A/N: Welcome to the new (old) chapter. FFIC is doing that email notice reset thing that never actually resets no matter what you do. I hope that followers are logging in and finding the chapters anyway-I'm posting for this story every Sunday AM (Pacific Time.) Drop a note and let me know if you're finding the story... Hand on heart to you... Summer

Chapter Ten

It took longer to get things rolling on the western terrace than Fili would have liked, but he couldn't fault how hard the mining crew worked at it.

Old Bofur and Bombur had brought their best engineers who took one look at the snowy slope and started sketching plans for an ore cart on an iron track powered by counter weight inside the mountain. The wind could gust all it wanted and the cart and track would remain steady. They would even assemble the track on runners inside and slide the whole apparatus out, somewhat like launching a raft. Fili approved and miners swarmed over the construction like busy ants.

Meanwhile, the storm raged on and the darkness of night turned to the dull gray of a stormy Durin's Day morning full of gusting wind and blowing snow. The wind would have to quiet before the ravens would be seen again, so Fili remained focused on task one: finding his brother.

Two hours later, Fili was all too eager to hop inside the mine cart and ride down the hillside, though he had conceded that two others should go first for safety. He forbade them to look for Kili, however, on the premise that they might disturb any tracking signs not entirely obliterated by the blowing snow.

"Might be a bit of a jolt at the bottom," Bofur said, tossing a heavy coil of rope over the lap of his King and friend. "But good luck."

Fili gripped the old miner's hand in thanks, then double checked the contents of the bag strapped to his side. Herbs, a miner's pan, rations, and clean rags. On the other side, a canvas bag with a half dozen fresh sticks of oil-soaked kindling.

He nodded to Bofur that he was ready.

With a clang, the brake released and the cart rolled heavily down the steep track, slowly picking up speed as it went, and indeed there was a jolt at the end which threw Fili a few inches forward as it jerked to a stop. Two burly dwarves helped him out at the bottom.

"Where to, my Lord?" one of them shouted. Fili handed him one end of the heavy rope to anchor firmly to the cart and raised a hand to say they should stay put.

Fili was a master at tracking—he'd been doing it all his life to find game, thieves, orcs, and of course, his little brother. It took only minutes for him to make his first circuit of the immediate area and discover the small rock cairn caked with snow.

This was Kili's marker—set the way he always did. Fili played out his safety rope and moved parallel to the mountainside until he found the second marker about ten steps away.

After that, it didn't take long for the stones to lead him straight to the old guard house.

"Kili!" he shouted, hoping he could be heard over the howling wind. He stomped his way through an open foyer, tying the end of his safety rope to a handrail. He would need that to guide him back to the cart.

Once inside, he could see an inner chamber lit by the dim orange light of embers and he pushed forward, pulling the snow hood off his face.

He did not expect to hear the ring of steel or see a half-undressed healer lass pointing his brother's sword at him.

But he admired her instinct.

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands. "I'm just here to help my brother."

The lassie's eyes went wide as she realized she had just drawn steel on her King.

But Fili didn't have time for apologies. There, twisting in the mussed blankets in front of a dying fire lay his very sick brother. One look and he could see Kili was in the throes of the poison, dangerously fevered and shivering in unspeakable pain.

He dumped the sack of firewood in front of the lass, who had dropped the sword and crouched before him, head bowed.

"I take it you're the healer lass, Nÿr…"

She nodded quickly, not daring to look up. "Yes, sir."

"Build up the fire for me," he said, ignoring her shock. "Quickly, now." He stripped off the supply bag at his side, then threw off his snow jacket and gloves, already caked in ice. "Good," he said, spotting the little kettle. "You've got hot water."

Nÿr's cold hands fumbled with the bundle of kindling, breaking it apart and turning to quickly add two, then three of the treated logs to their guttering fire. It flared quickly, bringing immediate warmth to the little room.

Next to her, Erebor's King (she could barely believe it was really him) was bending down to kiss his brother's forehead.

"Kili," she heard him murmur. "Kili? Nadadith?"

Her friend (lover?) had been unresponsive for the last hour and said nothing now, either.

But instead of cursing her for her poor care of his brother, her King was quietly rummaging through his bag for a handful of herbs.

"The hot water, please," he said, gesturing for her to hand him the kettle.

Nÿr hastened to help. The King had said please to her.

And what he was doing now was not something she'd ever learned from the healers. She watched, fascinated, hardly daring to hope.

The King pulled a small, flat miner's pan from his pack, poured the hot water in, and then lightly crushed the herbs in his bare hands.

As she watched, he closed his eyes and started a low throated chant in Khuzdul, almost like the first part of an ancient song. She even had a sense of something...as if she could sense some strength that the King tapped…

Then he cast the herbs on the water and waved a hand through the steam, dispersing the scent of something wholly unfamiliar to her—yet surprisingly heady.

To Nÿr, it brought to mind clover on the sunny meadows of Ered Luin and the smell of fresh raw honey...along with an astonishing clarity of mind and subtle energy that wiped away the weariness of what had been a very long day and night…

As if catching the scent, Kili's head turned slightly toward the steam and his shivering slowly stopped, his body relaxing.

"Kili!" her King called to his brother as if issuing a command.

And this time Kili's eyes slitted open and his brows furrowed in puzzlement as he looked at his brother's face with an expression at once sweet and confused.

"Fee…?" he slurred his brother's name, his voice husky from the fever. A momentary shiver returned, then stopped. He moved a hand, and Fili grabbed it, clutching it as if he could make his brother strong again through sheer force of will.

"I'm here, Kili. I'm taking you home. Just hang on."

Kili's head moved a little in what Nÿr took as a nod. "Fee…" he whispered.

And Fili went to work in earnest, grabbing clean rags from his bag and dipping them in the strongly scented water. He bathed his brother's face, then motioned for Nÿr to uncover his leg and expose the angry scar just above the knee. He wet another cloth and pressed it to the old wound, nodding for Nÿr to take up the task.

They kept at it until Kili's breathing evened out. He looked spent, but a little of his color had returned and the scar, oddly enough, was looking less angry and more like an ordinary old wound.

"I think he's asleep, my Lord," Nÿr whispered. "You've done it."

Fili looked at her, his handsome face showing worry and strain. "The athelas did it," he snorted. "I was just the pack horse." He glanced at her, then seemed to take in the half-undressed tumble of things in the little room. He said nothing but reached out, drawing her into a warm embrace.

"Thank you for staying with him."

She felt like breaking into tears or dying of shame (he had to know what they'd been up to), but she banished both thoughts. "I tried to help him, but this is not a simple fever...or the usual kind of infection. He was fine…" she shook her head, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Right up until the moment that he wasn't fine? Believe me, I know." Fili sighed and let her go, squeezing her hand in silent reassurance.

"But what is it? This is not an illness I've seen."

Fili looked sad. "Nor will you again, Mahal willing. It's Morgul poison, from an orc arrow some eighty years ago. We almost lost him then until a warrior used a handful of this," he nodded at the herb, "to bring him back."

"This is Kingsfoil?" she asked. And then she guessed which warrior must have done the healing.

He nodded. "We were so relieved…he was alive. Back to himself in less than a day, in fact. But what we didn't know then was that Morgul wounds never really heal. The poison hides in the blood and comes back, same time every year, for the rest of your life. It's a curse, really. Short of killing you, it makes your life hell."

"This happens to him...every year?" Nÿr could hardly fathom such a thing.

Fili nodded, then frowned. "Well, not this exactly. Some years are worse than others." He touched his brother's forehead again. "When the dark lord fell, we thought the poison would lose its power. That he would be free." Fili's expression was faraway. "But here it is again..."

They were quiet, listening to Kili's now even breathing. "I must swear you to secrecy on this," Fili said, turning to lock eyes with her. "There are very few of us who know. Had the dark lord ever realized it, he would have used Kili against us, turned him into a wraith…or worse." He looked immensely sad then, and Nÿr could see the toll these years had taken on him. "For this reason we've kept Kili close to Erebor. He's hated it sometimes, but the mountain protects him." The King's eyes were moist with sorrow. "And now the free peoples have prevailed over Sauron, and yet my brother is not healed."

Nÿr felt her King's pain like an arrow to the heart, and she realized that no one—not even their own people—really understood the price paid by the Sons of Durin to secure the northern lands.

And something about that hardened her resolve at the tragic unfairness of it all.

"You have my discretion, my lord," she said. "And my oath as a healer to keep confidence. I will help all I can." She looked at Fili and saw him nod, his eyes cast down. A King, brought to humility by this horrible thing.

"How can I help now?" she asked quietly.

Fili, surprisingly, found a touch of humor in her question and when he looked at her, his blue eyes sparkled with a touch of mirth.

"Well, first of all," he said lightly. "You can find your clothes and get properly dressed in the presence of your King."

Nÿr's hands covered her eyes a moment, and she thought she'd sink into the ground with sheer embarrassment.

But when their eyes met again, his smile was gentle and she felt a touch of very fond approval in the way he raised an amused eyebrow at her.

.

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Thanks for reading along! Of course the premise here is that if Frodo had recurring illness on the anniversary of being wounded by a Morgul Blade on Weathertop, then movie-Kili, wounded by a Morgul Arrowhead escaping from Thranduil's cellars would have also had recurring illness on the anniversary of his wound. Of course he was wounded a couple of days before Durin's Day in the movie...but that date starts the illness and it culminates with the death of the dragon over Laketown.

It's an AU! Thank you for reading along. :D