Long A/N: Dearest readers, I'm sorry for delaying the posting two times this month; I had a couple cosplays to finish and it demanded an insane amount of time.
Special thanks to Celebrisilweth – Kíli is finally putting two and two together, he needs just one more push; Bilbo took some steps but now he's in doubt if he made the right choice; Pallysd'Artagnan – sometimes this is all that matters, to do what one is able to; all Bofur wants is to see his friend happy, he just doesn't know how to help him; Nenithiel – beware, still waters run deep; Mizz Alec Volturi – sometimes a drop of bitter is necessary for one to understand sweetness; Mustard Lady – I wish I could answer you line by line, I'll probably do it by PM; I liked the title "King of Brood" you bestowed upon Thranduil, it really fits! Care if I use it in the story?
Welcome, new readers Mizz Alec Volturi, Mustard Lady and maemeia, I hope you like what is yet to come!
By the way of 'what is yet to come', I realize I should have named this fic "In Dreams", after Howard Shore's song. There is much that is shown and that happens in dreams, I hope it doesn't bore or annoy you. Yet, no dream is fulfilled if one doesn't keep the faith, I guess. And here we go!

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The barrel crashed against another rock, bounced and sent Kíli whirling in the current. The river wouldn't be an easy one in the best of days, and that one definitively was one of the worst in his life.
His leg throbbed, each jolt teaching him a new meaning of pain, until the water finally seeped in enough for the cold to numb him, clattering teeth preventing the dwarf from calling for help.

He closed his eyes, hoping it would help him not to throw up, hoping the cold would finally take its toll and allow him to rest. Rest like stone, at the bottom of the river. The only way for his pain to end, all of it

"Kíli!"

A voice urged him awake, bringing back the pain and the cold. Couldn't she allow him to die and be free of pain?

"Kíli! Kíli, please!"

The voice insisted, and every time she said his name, the pain doubled.

"Kíli! Ilúvatar, Aulë, help me…"

She pleaded to the gods, the Creator and the Maker, but the pain spread from his thigh to his chest, and now his lungs hurt from lack of air. When did he stop breathing?

"Kíli! Ah! Thank the Powers…"

He opened his eyes and the forest green ones of his beloved one greeted him with relief. The pain left him at the sight of the she-elf, and he could finally breathe, slow and steady breaths to calm his shaking body.

"You scared me. Don't do that again."

Her voice was a bit strange, a higher pitch than what he was used to, sounding foreign to his ears. But then she placed her hand on his leg, spreading warmth and light where only a minute ago only pain resided.

"You are cured. Don't act as if you don't know it."

Tauriel's voice was her own again, and he pleaded, reaching out a hand with the purpose of touching her face.

"I'll never be cured with you away from me."

She didn't move for him to reach her, and he resented it.

"You must. I need you to be whole."

"I can't! Not without you…"

"You must! They'll never allow…"

"What?" He questioned at her fading voice. "Who won't allow what?"

The elf removed her hand from his leg, nervous eyes of someone who said too much.

"I'll never be allowed to wait for someone who isn't whole. Who doesn't trust our paths will be one again. Who's unfaithful."

"Unfaith…"

"I said too much. I must go."

She rose and walked away, leaving behind a confused and crying dwarf. Someone helped him to sit up and caressed his head to rest on a comforting shoulder, gentle pats on his back reminding him he wasn't alone.

"Thank the Powers, Kíli, you scared me so much…"

The dwarf recognized the voice as belonging to its owner, and opened his eyes to a worried Tilda. Confused, the awakening of a nightmare leading him to a bad dream, how could he be sure this wasn't another kind of dream? His eyes showed his uncertainty. Somehow, she understood.

"You were trashing in your sleep. Grabbing your leg. Then you stopped to breathe. I called you but you didn't wake up." The young woman touched his face, ignoring his short beard wasn't worthy a dwarf. "Then you calmed down, for a while, but then…"

Tilda dried a tear from Kíli's cheek, seemingly unimpressed by his weakness. The dwarf swallowed hard and turned his face away, hot with shame.

"I'm sorry I made you witness this… I'm a sorry excuse of a dwarf, I… Be sure my people aren't as weak and pathetic as I've shown myself, I…"

"Pardon me?" She gently brought his face back so she could see his eyes. "I don't know what you were trashing about, but I'm sure it's no sign of weakness. Da dreams about dragons once in a while, Sigrid has nightmares about orcs falling down from the rooftops, Bain sees himself surrounded by water and fire, and does it make them pathetic or weak? I beg your pardon, but I say no, Kíli."

"But…" How could he explain without offending her? Last time he misunderstood something about her people it made her so angry it took a lot of explanation to mend things. "My family never talks about it. Not the dragon, not the defiler, the battles, nothing. If it weren't for my Uncle's oaken shield, one would never tell he was at the Battle of Azanulbizar. He never has nightmares about it that make him wake up screaming like the idiot I am."

Talking about his family didn't help his feelings to settle down, but at least diverted his mind from his own trauma to someone else's story, and helped him to stop his tears.

Tilda wiped away any remaining wetness from his face, a knowing smile on her lips.

"You know, you could do just like them. Although I don't believe it would really help."

"How can I do like them?" He asked, confused. "I can't prevent myself from having nightmares."

"But you can lie." Her words shocked him, and his face and stance showed it. "Do you really believe they don't have bad dreams? The have a heart just like yours. Why wouldn't they feel like you do?"

Her words made sense, and something clicked in place, tying loose ends that bothered him for a long while, even if he himself tucked them in deep recesses of his mind to keep them out of the way.

He could not really know about Thorin. He always had his own bedroom, and it was not unusual for him to sleep in a cot at the forge. Patrol nights had him keeping watch rather than sleeping. Even in their journey to reclaim the Mountain he could barely remember seeing his uncle asleep, and he used to stay away from the party rather than close to the fire.

Fíli had nightmares when they were children. They slept in the same bedroom, even in the same bed when he was little and the winter was hard, so as to share warmth where it lacked firewood. Fíli remembered the death of their father, and it plagued his dreams. He remembered hushing his big brother back to sleep, not really sure of how to do it, but humming lullabies used to work.

After the Battle of Five Armies they both were so busy recovering from their near-death experiences that if one or both of them woke up screaming it could always be blamed on pain.

Was the stoic demeanour of his people just a façade? Could it be that someone like Dwalin had nightmares? Did Balin have fears? What traumas haunted Dáin Ironfoot? One thing was to know Bifur carried sequels of Azanulbizar in his head, literally; other completely different was to imagine cheerful Bofur choking on tears brought by terrible memories.

His eyes were lost in the fire as his mind was lost in his thoughts. Tilda's gentle touch to his hand brought him back to reality.

"Are you feeling better? Will you be all right?"

"Wha…? Aye, I am." He considered his answer for a moment. "As much as I might. Thank you."

He was sincere, she could tell. As much as one might may not be one hundred per cent all right, but who could, after Smaug and the Battle? She understood.

"You're welcome."

"I… I'll take watch the remaining of the night. Sleep. I'm no healer but I know your body needs rest to fight what remains of your illness."

To his surprise, Tilda just reached for her cloak and huddled against him, resting her head against his shoulder and gazing at the flames.

"You're not over the fever yet, it was only one day with your medicines. You should sleep, you know."

"I'm too startled to sleep. And I'm a morning person, you know."

"You should try anyhow. We have a long day tomorrow. Come on, lay down."

With some nudging he managed to make her to lay down, using his leg as a pillow. At last the crackling of the burning wood and Kíli's soft humming of a dwarven lullaby sent Tilda to sleep, leaving the prince to his own thoughts. Which reminded him…

"And what nightmares plague your sleep, sweet daughter of Man, I wonder…?"