a single thread hangs limply down, and i breathe "not now, not now"

-The Rockrose and the Thistle, The Amazing Devil

Freezing wind bites at your face as you follow Kíli through the watchtower. He slows and presses to the side of the wall when you reach the end of the passage, pulling you close protectively and leaning out into the cold air.

"Anything?" you whisper.

Kíli doesn't answer.

You shouldn't be here.

You don't know how you got here.

How did you get here? Why–

Boom.

A drumbeat echoes around the stone. Your heart drops. Vibrations pulse through the bricks beneath your feet. Little rocks rain down around you and Kíli—you tear away from him and scramble out into the wind, squinting against the light as you search the crumbling stone above you.

It's Azog—but you knew that already. He's got Fíli—but you knew that too.

He drags Fíli by the back of the collar and lifts him into the air like he's nothing, dangling the dwarf over the edge.

"This one dies first," Azog rumbles. You don't know the language but you know what he's saying. You know it by heart, by broken heart. "Then the brother."

Kíli lifts his head slowly, confusion, recognition, terror all battling for dominance on his face. Terror wins as he stares up at Fíli.

You glimpse Thorin, Bilbo, and Dwalin on the other tower. Thorin rushes forward as if he could actually reach his nephew and skids to a halt. You've never seen him afraid. Never truly afraid, until now.

"Then you, Oakenshield. You will die last," the orc sneers.

For a brief moment, Fíli struggles, squirming against the hand holding the last moments of his life in its grasp. It's pointless, and he knows it, but you will him to keep fighting, to do something.

He stares across at his uncle. "Go," he chokes out. You don't know if you actually hear him say it or if it's your mind filling in the blanks. His eyes dart down to you, as if in apology, then back up to Thorin. "Run!"

The blade rips through him as if he's not even there. Fíli gurgles for a second, and his head falls against his chest. Even Dwalin cannot watch.

"Here ends your filthy bloodline!" Azog releases Fíli unceremoniously. The limp dwarf plunges to the stone before you, landing with a dull thud.

It's so strange, that thud, because it wasn't nearly loud enough to deafen you.

And yet no sound reaches your ears as you fall to your knees, scrambling towards Fíli. "Fíli! Fíli, Fee, please," you gasp, pressing your hands desperately against the ragged wound in his abdomen. Whispered prayers spill past your lips—to Mahal, to Eru, to your own God, fuck, you pray to Tolkien himself. Bile rises up in your throat and threatens to choke you when your fingers instead plunge inside the hole with a squelch. It's too wide, too deep for any gauze to fill. Blood pools beneath your hands. You search Fíli's face. His chapped lips are parted, eyes dark and staring sightlessly at the sky. They'll never see anything again.

You feel a hand grip your shoulder as Kíli falls next to you as well. He's shouting something. He shouldn't be shouting, you think dully. Fíli needs his rest so he can recover. So he can get better and he can see the birth of his baby and we can get married and he can see Thorin be crowned–

Kíli shakes you roughly and grabs your chin, turning your face to look at him. His bottom lip trembles, and it finally all breaks.

A scream tears from your throat, raw and rough and guttural, and you collapse into Kíli's arms.

"Y/N…"

"Y/N? Y/N!"

You're still screaming when you wake against Fíli's chest. He pulls away to look at you. But in your sleep-addled mind, you don't see the concern in his eyes. In the flickering firelight you still see the face from your dreams, slack-jawed and empty-eyed. You tear out of your sleeping bag and scramble to get away.

He reaches out, but you kick his arm away in panic, crawling desperately to the edge of the clearing. The Company stare at you in bewilderment as you press against the tree where you and Thorin had sat just hours before.

Balin rises from his bedroll by the fire pit and extends a hand to you, but you flinch away.

"Let me try," comes a quiet voice from behind Balin. It's Bilbo, who cautiously lowers himself next to you. He places a gentle hand on your arm, his face puzzled but kind. "Y/N?" He speaks softly, like you would to a frightened child. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Your fingers curl around his arm, and you bury your face in his coat, shoulders heaving. He closes his arms around you and lets you cry yourself dry.

"He's gonna die, Bilbo, he's gonna die," you sob over and over again. "He's gonna die and Kíli's gonna die and Thorin's gonna die and I can't do anything because I'm not supposed to even be here…"

Bilbo doesn't say anything, just patting your back comfortingly.

Finally, you lift your head, peering past the hobbit's shoulder at the Company. It's Thorin who makes a move toward you first, but he's halted by an arrow whistling through the air and piercing the ground at his feet.

"Daro, gorn." [Stop, dwarf (derogatory).]

A leg clad in brown leather appears before you. Tauriel's bow is already drawn again. "Did they hurt you, my lady?"

Thorin reaches for a sword on his belt that is not there, but Tauriel raises her bow anyway.

Fíli leaps to his feet, and Tauriel turns her bow on him. At that same instant, Kíli jumps up and slides beneath her arm. He seizes you and Bilbo, pulling you from behind the elf. Tauriel starts to aim at him too, but lowers her bow when she recognizes him.

"What are you doing here?" Kíli demands, pulling you against his side. What would normally be a protective move makes your stomach turn; he had done the same in your dream.

His brother retrieves you, and you clutch at Fíli with a small whimper. He rubs your back gently, pressing your head down against his shoulder.

Tauriel's face falters slightly as she watches the tender gesture. "I heard a pregnant woman scream and saw her trying to escape the dwarves with whom she travels. Now, have you harmed her?" she asks again.

You can feel the heat creeping up Fíli's neck. "Harmed her?" he splutters. His fist balls up in the fabric of your tunic in anger. "Why would I harm the woman I lov–" He shuts his mouth so fast you hear his jaw snap. It was supposed to remain a secret within the Company.

You lift your head and look over your shoulder at Tauriel, who gapes at Fíli. Her narrow, green eyes find yours. "Does he speak the truth?"

Throat tight, you nod. "It's his," you whisper. Your legs start to fail beneath you as the adrenaline from your dream drains from your blood, and Fíli carries you back to your sleeping bag.

Tauriel doesn't seem to know what to do, looking at the dwarves around her. Bifur and Nori look particularly mutinous—Bifur mutters something dark in Khuzdûl under his breath, running his thumb along the blade of a knife. With a sigh, Tauriel sits on the roots you and Bilbo vacated. She reaches over her shoulder and pulls a long bundle from her quiver, tossing it at Thorin's feet.

His murderous expression turns to confusion, then surprise as he kneels and unwraps the cloth. It's Orcrist. He looks up at her. "Is this some sort of trick?" he growls.

"No trick."

"Why?"

She sighs again, longer and deeper this time. "I have left Mirkwood. King Thranduil did not agree with my suggestion to send a patrol to tail your party."

A few of the dwarves take issue with that remark, but she holds her hand up to stop their shouts. "I mean only to ensure that the lady remains safe. I do not want the blood of an expecting mother on my hands." Almost as an afterthought, she pulls another small bundle from her pack, tossing it to Fíli this time. More herbs.

"If you think I will allow an elf to follow my Company to our mountain…" Thorin doesn't finish, instead fixing Tauriel with a furious glower.

Tauriel picks at a blade of grass. "I could return to the king and inform him of your destination," she says lightly. "Or I could accompany you and furnish your lady with provisions that will ensure a healthier pregnancy than anything a band of dwarf men could." She looks up at Thorin. "I would say the choice is yours, but I believe the lady's opinion should hold more sway."

At a loss for words, Thorin turns back to you. Glancing at Tauriel, you nod.

He presses his lips into a thin line. "Rest, Y/N," he grunts. "We break camp at first light. Ori, Gloín, you take watch." With a withering look in the elf's direction, he returns to his bedroll.

Tauriel seems satisfied with this, beginning a quiet conversation with Kíli, who sits just a little too close to the she-elf. You release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Fíli gently cradles you against his chest and eases the pair of you to the ground. "You don't have to tell me what you dreamt of if you do not want," he whispers. "But I swear to you by all the gold in the mountain, I will never leave you."

Your heart clenches, and tears prick at the edge of your eyes as you clutch at his arm. "Don't make promises you don't know you can keep."