To think at one time a splinter from old Mungo's chair had once been the most infernal bother! To Bilbo it seemed in some other existence, common sense and nothing more had been the chiefest means to preserving life and limb. In the heat of battle (a thing which, by now, Bilbo hoped he was very much through), one does not run headfirst into an axe blade. Avoiding dwarves and their doings altogether would have been far more advisable in hindsight. Ill met by cold, slippery stone the ragged Company sought to regain themselves ashore, free of danger. Each dwarf was soaked to his skin, bruised in every bone and wearied beyond any hardship their path had thus far lead them. That they were still alive was the true wonderment, Bilbo decided. They had been whalloped and rollicked down a perilous river pursued by many displeased Elves and that really was quite enough for an afternoon!

The unexpected siege of warlike orcs was sugar atop a boiled sweet in Bilbo's wretched estimation. The valiant hobbit stood shivering in his badly torn waistcoat, ears still ringing from their narrow escape. How desperately he longed for the comforts of hearth and home at that moment. As he attempted, feebly, to wring out his hopelessly ruined garments, a sudden cry of anguish froze his heart.

A black shaft had pierced Kili, Thorin's youngest nephew, during the melee. Now the brave archer knelt panting and trembling on the wet stone, having barely hobbled four steps from the river's edge.

"Kili is wounded!" Fili, rarely more than three steps away from his brother, was swift to speak. "His leg needs binding!"

"We make haste!" If the sight of his injured nephew affected him, the gruff leader gave no sign. "There is an orc pack directly behind us!"

"Haste indeed." Bilbo overheard Fili mutter darkly. "Give a body half a chance before his lifeblood drains away!"

"Peace, Fili." Kili's youthful face was very white and drawn as though warding off a malady that cut deeper than flesh or bone. "It is nothing."

Good Bofur, who was at hand, moved in to get a better look.

"Bad, is it lad?"

"I'm fine." The dwarf would speak no more, lips pressed into a hard, bloodless line. He ground a torn bit of rag into the gaping wound.
"Bind his leg." Thorin ordered. "You have two minutes."

Bilbo scampered frantically across the rocks, taking great care not to slip as he approached the brooding leader of their Company. He was shaken and not a little frightened by the severe chill in Thorin's voice.

"Whelp should be grateful he still has his life!" The Dwarf King's eyes were like two flints, cast beyond the edge of the forest.

"Grateful? Thorin, we should be thanking him!" Bilbo spluttered, catching his breath.

"I give no thanks for fools! He does not think before he acts!" Bilbo was quite taken aback and knew not what to say. The overwhelming pity in his heart for poor Kili's suffering undid him. From this well did he draw his next words.

"Were Gandalf here, might he not say the same of you?"

The little hobbit steeled himself as though expecting a blow. But Thorin's lip only curled and to Bilbo his manner seemed much changed.

"I need no counsel from a halfling! Gather yourself and make ready!"

Disgusted, he took his leave, storming away from the hobbit to stand watch a good distance away from the party. Bilbo thought it all for the better. Many eyes were on Fili as he tended his brother, winding layers of wet sinew and linen about his leg. In time the sinew would shrink and grow taut, stemming the flow of blood.

Kili's lips set in grim determination when the task was done, the price for his boldness etched all too clearly in his pale face. Though aid was freely offered, Kili would take none. When at last he had regained his feet again, he could not meet the eyes of his Uncle, though he had been savior of them all.

Without any means to cross the water, the road to Erebor would stretch ever farther beyond their reach. Durin's Day was at hand and time had become infinitely more precious than all the gold in Thrain's kingdom. Doubtless, such fell thoughts weighed on Thorin's mind beyond love for his kinsman.

'A hurt as grievous as this', Bilbo thought to himself, 'will take no small amount of physic to set right.'

Of habit (for hobbits are nothing if not resourceful) Bilbo scanned the fauna around the dense patch of forest. Not a fern seemed even remotely familiar. This was strange country to him and he had never encountered the variety of wild grasses and brambles along the banks of any river in the Shire. Back home, a hobbit could concoct a remedy from bits and bobs in his own larder, recipes passed down from generations. Bilbo himself knew how to make a wonderful salve from honey and rendered fat, applied with tincture of foul-smelling sap. Alas, Bilbo's own knowledge did not extend farther beyond treating a bout of occasional indigestion or burn from a cookstove. Arrow wounds were as foreign to him as dragon speech.

"Oh dear, oh dear." Bilbo wrung his small hands, murmuring to himself. "This is terrible." In a day or two the wound would fester and then surely, he would fall into fever. He prayed Oin had something useful to salvage from his small leather scrip that would stay Kili's health until the Lonely Mountain was in sight.

"We're like naked bernes in a blizzard!" Dwalin cursed. "I feel like me left arm's been hewed off without me axe!"

"We'll forge you a new one as soon as our home is reclaimed." Balin assured him.

"We'll never reach the mountain at this rate!" Gloin, ever an optimist, grumbled.

"Aye, we're in need of a raft! I don't fancy getting my beard wet a second time!" Oin, the more pragmatic of the two in Bilbo's estimation, offered up his solution.

"But a raft will take days to build!" Ori objected. "Surely we'll be too late!"

Kili's dark eyes were watchful though he did not voice his thoughts.

Thorin had that moment raised his hand as though to address the party when a tall shadow crept over his features. All were startled at the approach of a tall figure dressed in a tattered hide coat. In both hands he bore a long bow and a single notched arrow was aimed directly at Thorin's heart.

"Who are you? What are you doing in these lands?"

It was Balin, eldest and most temperate among them, who addressed the strange dark man. With a fleeting wink to Bilbo, he whispered. "Providence, my lads. It appears our luck is finally beginning to turn."

Bard the Bowman was not at all keen on the notion of smuggling thirteen dwarves and a burglar through the guarded waterways to Laketown. His coat, however, spoke of hard times and such men are easily swayed by gold. Still, Bilbo thought his eyes were not unkind as he spoke with Balin. Kili had been first to offer up what coin he had, Fili quickly following suit. The hard man's reluctance swayed when he saw the riches offered up by the ragged company in vouchsafe for their passage.

"I will see to it that you enter Laketown unharmed." Bard vowed and Bilbo trusted somewhere in his heart that the Bargeman was a man of his word.

"I can manage." Kili shook off his brother's guiding hand. Though it looked to Bilbo that his face grew paler and his breath came shorter, the injured archer wended his way aboard the deck by his own strength.

Bard spoke rarely, one hand on the rudder as they drifted forth from the shore and down towards the yawning expanse of the lake.

"We shall reach the first checkpoint within the hour, Masters." Bard's words cut above the flurry of dwarvish chatter. "When we do, you must follow my command all without question."

Thorin remained silent though his followers all nodded their assent with an "Aye." or a "Hell."

Kili rested against the side of his brother, staring out into the mirror of the lake that bore them onward. He stirred only when Filir nudged him to offer up his waterskin. Kili drank of it gratefully.

"The sun will set ere we reach the town." Fili drew his cloak tight about his shoulders. "I would our path were lighter."

The wounded dwarf made no sound, nor even seemed to hear Fili's words though his limbs shook violently with cold. His gaze was distant, as though an inside voice were calling his name.

"Kili? Kili!"

A rash of troubled murmuring spread swift throughout the party. Alerted by Fili's cry, Thorin moved stormily from his hushed conference with Dwalin to investigate.

"What ails him?" He demanded, placing a hand on Kili's head.

"Leave me. I am well enough." Kili panted, fighting to stay awake as Thorin fell to one knee beside him.

Thorin's brooding countenance did not betray his heart. To Fili he spoke sharply.

"Get a fire going." Tearing away his own cloak, he draped it around the shoulders of his nephew. "Ori, water. Now."

Ori rushed forth with a waterskin and a tin mug somehow secreted from the Elvish guard of Mirkwood. With the aid of Bilbo's scrounging (he was a burglar after all), Fili managed to find scraps dry enough to build a steady blaze, using what little he could find on deck to contain the meager flames. Oin, rummaging through his scrip, sighed and shook his white, shaggy head.

"I've nary more than a sleep draught left." He said to Thorin. "We've no herbs to tend him."

"Dig deeper. Find anything." Thorin looked up to meet the eyes of Bard. Their nervous bustling had not gone unnoticed by the bargeman.

"That one." Bard nodded to the hunched form of Kili. "Looks a bit peaky, aye?"

Thorin's reply was colder than a winter sky, his manner brusque and guarded.

"Took a fall by the river. He will mend in a week's time."

"I know an arrow wound when I see one, Master Dwarf." The man looked gravely down at the injured dwarf.

"His hurt is our affair." Spoke Fili, trying to rouse his brother to small avail.

"Indeed." The Bowman drew from his pocket a small hide pouch. "Then this will be of no importance then."

"What's that then?" Bilbo asked.

"Willow bark. Our people learned to break fevers with roots that stretched below the earth. It may not serve him overmuch but it should ease the pain some until we reach port."

"We are in your debt again, human." Thorin muttered reluctantly.

Oin hummed, receiving the pouch from the bargeman with a short bow. "It will serve. Though pity we've no beesweets or treacle to improve the taste."

"The pits with the taste!" Kili groaned, eyes closed fast against the pain. "I'd trade every ore in Dain's Iron Hill for a moment's peace!"

"Brave laddie, you shall have your rest. This will boil up in no time." Oin set to his task quickly, crouched by the small fire with the tin cup and handful of bitter bark.
-

By luck or by blessing the winds blew quieter and the tide in its rumbling fell low, for the company were all too well acquainted with rough waters. The gray and gloomy water matched Thorin's stoic countenance as the Dwarf King surveyed his band. Kili's dark hair lay damp across his brow and he could not be easily roused. The brew from the bargeman's pouch had taken effect though none truly knew its course. Fili kept watch over his brother with a stalwart eye, rarely moving but to comfort his kinsman. Kili's breathing grew slower as the water's temper gentled and he slept.

"He burns."

Bilbo crouched by Kili's side, offering in his hands a second mug of the dark willow brew. Oin had ordered another dose upon examination of the wound which had grown foul by some evil taint.

"Burning is not always so bad a thing?" Bilbo quipped helpfully though Fili's expression did not waver. "Fevers do serve their purpose oddly enough. At the very least he is warm and that is better than I can say for my poor toes." He placed a small hand on Kili's shoulder in an attempt to wake him.

"Come now, Master Kili. It's time for more nasty-tasting medicine."

To his surprise, Kili stirred. Blinking slowly in confusion at his surroundings, he did not appear to recognize the face of the hobbit nor even his kin beside him.

"Are the forges lit?" He murmured, still half dreaming. "It is so warm now."

Bilbo looked to Fili in alarm. He reached out a hand to quiet him.

"Hush. Be still."

Bilbo offered up the cup of bitter brew but Kili turned his head.

"Drink it." Fili persisted, forcing the cup from Bilbo's hand to his brother's lips.

"Come, don't be an infant." Kili winced as though pained, the dark liquid trickling down his chin as he swallowed it down to the last. Finally rid of the horrid medicine, he settled once more against the deck and wandered lost in sleep.

Bilbo stayed a bit longer watching the young dwarf as he breathed quietly. At the helm stood Thorin, gazing out upon the lake as still as carved stone. What dark thoughts weighed on his mind, Bilbo trembled to guess. That their quest could be doomed so close to its end made Bilbo's thoughts solemn indeed. Would Thorin choose the life of his nephew over the call of the Mountain?

Fili's words reached him again.

"Since our roving age, I have been charged with his care." Fili's hand brushed aside the damp strands from Kili's eyes. "In those days, we would watch the craftsmen as they labored at the forges. Fool would have run straight into one of the grinders were it not for me." Fili's blue eyes shone with remorse. "I have failed him."

"Failed?" Bilbo was dumbstruck.

"If he should perish-"

"Oh surely not!" Bilbo cried. "Not with the devotion of his kin!"

"I fear even that may not be enough." Fili's gaze set upon his Uncle. "I have lived to watch good dwarves fall. One by one, I have seen our family diminish, felled by foes in battle or lost to the gold sickness. By Durin, I will see my own death before I see his."

"Uncle?" Kili muttered fitfully in his dreaming. "Is it nightfall? Where has the light gone...?"

"It is the mist." Bilbo shushed him, keeping his fears tucked safe in his back pocket. "We will soon reach shore. I for one will be thankful indeed to be on dry land."

"Land..." Kili sighed, his weary head falling back down to his breast. "I should very much like...to see home again."