Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.

Cover Art credit goes to marisdrawings on Tumblr.

This fic has undergone heaps of editing, and will probably continue to do so. However, I don't want to change it too much from the original, as I like to see how my writing has progressed.

I hope you enjoy this tale.

An Unanticipated Miracle

Fili wasn't sure how he was still alive.

He had been terrifyingly certain that his story was at an end when Azog the Defiler skewered him like a pig and dropped him from Ravenhill. If the fall didn't kill him, the blade that had pierced his back certainly would. Or so he had thought.

Yet, somehow, he had not died. Instead, he found himself plastered on his back atop the cold ice, very much alive and unable to move. He felt two things. Two terrifying things that consumed his thoughts.

The first was fear. He wasn't sure of anything at the moment, but he knew for certain that Kili had run past him not long after he fell, probably believing him to be dead, and straight towards the enemy. He hadn't been able to process much else when he fell. It was all just noise, a piercing ringing noise that filled his ears. He couldn't see much either, everything was a blur of black spots and color. Yet, Kili had somehow been as clear as anything; the only thing he seemed to be able to focus on.

His heart clenched inside his aching chest. He's going to get himself killed. He could not let that happen. Not to Kili. Not his brother.

The second feeling was pain. A sharp, throbbing pain that consumed his senses. It had spread all over his upper body. Yet, lower than his waist, it stopped. He could feel no pain.

In fact, he couldn't feel anything at all.

The awareness of his own lack of sensation sent a bolt of panic through him. It harder to breathe all of a sudden, like his very lungs were against him. It was like he was drowning. Gritting his teeth, he tried to move his arms so he might push himself up. He bent his elbow preparing to pull his upper body off the ground. He drew a deep breath, fighting the ache he felt in his lungs. He had to get moving. He had to get to Kili.

He pushed.

His vision went white with pain.

Fili screamed, letting his head fall back on the ice. It was like someone had placed a boulder on his chest, or skewered him into the ground with a spear. He could not move. Not able to stand it, Fili let his arms go limp in the snow for a moment. The cold did not bite at his fingers, that he could be thankful of, for they were protected by thick leather gloves. It didn't stop the fact that he was losing blood. He wondered how much was pooled around him. Was it a lot? Maybe he hadn't lost anything? Nothing was making much sense at the moment. I need to get to them, no matter the pain. He focused on the thought, and using the last of his strength, he tried to rise once more.

He stayed pinned to the ground.

Giving a hopeless cry, he let his eyes stare up into the sky. He could see blue. He frowned. When had the clouds gone? The absence of them revealed the sun was close to setting. After being stuck under the dimness of clouds for so long, even the fading light stung his eyes, tempting forward a few held back tears. Had he really been lying there that long? He wondered if the battle would be close to ending.

His thoughts turned to his brother, his friends and uncle. Are they alive? Is the battle won, and by who? He tried desperately with strained ears to hear the answers to his questions: the clash of swords, the battle cry of his uncle, or even the sound of his younger brother's voice. The longer he tried to hear these sounds, the weaker he seemed to grow, and with his fading senses, the answers to his questions grew fainter.

With whatever hope he still had with him, he waited for a miracle.

As Fili laid moribund in the ice, he came to notice an odd tingling sensation in his arms, back and around his head. It caused him little discomfort, in fact, it was quite relaxing, but he didn't think it meant anything good; he felt his eyelids grow heavy from relaxation. Dying didn't seem so bad-

"You didn't deserve such pain lad, not this cruel fate. You did nothing wrong in this world."

The tingling stopped, and his eyes shot open. Gone was the relaxation, and in its place was a spark of hope, subsiding some of his fear. He couldn't see who was speaking, but he did know who the owner of the voice was. It was a voice he had heard throughout his childhood, and he thought of it with good faith; it had gotten him out of trouble on many occasions, and it seemed this time would be no different. He would not die today.

"Dwalin?"

There was a long, silent pause that seemed to go on for an eternity, but finally it was broken by a quietly spoken word, "Fili?"

Dwalin could barely believe his own ears, but his eyes confirmed what he had thought impossible. Fili was alive. He rushed towards the injured Dwarf. "Mahal forgive me, I should have checked the lad sooner." He fell to his knees beside the dwarf, looking over his head. The prince smiled for a moment, then it faded into something else.

"Are they…safe? Kili…and Uncle," Fili whispered, his breath ragged in between words.

He did not answer him; instead, he gently turned Fili onto his side, causing the younger dwarf to hiss and grit his teeth. He swore when he noticed the laceration on Fili's back. The blade had been strong enough to pierce the young dwarfs armour and skin, but luckily no enough force had been used to pierce through Fili's chest. In all his years of fighting, he had never seen such a devastating wound not be instantly fatal, and he hoped it never would be.

Immediately, he tore a strip of softer fabric from his armour and pressed it to Fili's wound. He then tore another longer strip and tied it around Fili to secure the other piece in place. He would admit it was a poor job, but prettiness was a trivial thing when times like this arose.

"Are you hurt anywhere else, lad?" he asked, his voice unwavering.

"Dwalin I- I don't. I dont think I can feel my legs," Fili said quietly.

No.

He nodded his head calmly. He must not panic the lad. He cursed himself for mentally rolling the dwarf on his side; Mahal knows what further damage that did. "It will be alright lad, but we've got to get you back before you drain. It's a wonder you have any blood left in you," he said, trying to figure out what would be the best way he could move the younger dwarf. He thought on the idea of going back to find more help, but he feared Fili would not be able to last the time it would take to do as such.

Fili nodded his head in agreement, closing his eyes.

"Don't move your head or close your eyes," he warned, and being mindful of Fili's back and neck, he carefully slid the injured dwarf into his arms so his back, neck and knees were supported.

Fili breathed in deeply and clenched his jaw, eyes still closed.

"It's alright to cry, Fili." He meant what he said. He was a dwarf built for battle, but he knew that there were times when it was simply better to let your emotions show. He was aware that most tended to stuff them down inside like to much water in a too small flask. Sooner or later the cap would burst off from all the pressure and the contents inside erupted in a deluge of fury, anger, sadness and many other unpleasant emotions.

Fili said nothing, forcing his eyes open. Not a single tear fell from them.

The decent was quick, and Dwalin was careful not to jolt Fili, who had long since fallen unconscious. They were running out of time. The lad had lost a severe amount of blood and was weakening greatly. He cursed himself for not noticing the dwarf slip into unconsciousness. He shouldn't have let that happen.

By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, the sun had disappeared long ago. Many tents had been set up far from the Gates of Erebor, for the smell emanating from it was not of the pleasing sort, but not so far that it was impractical If something had to be retrieved from inside it: the tents themselves for instance. Many of the tents seemed to be overcrowded with the wounded and deceased; both separated of course, but overcrowded nonetheless.

He knew however, that one tent had not been so heavily filled and instead was given to his deceased Kin. Many torches had been lit and stuck into the ground like spears so that they might, with the help of the stars, provide light around the darkened area for all.

As he approached the tents, many cries of sorrow and anguish could be heard from the Dwarves as Fili's limp body was noticed.

"The line of Durin is lost!" one dwarf cried.

"The heir is dead!" said another.

The remaining members of Thorin's Company simply stood frozen with shock, whispering words of denial.

He ignored all of these remarks and instead approached a rather despondent looking Dain, who had emerged from his own tent when the cries had arisen. "Where is the wizard?" Dwalin asked hurriedly.

Dain raised his eyebrows. "Which one do ya mean? The one with the tall pointy hat or the one that looks like he's been shat on by a bird? What do ya need one of them for?"

"The one with the hat," he replied, "It's Fili; he's still alive. But he needs help; the lad might not have long. He is hurt badly."

Gasps of surprise and relief were suddenly, and quite loudly, cried here and there and here again until Dwalin wasn't quite sure where each outburst had come from. Some did not seem to believe his words and began murmuring amongst themselves. A few elves muttered about the distrust of the dwarves, as they always did. They never seemed to stop.

"I think he's talking with the Hobbit fellow in the Far East Tent, you better hurry. Ill keep any peering eyes away," Dain said.

"My thanks are with you, cousin," he said gratefully. Turning away, he pushed his way through the boisterous crowd, mindful of Fili as he did this, and headed towards the Far East Tent as Dain had said. Luckily, the tents were not spread far between each other and only covered a short distance that could easily be walked in a few moments.

Fili had not yet stirred and continued to grow weaker as more blood spilt. The ice that he had been lying on had slowed the flow, despite him being on his back, but now as he continued to carry him in the open air nothing was there to slow Fili's loss of blood. He had grown so pale, that it no longer surprised him that people had so quickly jumped to the conclusion that he was dead.

In the darkness, he noticed once again the tent that seemed more heavily lit than the rest, and so he decided that if Gandalf and Bilbo were anywhere, it was in there. He quickly began striding towards it.

Quite suddenly, a tall figure hurried from within the tent. His left arm was in a sling and he wore an apprehensive look upon his greyed face. He hastily approached him "Is he alive, is he still with us?" he asked hurriedly.

"Aye, he is Gandalf, but-"

"Do not take him in there: it would cause him to much stress if he were to wake," Gandalf said, gesturing to the tent he had emerged from. The wizard began moving his hand over Fili's wounds, mumbling incoherent words as he did this. Whatever they meant, they seemed to be slowing the young dwarf's bleeding.

If. Dwalin did not like such an insecure word; it suggested the uncertainty in things. He quickly decided that if would, in fact, be when.

"Follow me, Fili will not have long if we do not make haste," the wizard said wearily. He turned and began to walk to a nearby tent before stopping and turning his head towards the illuminated tent. "Oh and Bilbo, go and notify the others of this. But do not allow them near the tent."

He almost jumped in surprise as the hobbit suddenly appeared outside the tent Gandalf had come from. He swore that the hobbit had grown too furtive for his own good. But he was glad to see the Halfling in a better state than what he had been in earlier.

Bilbo gave a sorrowful look to Fili, a small smile to him, and then disappeared into the night.

It was going to be a long night, that much Bilbo knew. But yet, as the night wore on, so did Gandalf. To the untrained ear, it simply seemed the wizard was mumbling all sorts of nonsense over the injured dwarf, but not to Bilbo. Even outside the tent, where he stood guard, he could recognise it as the old language of the elves, and the difference between life and death for Fili.

As he waited by the tent with the company, a feeling of apprehension seemed to fill the air. It twisted and grew inside him until he felt himself grow cold. It seemed like he was not the only one who felt his, going by the way that every now and then, one of the company managed to wander past the tent, giving it a nervous glance. All were anxious to see what would become of their heir, and more importantly, their friend.

It was soon apparent that this anxiousness had overpowered the company of Thorin Oakenshield, for it was not long before they were all gathered at the entrance of Fili's tent. He felt quite frustrated by this, taking into account that he had specifically told them all Gandalf's instructions, especially when they went as far as to enter the tent.

"I don't trust the wizard; he could be making the lad worse. I can't even understand what he was saying," Oin muttered as he strode inside, pushing past the hobbit.

"You can't ever understand out what anyone's saying," Gloin commented, his eyebrows raised as he followed the elder dwarf.

Soon followed the rest, all bickering amongst themselves about a good many other things that concerned them: Fili, wizards, elves and the disagreement that he was expressing as they pushed past him. Bloody dwarves.

Gandalf's mumbling ceased, and his eyebrows furrowed as the dwarves and one hobbit piled into the tent. "Didn't Bilbo make it clear that I did not wish to be disturbed?" Gandalf said, directing his gaze to him.

Bofur shuffled on his feet, his eyes on Fili's still form. "Aye, he did. But we thought—we were all wondering—"

Bilbo imagined that the dwarf would have spoken for a long while of the many reasons for why they were there, and not outside of the tent. This sort of thing had occurred quite often on the journey, and the company, including himself, had grown quite annoyed by it.

Sighing, Balin moved forward and took the liberty of pushing his rambling companion aside. "What he means to say is that we had grown worried for Fili and we wish to see him," Balin said promptly.

In response to this, Oin stepped from behind Bofur and walked towards Fili, who had been laid on an assortment of soft fabrics and clothes. It did not look like the most comfortable arrangement, but the mountain was yet to provide cots for the wounded to lie.

Soon, he noticed that beside Fili, closer to the edge of the tent, was Dwalin. His arms were folded and he wore his usual scold, but his eyes showed the sadness he felt.

"I myself am questioning your healing methods. Have you stopped his bleeding? Assessed his wounds? The words that you speak don't seem to be making any change to the lad," Oin questioned.

"My dear Oin, how quickly you distrust me. The words I speak are from the language of the Eldar, and they are responsible for keeping Fili alive." Gandalf looked thoughtful for a moment, "Though, your healing expertise may be of use this night. But the rest of you must leave, including you Dwalin. Your brooding is of no help to Fili." Gandalf said solemnly.

The company remained still, tossing glances between each other. Dwalin then sighed, unfolded his arms and moved to join the other dwarves and himself.

However, he noticed, Oin had already begun examining the injured prince, seeming to be pleased to find that the wizard was doing everything right. The rest of the company was still uneasy. He knew it was not in the nature of dwarves to leave their kin, relation or not.

Oin then raised his trumpet to his ear. "Could you tell me the extent of his injuries? It would save a great deal of time."

"I'm sure Dwalin can inform you, but after that, he must leave, along with the rest of you. I myself must focus on keeping him alive, which would have been easier had I not been interrupted," the Wizard said gruffly.

All eyes then turned to look at Dwalin expectantly. Though the tent was well lit, it seemed as though a shadow had passed across the battle hardened dwarf's face. Dwalin bowed his head, and there is stayed for a few seconds. When he raised it again, his eyes gleamed slightly. "The lad was suffering from an internal bleeding; Gandalf managed to stop it somehow with the words he was speaking." Dwalin paused, as if in thought. "The orcs blade narrowly missed anything too important when it stuck his left side… and he has a nasty bump on the head from the fall," Dwalin said slowly, bowing his head once more.

The company then shifted their eyes onto Fili. He had remained still since the time he had fallen unconscious. His outer armour had been removed, and his hair was in blonde tangles around his head; his normally neat braids in strands only held together by clasps and dried blood.

"Is that all?" Oin asked, slightly puzzled but still obviously relieved. He too was questioning Fili's survival.

Dwalin shook his head. "No. The lad is so weak…but he is the strongest I have ever met," he said, a hint of pride hidden in his grief. "…The fall...it…the lad can no longer feel his legs."

An even deadlier silence fell upon the company; only Gandalf's quiet muttering and Fili's laboured breathing could be heard.

"…Can't feel his legs," Bofur said quietly, struggling to comprehend his own words.

"Yes, it is true; he fell on his back when he fell. And the style of his departure from Ravenhill did not help him," Gandalf passed an accusing glance to Dwalin. "He has lost movement in his legs completely. Though; I suspect that he will be able to move his neck and upper body without too much strain in the next few weeks, possibly days if we are lucky, my healing has helped with that."

"A few days?" Oin questioned, "that can't b...—"

This arose a bit of murmuring among the company. Bilbo knew that talk of death just after survival discomforted them; it made their hearts twist inside them. Yet, they seemed to decide to heed Gandalf's words.

So the company went, not needing much more convincing, laden with apprehensive feelings in their bellies as they lumbered to their tents.

But not him, he instead made his instead quietly made his way to the same tent he had come from earlier, a forlorn look on his face. He, like the others, wanted dearly to be with the injured dwarf, but the dead did not last for long.