"Thorin!"

The voice was high pitched and thin, reedy with a hint of gasping as the little one struggled to breathe after his short run. Instinctively Thorin turned, his heart pounding and his mind numbing as his eyes settled on the one Dwarf he knew he would never see in this lifetime.

"Thorin!"

Bright colt's eyes warmed in laughter and the thin, pale face burst into light with a radiant, gap-toothed grin. Small hands braced themselves on bony knees, but the child's mind was not occupied with frivolous matters such as how he should be resting instead of running to and fro on such a bright spring morning.

"Thorin."

Now the voice was darkened with a frown and the little one crossed his arms, sulking over being ignored. He was not yet old enough to expect a cold shoulder, or to blame himself when he was turned aside like a crippled pup.

"Thorin?"

"Frerin…."

Broken from his daze, Thorin breathed the name raggedly and bent to one knee, unable to comprehend the sight before him. Small and innocent, dark eyes wide with curiosity, alive and unmarred by the cruel hacking of an Orc's knife, Frerin watched him with unguarded attention. He did not fear being shoved away by his brother. Infinite trust barred all suspicion and he held up his arms, hoping that maybe this time Thorin would swoop him up and hold him, and tell him a story if he was in a kindly mood.

"Th-Thorin. Up."

Never could Frerin seem to speak without a quaver in his voice. So insecure… so small… Thorin's hands scooped him up and he was as weightless as a bird, squirming like a thrilled puppy as he wrapped his thin arms around his brother's neck.

"M-M-Mummy sthaid not to go to bed yet."

The harsh rebuke in Frerin's eyes brought a smile to Thorin's lips, and he gazed at the sunlit meadows and chuckled. "Frerin…" Had it been so long since he had said his brother's name without guilt, even in his dreams? "… Frerin, it is not even midday."

"Hafta sthtay 'wake. Mummy s-sthays stho."

Thorin might have laughed, but there was blinding sunlight in his eyes and a pinch in his side, and he was tempted to dissuade brother's advice and doze while he had the chance. Still, he found he dreaded sleep. Sleep would rend apart this dream and remind him that his brother was indeed gone forever.

"All right… I promise I will not sleep."

Frerin always knew better. He looked shrewdly into Thorin's eyes, frowning as he shook his head. "M-Mummy sthaid not to fib."

Thorin sighed and fell back onto the grass, allowing Frerin to snuggle down beside him. Frerin curled up as small as he could manage, treasuring a moment of his brother's attention. He was too fragile to have been left unprotected in a cruel world.

"Frerin, I am tired." The admission was weighted: he was sick and drained of war, of bloodshed, of guilt and of heartache. Sleep undisturbed, with no more clashing of weapons and screams raging in his head… Thorin longed for a few minutes of silence.

"B-but you c-can't sthleep! I'm sthill up!"

"All right. … I promise."

But his eyes were already drifting closed, and Thorin could smell the faint scent of blood and hear the cries of the dying, and he felt at peace knowing he would not be haunted by the memories any longer.

"N-no!"

Larger hands, still thin and wiry and too small for any proper Dwarf, slammed against his chest and Thorin was driven to wakefulness with a start. Frerin's brazen, stubborn eyes seared into his own and Thorin paused to take in the sight of his now older brother. Long, skinny limbs and flimsy legs, a pale, wane face and wide eyes dwarfing a too small nose – Frerin was never daunting even when angered. Still, the frantic pitch in his voice and the terror in his eyes clamored for Thorin's attention. For an instant he heard the agonized screams ripping from the fragile throat, and saw blood running in rivulets from the broken, bloodied face…

Then Frerin's hand slammed into his chest again and he shouted in Thorin's face, desperate for his brother to listen to him.

"Y-you can't sleep! Not now! Thorin, wake up! Wake up! You have to get up right now!"

Frerin could incite a response out of him on any day, and with a growl of annoyance Thorin shoved him off. "I am awake, all right?"

Fire blazed in his side and the sun wanted to burn through his skull. Thorin gasped in discomfort and pressed his hand against his ribs, waiting for the ache to fade.

Rolling to his feet with the grace of a jackrabbit, Frerin clenched one hand into a fist and glared up at his brother. Caught off guard by his brother's behavior, Thorin stepped back uncertainly. Frerin might have been many things in his own mind, but he was never a fighter. A field mouse could not have held a greater fear of its own shadow. Yet here Frerin stood before him, rigid with the fury of an unbroken colt, ready to strike out at the brother who could snap his arm with a clench of his hand.

"Frerin, what in Durin's name has gotten into you?" Thorin demanded.

"You're not hurting her," Frerin growled, ignoring the warning in his older brother's tone.

"What madness is this? Hurt whom?"

"You're not leaving her alone!"

Mahal help them all, Frerin was shouting. The quiet, nervous wreck of a prince who would be happier penned up in his room with a book and a few scrolls for days on end was now shouting in rebuke. Dream or nightmare, something in this illusion was very, very wrong.

White fire stabbed into Thorin's side and he balked, falling to one knee and focusing on the emerald grass until the discomfort faded and the cheerful sunlight returned. Suddenly Frerin was kneeling in front of him, grabbing Thorin's coat and shaking him back into the visions of red dusk and agony and smoke and blood.

"Stop it! Wake up, Thorin! You're not abandoning her! You're not leaving Dis all alone!"

For a minute the grass bled into a ravaged and torn battlefield, and Thorin gasped as fire blazed in his side. The meadow jarred into shards of red and black and green and the sun was hazed in a cloud of smoke. Frerin's thin, frail hands latched onto Thorin's collar and he shouted for Thorin to open his eyes, refusing him even a moment to gather where he was.

"You're not leaving her, Thorin! Not like this! You're stronger than me – you always have been! So shut up and go back to her or I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of eternity! Wake up, Thorin! Wake up!"

Torchlight seared into his eyes and molten fire exploded in his chest, and Thorin wrenched his eyes open with a scream. His hand lashed out and knocked aside a pitcher, the shattering of crockery echoed by the ragged cry of a Dwarf. Weathered, battle scarred hands grasped his own and Balin's tear stained face swam before his eyes.

"Thorin? By Durin's beard… Oin, come here at once! Thorin, hold on, for Mahal's sake, stay with us!"

The tent flap was ripped aside, admitting the tall, blurred form of …. Durin, no, not him! Thorin would sooner strangle that Elf rather than accept his help ...But the paralysis of his wounds and the beckoning of gentle blackness pulled him away, and he could not fight off the healing touch of Thranduil's hands as the serene waters of unconsciousness bore him away from sunlit meadows and the cheeky glow of his brother's smile.

"Do you think we should wake him up?"

"Do you really want to be stabbed through the lung next? Honestly, you are lucky to have any of your vital organs left – do you want to tempt fate beyond measure?"

"I just thought he might like to be woken… he hasn't stopped growling for the past hour."

"Better he kill the Goblins in his dreams than us – and don't you get any ideas in your head, brother."

Slowly the light filtered through Thorin's haze and he blinked slowly, taking in the sight of cool stone walls and flickering torches. Suffocating coverlets trapped him and he pushed them aside, grunting and pressing his hand against his side as rivulets of pain stabbed through him at the movement.

"Thorin?"

"Uncle!"

Firelight glinted off fair and dark hair and Kili leapt into Thorin's vision. His leg gave way and he stumbled, prevented from spilling onto the bed only by Fili's hands around his shoulders. Startling in horror, Thorin's voice was silenced.

His exhausted, pain filled eyes flooded with tears, Kili pressed his hand against Thorin's leg as though only physical touch could convince him that his king was alive. White bandages wound about the prince's fingers: two were missing. Similar bandages were wrapped tightly around his right leg and his chest – little of his torso appeared to be unscathed.

Fili was no better off. Haunted, tormented blue eyes stared into Thorin's unseeingly. Fili's right arm was bound against his chest, white fingers limp and unresponsive. His head was thickly bandaged and his eyes were unfocused, and the fingers of his left hand dug into Kili's shoulder with terrified fervency.

Mahal help us, we almost lost them both…

"What happened?" Thorin asked hoarsely.

"We… we won…" Fili said raggedly. He swayed and leaned against the bed, squeezing his eyes shut. Concern flickered in Kili's eyes and he grabbed his brother's shoulder, easing him down so that he could sit on the edge comfortably. Fili winced and rubbed a hand over his forehead, fighting what must have been a blinding headache.

"Fili was almost killed!" The admission sprang free in a burst of panic. The carefree shine in Kili's eyes was gone, frantic urgency overwhelming the life in his gaze. "He… There was a troll… It almost… I couldn't…"

Tears swam in his eyes and he hurriedly swiped them away. He leaned against Fili, tucking his head against his brother's as Fili raised a hand to comfort him.

Thorin's gaze searched Fili's and with an effort the older prince nodded. His hand caught in his brother's hair and for a moment he looked ready to crumple down and sob.

The awkward clearing of a throat disrupted the somber moment. "Look here now, lads… neither of you should be up at this moment. Thorin will still be here when you've rested."

Kili stiffened and swung to face Dwalin, worrying his lip in stubborn refusal. "Can't we stay?" he pleaded, looking to Thorin for assistance. "We haven't done anything reckless since the battle. We could just – "

"Back to your room, the both of you." Oin's quiet but firm order left no room for arguing. He swept into the room and ushered the princes away. "You're lucky not to have lost a leg, Kili, and your brother has no business walking around with a concussion."

"Can't we…?" Kili searched Thorin's gaze one last time and reluctantly Thorin shook his head.

"Get some rest, Kili." How oddly that contradicted with the shrill orders in his dreams, demanding that he remain awake.

Like chided boys Fili and Kili turned away, accepting Dwalin's support without complaint. Even before they had passed through the doorway Thorin was looking to Oin for answers.

"Oin… what happened?"

The healer's face was haggard and worn and he shook his head. "They should both have been dead by the time we arrived," he whispered. "Kili was still… so still. Fili was half out of his mind, calling for him."

"Their wounds?" Thorin insisted.

"Fili took an axe to the shoulder," Oin counted off grimly. "Arrow to the hip, severe concussion from a club to the side of his head, broken ribs on the right side – he nearly punctured a lung."

"…And Kili?" Thorin pressed when the healer trailed off.

Oin hesitated and shook his head. "There is no possible way he could have survived. Arrows to the right side and the back, a spear through the thigh, his hand was nearly mauled beyond repair… he should not be alive, Thorin."

Eyeing his king shrewdly, Oin added, "Neither should you."

"We have Mahal to thank," Thorin acceded numbly.

"Aye, that we do…" Oin's tone hinted he still did not believe that was answer enough. He nodded and stepped away, pouring a glass of some remedy and holding it to Thorin's lips.

"Drink, and rest," he ordered. "None of you are out of danger yet."

Once more the comforting blanket of darkness swept over Thorin and he fell into it gladly, grateful for his life and the promise of his nephews' survival as the ebbing blackness lulled him away.

Several times Thorin woke to Oin pouring some noxious remedy down his throat or changing the bandages. Each time he searched the room for Fili and Kili, only to be assured that the young princes would return once they had regained their strength. Dreams and night terrors passed in a haze. Nearly all of them involved Frerin at some point. Whether a child of two summers or a prince ready to enter battle, he skirted on the edge of Thorin's vision before vanishing like a wisp of smoke. More than once Thorin woke with a start and he could have sworn he saw his brother perched on the end of the bed, goading him to open his eyes and live once more.

The dreams passed as awareness returned. Days or weeks might have taken place before Thorin woke fully, the draining exhaustion no longer pulling him to distant, unknown shores. His first sight was of a tousled mop of dark hair and for a moment he thought he still dreamed. Then the rumpled figure yawned and shoved his brother aside, nearly throwing him over the side of the bed. Thorin smiled and shook his head, mentally chiding Fili and Kili for ignoring their own injuries. Even so, he could not thank them enough for their loyalty in staying near him.

"Unc'l Thor'n?"

Blearily Kili raised his head, blinking the sleep from his eyes before gasping and prodding Fili's shoulder. "Fili!" he hissed. "Fili, he's awake!"

Fili mumbled and batted Kili's hand away before lifting his head. His eyes focused on Thorin and he blinked uncertainly for a moment before a weary smile lit his features.

"Thorin… We were afraid that…" Fili's voice trailed off and he sat up slowly, rubbing his head. Kili rushed to assist him and Thorin flung back the coverlets and braced his hand against his nephew's arm, concerned for them both.

"I'm all right," Fili was quick to say.

"Oin said we could get up for a few minutes!" Kili explained, as though worried Thorin would order them back to their rooms at once.

"Your Mother would kill me if she knew I let you stay here…" Thorin began. He waited long enough for the disappointment to cross Fili and Kili's expressions before finishing with a smile, "But as she is not here, I can hardly be blamed for my irresponsibility regarding you two."

Fili sighed and relaxed and Kili's grin returned. Thorin winced and tried not to look at the missing fingers of Kili's hand, or the stiff, thick bandages covering Fili's arm. He had been only too irresponsible with his sisters-sons. Blinded: voracious: he had thought of nothing else but the gold of the Mountain, and in doing so had sacrificed the deepest ties of loyalty. His sister had every right to be ashamed of him.

"Balin… negotiated with the Men of Laketown and with Thranduil…" Fili said carefully, uncertain how Thorin would respond. "They did help us win the war, after all…"

Kili softly drew in a breath and leaned closer to his brother. Thorin sensed the fear emanating from both of them and loathed himself all the more. Slowly he nodded, forcing himself to put the clawing sense of injustice behind him.

"Balin did well. I trust his judgment."

He would sooner have dealt with Thranduil personally, and thrown a handful of gold plated copper into the Elf lord's face, but now was not the time to continue old rivalries. Now was a time of rest and healing and rebuilding… and plotting a slightly more devious manner of delivering the foul, spider raising, tree-mangler's promised gold.

"I had the oddest dreams," Kili mumbled with a yawn. "I could have sworn we had a younger cousin. I almost thought it was me, but then he punched me in the nose. I tried to trounce him after that."

He smacked sleepily and laid his head in Fili's lap, ready to nap on the spot. Thorin watched him thoughtfully, allowing the inkling of a suspicion to form in his mind. "What about you, Fili?"

Fili shuddered and rubbed his hand on Kili's shoulder, glancing warily into the shadows. "Tell Mum I never want another brother."

"Only I have permission to call you a lazy cow," Kili agreed with a smirk.

Fili snorted and lightly slapped his brother over the head. "Even on your worst days, you were never that ferocious."

"Ferocious?" Thorin questioned. He smiled faintly and shook his head. Even on his worst days, Frerin was never fit to terrorize Fili or Kili. His nature was too gentle: too anxious.

Only a dream… and a strange one at that.

A muffled chortle was quickly cut off, and Thorin's gaze snapped to the corner of the room. Bronze hair glinted in the candlelight for a brief instant, and dark eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. A wave of the hand and the image was gone, but the feeling that they were being watched did not pass.

Tears misted his eyes and Thorin smiled, nodding his thanks. In spite of all of Thorin's failings – all of his broken promises and callous dismissals, Frerin had never left him alone. Even after years of bitter rivalry and the torments of death, he lingered behind to look out for those he loved.

Flimsy, clumsy and ornery as he might be, there was still one warrior keeping watch over Durin's sons.