fall, before a quiet sob escaped his lips.

"Is the line of Durin cursed?" he whispered, his mind going back to the Battle of Azanulbizar, the fall of Erebor, and earlier- when Moria fell to the Balrog of Morgoth, and how Mt. Gundabad was overrun by orcs.

"Perhaps," the burly dwarf answered honestly. "But good will draw evil to it. It always has, and it always will."

A muffled sob sounded around the post, and Thorin looked once more to where his eldest, now only, nephew had curled up into a ball in his corner of the stall. Tears fell freely down the young lad's cheeks, even as his eyes scrunched shut. He had fisted his hand into his disheveled locks, twisting his hair tightly in his fist even as his whole frame shuddered.

"He hates me, Dwalin," the dwarf king whispered. "My nephew, he- he hates me."

"He needs you."

Both dwarves turned in surprise, Bilbo fidgeting with the edges of his coat even as he glanced between Fili and the pair.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be intruding," the hobbit continued quietly, mindful of other ears. "B-but I- I lost my mother seven years ago, and I….He- he says he hates you, and he may think he does, but the truth is he's just hurting."

Dwalin and Thorin exchanged surprised glances, before looking back toward the sobbing Fili. Thorin almost didn't hear the hobbit speak again, his voice was so quiet.

"If there's anyone he needs right now, it's you."

XXX

Cirashala nibbled on the bread slowly, as Meril had instructed. The last thing she wanted to do was throw up again. Her stomach felt like it was trying to gnaw on itself, and she was desperate to keep herself from passing out again.

The old woman glanced down at the young dwarf on the floor, then back at the north wall, before turning back toward the young woman.

"I will bring a straw tick out here, as well as some blankets and nightclothes," she said quietly. "You may stay here, along with your brother, until his wounds are healed enough to travel."

Cirashala stared at her in surprise as Meril moved toward the door on the right, afraid to ask why she changed her mind suddenly. The last thing she wanted was to place their unexpected accommodations in jeopardy.

As Meril reached for the antlered doorknob, she paused, before turning back toward the young woman.

"His trousers are covered in mud and blood," she stated. "I will bring out the nightclothes first, then the bedding. You will need to change his clothing and clean off the rest of the mud, as he likely won't wake til morning at the earliest."

Cirashala's eyes widened again, even as she felt her face flush. Silently she nodded, her eyes fixed on her bread until she heard the door shut. Her gaze slowly moved toward the unconscious dwarf, and she could not help the butterflies that settled in her stomach.

Why is this any different than when I helped patients at the nursing home change? She thought to herself as her heart raced. I helped old men bathe and changed their briefs, and I didn't even bat an eye, for heaven's sake!

Her eyes took in the dark tendrils that framed his face, before moving down toward his eyebrows and dark lashes, and finally to his slightly bearded jaw, still startled at just how much he resembled her late husband.

That must be it, she thought to herself. He looks like him, so maybe the resemblance is what is unsettling me. I just have to treat him like I would any other patient.

As Meril came back out with the nightclothes, Cirashala took a deep breath.

He's just your patient, she kept telling herself even as her trembling hands moved toward his boots. That's all. Just your patient.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A response to guest reviewer Ri-chan: I am not fond of spiders either- there's one loose in the classroom/playroom somewhere that's driving me crazy, and I can't find it (it was skittering across the carpet doing the 400 meter dash and I turned to grab a shoe to squish it and turned back around and it was gone- oh goody :( Yes, pumpkins :D My sister speaks Spanish, and I asked her and she said it's sort of like a fruit bar (gelatin like, but not as squishy as, say, raspberry jelly that you would put on toast). Is that what you meant? Directly translated dulce de calabaza is candy of pumpkin, or pumpkin candy :) I think I know what you meant :)

A response to guest reviewer Marie: Thanks! I'm glad you like it :) I will continue as real life allows- I live on a mini-farm, and springtime is very busy around here. But I will update as soon as I can :)

A response to guest reviewer Skywolf42: Thanks! I'm glad you like it, and that the characters have developed so well- I was worried initially about developing them too fast, but looks like it's working out :) I am glad that I'm emoting well too-that's always a goal of mine. I'm glad to hear that it's realistic, because I can't stand the stories that are unrealistic and fake. I've tried very hard to make sure that the realism continues to be there. Plus, I visualize the scenes in my head as though I were watching a movie, then write what I "see" (helps a TON, especially during fight scenes!). As to the second half of your review, out of respect to your personal circumstance I edited your public review to omit that (I rarely edit them, but that felt very personal and like something that you might not want the public to know about :) I have 4 adopted siblings in law, who ended up with severe emotional and physical problems from their bio and foster homes (in their brain-not saying you had these) but I understand where you're coming from, and hope that all works well for you on that end, and that your fear does not come to pass :D Good luck to you! :) And thank you for sharing that with me :)

Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow- you guys are so great :D :D :D