Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Night was calm.

The hammering of workers had stopped and Thorin had to admit that was both a blessing and a curse. The quietness, while welcoming to most, were always uneasy with dwarves. Every dwarf thrived in the knowledge of work. It was their lifeblood and being able to use tools and rock of those who came before them was always a boon to the spirit. When there was work to be done, be it with gem, rock or iron, the hearts of the people of the mountain thrived in it.

And Mahal knew that Erebor needed work. A dragon living among her halls had done such hurt to the stone but she had endured. The wounds were repairable and everyone had taken up a hammer as soon as healers deemed them able. There was no greater pride than to see family and friend pounding at stone, chipping away the stank of dragon and replacing it with the hard earned sweat of Mahal’s children.

Thorin had been reluctant to let his sister-sons join in repairs though not out of any malice. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any prouder of someone than he did of those two. It was seeing the slight flinch on Fili’s face if he strained his side. It was the sharp exhale through his teeth if Kili put too much weight on that leg. Oin had cleared them as had the elven healers but the paternal role he had played for many years still hollered inside his mind that they should have been resting. Much as Dwarven mothers were given grief for being overprotective, Thorin was well aware that he could be just as bad or, at times, even worse than his sister. 

He respected his nephews enough to let them be though...but if he inquired of those working about them to their status then that was another matter altogether. If he called them back to sit and take ale, bread and meat and to speak of what was to come, it mattered not that they had spoken of such things several times before.

Taking another breath, he urged his heart to slow. This had been what he had been working for ever since the attack and now it was here. The rebuilding had begun!

Thorin had been reluctant to accept the room of his grandfather, the chambers of the King, when so many other repairs had to be done but the people, Dáin’s folk included, had insisted. After all, they declared, Thorin had won back the Mountain!

Frowning, Thorin wandered the room. This victory would not have been his without his Company. Without Bilbo, without his nephews. He may have led the party but he owed it to Bilbo for recognizing his Gold Sickness for what it was and it was Bilbo’s keen sight that led them into the secret door. It was Bilbo that allowed them to approach Smaug. It was his nephews that struck Thorin from his gold sickness. Made him remember who he was...who THEY were and how Thorin had shattered the Arkenstone that dared make him forget for even a moment.

Then it had been his nephews that had killed Smaug.

Thorin had ushered Kili away, up to one of the hidden rooms. His leg wound had grown worse and with the dragon loose, he was not going to risk him. The boy had protested immensely but the look Thorin had perfected over decades of parenting had not lost its power. Adding a threat of “I have traveled this journey as your King and your leader but make no mistake, sister-son, I am capable of embracing my role as Uncle and all that it entails if need be” had served to stop his protests. If Thorin had lingered a half moment more to put a kiss to his head then it was hardly questionable.

Fìli had tackled the dragon when they had been herded through Erebor (effectively taking a good two decades off Thorin’s life right from the start) and when the dragon took off, raining his fire on Laketown, Fili had still clung to his back.

It was the first time throughout the entire journey where Thorin was, as the Company saw it, hysterical. 

Screaming and shouting, howling at the dragon to “COME FACE —ME— YOU WICKED WORM!!” Pushing Dwalin aside and trying to tear after the creature with no care to his own health. Screaming to Mahal. Howling at the earth for daring to put the Long Lake in his path.

And crying up to Fili in the distance, “MAHAL AS MY WITNESS—-GROWN DWARF OR NOT, BOY, I AM GOING TO SKIN YOU ALIVE!!”

His threats had gone unanswered until they heard the sound of a fired wind lance. It was Bard, attempting to fell the dragon. While his actions were admirable, commendable, brave...all Thorin could picture was that long bolt skewering his eldest and his stomach dropped with worry. His blood ran cold. When Bard’s shot had missed, he had both mourned and cheered.

Then, it had been keen eyed Bilbo who advised movement above them and there, in all his stubbornness, had been his second sister-son, readying a wind lance of his own, despite being barely able to stand.

Oh, the things Thorin had screeched at that boy but the younger dwarf had paid him no mind. His eyes were focused, mind clear and after a tense moment, everyone knew why.

The dragon was returning and you could just barely make out Fili taunting it, baiting it and occasionally stabbing as well he could into its hide.

Pride took Smaug down as he had every intention of “roasting your heir before your eyes Oakenshield! But only after you watch your mountain burn!”

Too occupied was he to see the smaller dwarf, half draped in shadow until the bolt of the lance found its mark, driving so deep it all but vanished. 

Smaug fell.

Fili leapt away, the mountain gave have way under his fingers, despite Kili scrambling to reach him and he’d fallen, nearly in unison with the accursed dragon.

Thorin, despite himself, had lunged after his sister son and while it had hardly been a soft landing (Fili had tumbled half in Thorin’s arms and half over his shoulder, utterly knocking the wind out of him and sending them both careening to the ground) it had spared Fili permanent injury as Thorin had tucked him into his chest like a babe when the dragon had finally collided with the ground and any broken rock and earth had found Thorin’s flesh, not Fili’s.

Standing once the trembling had stopped, Thorin was nearly sure he would have half strangled the boy had he not spied Kili attempting to scale down the mountainside far too quickly with that leg. Attention distracted by trying to keep his youngest sister son from plowing to his death, Fili had all but been crushed by the relieved Company.

Lifting Kili down as soon as he was able (and trying and failing to hide his “Ah, Mahal, my back”—catching a sister son of full grown weight and lifting another nearly there  after he had already carried Kili for quite some ways up to the mountain—-were not kind to Thorin’s post-prime age) Thorin had returned to his eldest and held both his boys close for quite a long while, stroking their hair and murmuring words to them that only family could get away with. 

Once his nerves had cooled and they had parted ways on their trek to observe the fallen beast, the Dwarf King had planted two very sharp swats, one across each of their backsides, to two whimpering “Irak’Adad!” protests. Older he might have been but a hand hardened by war and the forge still stung hard and he meant to make it clear that while he valued and commended their bravery, he did not forgive them risking their lives so nonchalantly.

Shaking his head with a smile as he remembered their wide eyes at the dragon’s limp corpse and the way Kili poked it as if it were a dead kill he was assuring were truly deceased before jumping back to Dwalin and himself, he had to admit that his heart could not have held more pride for them if he had all the room in the depths of Khazad-dûm. Fili had dared take a dragon on their own terrain, the air, and Kili had not let a leg wound stop him and his aim had flown true to the one spot of weakness that only a truly skilled archer would know. He had no doubt the two of them had planned their assault together and while it had shortened his life, he was certain, by several decades to observe it come to fruition, there was a deep justice in it. 

The wicked worm that had collapsed Erebor in the midst of its prime had been felled by the sons of Her princess.

It had not been long before Ori and then Bofur and then all the others had begun shouting “Dragonsbane!” “Dragonscourge!” The names would stick and when the time came for a coronation, Thorin was determined to use those names. 

They had earned it and may all of Erebor know it!

Finally ceasing his pacing, Thorin let himself sink into the bed. He had run here many a time as a child, leaping up beside his grandfather to hear tales of old, often with Frerin right on his tail and years later, Dis had followed.

Now, while there was much work to do and the sheets of cotton and wool and blankets of fur had yet to reflect the fortune of Erebor, it was here. For the first time since that fateful day, Thorin Oakenshield felt at peace. Oh there was much to do, alliances to be made and people to care for but they were home!

He allowed his mind to rest, to drift and dreams of the grand future yet to come would ease the rest of his worries.

Thus, when the war splitting scream rang through the corridors later, Thorin almost tumbled from the bed. 

It was close, shrill and familiar.

“Fili!” He said aloud to himself as he scrambled to his feet, not bothering to clothe anymore than he was. A sight he must have been, the proclaimed King of the Lonely Mountain tearing out of his chambers in naught more than underslacks.

He was hardly alone though. The rest of his Company, including Bilbo as well as several of Dain’s soldiers had rushed the hallway, trying to reach the sound of agony.

It was Frerin’s old room where Fili and Kili had decided to bunk together until more repairs were done.

Fili screamed again and now there was also Kili, screaming for his brother “Wake up, wake up!!”

Pushing through his company and rather harshly at that, (he would have to apologize to poor Dori later) Thorin plowed through the door, calling “Fili! Kili!”

Kili was up, though still only in his sleep slacks and the poor boy looked terrified. He was limping horrendously (the leg needed time to heal) but he was attempting to approach his brother, pleading with a choked voice “Wake up, Fili, please!!”

Fili, not two feet away, had a knife in each hand and at close glance, one of them had nicked poor Kili already. It was a mild injury though.

Thorin knew that wild lostness he saw in his nephew’s eyes. He saw it rarely but seeing it so soon after everything they had endured...he’d been foolish to think they would escape without it in some degree. 

Giving a simple nod to Kili to keep talking, Thorin approached his eldest from the side, taking care to stay out of his range of sight (though he didn’t know if this was a livid dream or a true flashback; in either case, caution was necessary) and his eyes surveyed the boy’s stance.

It was rigid, firm but luckily, there was not much forethought into it, very unlike his usual manner. Perhaps they were lucky and it was a vivid dream. While neither flashbacks or vivid dreams were pleasant, the latter was decidingly easier to cope with and recover from. 

“Fili, please, wake up!” Kili tried again and his brother jerked his body to face him. “You’re dreaming, Brother. We’re safe, wake up!”

Fili twitched a bit and his voice came out a bit slurred. “The battle...”

“It’s over!” Kili insisted, eyes a bit watery. “We’re safe, brother!”

Fili’s grip on his knives lessened.

Thorin took his chance. He cane about, quickly and clamped his hands on Fili’s wrists, just enough to make him drop the blade. Even as Filí was jerking, beginning to shout, Thorin was whispering in his deep baritone. “All is well, my sister-son. Look about you, truly focus and look. I am here. Your brother is here. We are safe. You are safe.”

Almost with little else he could do, the blond dwarf obeyed. For a moment, his breath came hitched but gradually, those glassy eyes focused. “K-Kili...”

The dark haired dwarf nodded “It’s me, Fili. We were bunking in Uncle Frerin’s old room, remember?”

Turning slightly, Fili’s eyes met his uncle’s. “T-Thorin, I...forgive me, I...”

“Shh.” Thorin loosened his grip and Fili sank to the floor, back against the bed. “All is well, sister-son.”

Shaking his head sharply, Fili argued “It wasn’t. You...and Kili...and Dwalin...Ma...” he shuddered and when Kili knelt next to him, his eyes pained. “Mahal, Kili, I’m sorry.” He brushed his hands over the small slice on his brother’s upper arm. “I didn’t...”

“It’s okay, Fili.” The younger one said instantly “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“But I cut you! I..” he eyed his dropped knives as if they were a snake. “They’re supposed to protect you, not...”

“Sister-Son.” Thorin’s tone was soft, unaccusing. “The body forms its own memory and if the mind is not there to counter it, it will act on its own.” He smiled as warm as Fili remember. “You are not to blame.”

“But...” He locked eyes with Kili “If I did once, I could hurt you again!” Oh the horrible fear in that tone.

“You wouldn’t..”

“Kili, I just DID! Don’t tell me I wouldn’t!” Face in his hands, Fili trembled. 

Kili sat there a long moment then said “I...I could stay in Uncle Thorin’s old room and...”

“No.” Thorin interrupted. He heard the hesitation and saw the fear as much as if Kili had announced it. Fili had his dreams but Kili did not want to be alone. “I will not have either of you surrendering security of your own for the other.”

Fili’s voice cracked. “Uncle, I could have hurt him!” He knew what Thorin spoke of though. It had taken forever to get Kili to sleep. Alone, he would get none. “If I act out again, I...”

“Then I will wake you as your brother did this time.” Thorin assured him, hand to his head “And I will stay to ensure no more outbursts take your mind this eve.”

Kili looked up, hope in his eyes as he stood “You’ll stay, Uncle Thorin?”

“The bed is surely large enough,” Thorin reasoned. “Unless you prefer I not?”

“N-no.” Fili stood slowly, “Please.” He swallowed “I...please stay.” That took more courage to say than any action on the battlefield but when Thorin gently pulled him up and let him lay against his chest a moment, he cherished it. “Please stay, Uncle.”

“So, I shall.”

Chapter Text

Waking was not quite waking.

Waking required that some sleep had to have been had and Thorin was not entirely sure that had occurred. At least not an amount of sleep that could constitute any form of restfulness and preparation for the day. 

Opening one eye against the invading sunlight, he stretched up a hand and yanked on the cord about the bed, releasing the thick curtains to enclose them in darkness once more. The return of the pitch black was a deep relief to his eyes. Being one of Mahal’s children, his eyes were almost more comfortable in dark than in light.

A slight tug amid his beard had his gaze traveling down and he allowed a small smile, as cloaked in exhaustion as it was, at the sights next to him.

Fili had finally calmed to sleep or at least a semblance of it after several hours and his tense posture was a betrayal of that. Muscles bunched and arms and legs pulled tight about his core, chin tucked. Thorin’s heart ached at the sight. He knew that posture all too well. He had taught it to the boy, many years ago, as a last line of defense. Protect those most important to you: the heart the pumped blood and the lungs that drew air if your body had failed you. The way the boy had pulled his knees up and positioned his arms...it was a protective stance, one of utter desperation.

“What dreams haunt your spirit, dear sister-son?” Thorin’s question was spoken with a light catch. He was used to dealing with nightmares; he and Dis had handled them in pairs when the boys were young but these were different. In their youth, all it took to calm the mind of either Fili or his brother was the reassurance that, yes, of course, Uncle would smite any demon that drew near and certainly there was no warrior that could penetrate his fighting stance or skill! (Dis has always hidden a chuckle at the latter) It had always soothed both boys without fail.

Such tricks no longer held power over minds that had seen battle. Fili and Kili had seen for themselves that their uncle was not invincible. They had seen his wounds spill blood and his stance falter.

It was then that they had both put themselves between him and his adversary, granting Thorin time and opportunity to slay Azog.

Amid his screaming at them, of course.

Bolg had fallen to Fili and Kili’s combined spirit.

He’d nearly lost them amid the wounds the damned orcs left behind: such deep wounds to Fili’s chest and side that Thorin would still hear a wheeze when the boy breathed and a slice so deep to the arm that it was wonder it had not severed it. Even now, the dark stitches gleamed amid the darkness, as if they were taunting the elder dwarf. They had been forced to do two sets, one with the more tender muscle and one with the skin. Such double stitching was rare and so far, it was amazing they had held.

Kili’s leg, the one shot in Mirkwood, had been dipped with Morgul poison and they’d nearly had to take it, even with Elvish aid. He still grew dizzy occasionally when he stood and that limp might not ever leave. Even now, Thorin would occasionally see the boy grasp it and grit his teeth. Gandalf had stated that flesh tainted by morgul’s sorcery was always painted by it. Kili’s future would never be without a slight ache in that leg at least for a time period out of the year. Most likely on the anniversary of battle, the wizard had predicted. For all the miracles that Elvish medicine could do, nothing aside from the healing of the Valar themselves could cure such ailments.

Yet he lived. Fili and Kili lived.

Broken, slightly. Worn and frightened.

They lived, though. Wounded, battered but they lived.

Thorin knew, all too well, that it was no longer frightful imaginings that crept into Fili’s mind amid the night but memories. Memories twisted with time, pain and regret to be frightful exaggerations but based in truth.

Truth was far harder to fight.

Occasionally, Thorin would stroke Fili’s hair back, nearly subconsciously. It had been that motion that finally chased fear enough to allow sleep, as fretful as it was. He still had remained tightly bunched, muscles ready but his breathing had evened enough to provide some relief to his exhausted body.

Then there was Kili.

The younger dwarf had a death grip on Thorin’s long hair and he truly hoped the lad would not suddenly startle as he had no desire to be scalped this early morn. He had given up removing the lad’s grip as he only tangled his fingers deeper. It also served as a silent soother, the King had found.

Both boys had awoken, several times, amid shadows in their minds but Kili would always settle faster. He would grip Thorin’s hair, so tight that it did indeed hurt despite Thorin’s strong resolve, but after rubbing it once, twice, thrice, reality would settle and he would ease back to relative quiet.

Fili would awaken violent. He had already delivered a punch to his uncle’s jaw that would surely darken to purple given time and such a sharp blow to Thorin’s middle that breath had escaped him. 

He would come back to the present only with whispered reassurance and always with horror over what he’d done. Thorin had become quite frustrated with his repeated apologies. It was hardly Fili’s fault! How could he be angry when the boy had done nothing but make him proud  and Mahal save him, had put Thorin’s own sense of bravery to shame.

All the same, he wanted to hear Fili cry out, to jerk awake and sob for reassurance, like Kili was more inclined to do.

It would be preferred to this crumbled, frightened form.

Very little unnerved Thorin but seeing his sister sons like this was one of the few things that did. He’d been foolish to think they would come through unscathed.

Or maybe just hopefully optimistic.

Heaving a deep breath out through his teeth, Thorin sank a little deeper into the bed. What could he say and do? Last night was just the start. There was much to be spoken about, he was certain but if he knew Fili, he also knew the boy was stubborn. He would be stubborn, wanting to appear strong, unyielding. As a dwarf was meant to be, or so he thought.

Thorin supposed that he only had himself to blame for that.

A light tug on his hair from Kili distracted him from such stormy thoughts and he shifted his sight, stroking a hand through the boy’s dark hair. “Calm, lad. You are safe. Your brother is safe. All is well.”

Kili didn’t open his eyes but there was a light paleness to his skin that Thorin didn’t like. Too many memories. When they had been in Laketown, prior to journeying towards Erebor. Granted, it was not as bad but it still….brought him back.

“Now.”

The gathering of dwarves and hobbit were huddled close and Fili had not moved from his brother’s side. While Kili had protested that he was fine, the paleness and sweatiness to his flesh was more of a sign than anything. His mouth could say he was fine but the failure of his leg and the growing fever were another thing entirely.

“Hasta be now, Thorin.” Dwalin’s eyes were focused, intent. “Ain’t gonna be long ‘fore those orcs are swarming this whole town. Surprised it’s taking them this long.”

“Not good.” Thorin’s voice was stiff and focused “That means they’re likely gathering reinforcements.”

“And I don’t think we need a lotta imagination about what they’ll do if they catch up to us before that dragon is taken care of.” Dwalin’s tone was heavy. They still didn’t have much of a plan for the dragon, except to hope the hobbit could obtain the Arkenstone and thus, they could send for reinforcements from the Iron Hills. With their aid, they could perhaps slay the blasted thing.

Orcs coming complicated matters, especially in such large numbers. They might be able to barricade within the Mountain, away from Smaug until they came up with a method to dispatch him and deal with the orcs.

It wasn’t a good plan but it was better than no plan and here, they’d do nothing but get innocents slaughtered. Dwarves thrived in rock. Surrounded by water as they were made them all uneasy. They knew how to utilize water for power, to make their mining easier, to power their forges but in a battle, it would only make matter worse.

They had no time to make better plans.

“Right. Gather yourselves. We move out now.” The authority in Thorin’s voice left no room for arguments and the dwarves rushed to gather the weapons that the Master and Bard had given them. It seemed that being found out by the Master might have proven in their favor though they had little time to act with it. Not that Thorin trusted that man, not in the slightest.

“Uncle.”

Fili’s voice trembled when he spoke out and Thorin shifted to meet his eldest nephew’s eyes. “Uncle, what about Kili? We need to move quick and he’s in no condition to—“

“Mahal’s Anvil, Fili, I’m fine.” Kili spoke out in protest, only to hiss through his teeth and clutch at his leg at the movement. “H-honest. It hurts like orc spit but I’ll be fine.”

Thorin’s heart lurched and he rushed to Kili’s side, pushing him back down “No, sit.”

“But—“

“Mahal, will you listen to me, stubborn boy?”Thorin hissed and Bilbo, still in the background, silent as always, was astounded by the harshness of the word. Surely, Thorin was not going to—

“I won’t stay here.” Kili snapped, as if he read Bilbo’s mind. “I won’t. That’s our home. The home you always told us about and—“

“I won’t let you leave Kili behind!” Fili scowled at his uncle, taking in the fumbled brow and barely contained hiss that always told when their paternal figure was deep in thought. “You cannot, Uncle! YOU told us those stories, all these years. It is our right as much as yours, you cannot take it away from him!”

“Ihbir!”Thorin’s command was sharp and sudden and in Khuzdul. That in itself was enough to stall any talking because Bilbo was still present, there were still menfolk roaming about outside and within range to catch the hints of it. To speak their secret language out in the open… “Biraihbir,” Thorin said with a softer tone, looking from one to the other. “I have no intention on leaving Kili nor you behind.”

Relief flooded two pairs of eyes and the King leaned close. “But we must move swift and we must move silent.”

Fili immediately spoke out, “I’ll carry him, Uncle…”

“No.” Thorin shook his head. “The journey to Erebor is still long, sister-son and you will serve us better by manning the supplies that your brother cannot burden.” He added, hand on his shoulder “Gather the supplies for your brother and yourself and meet up with Dwalin. We, BOTH of us, will catch up with you shortly.” He leaned forward, laid his forehead to Fili’s. “You have my word, sister-son.” His eyes were heavy but full of purpose.

Reluctantly, Fili parted and after a nod from Kili, he went to gather their supplies as told.

Turning, Thorin seemed to finally notice Bilbo. “Bilbo, send Oin my way, if you would.”

Kili eyed his uncle, hands on his thighs. “Uncle, I can walk. I can…”

“Kili, you’re a smart lad. Don’t make a fool of yourself.” Thorin’s reprimand was sharp but full of reason. “You may claim you can walk but I have yet to see it. We have stone and sand and hill to climb over. We cannot risk you falling behind nor will I risk YOU.”

Standing upright with that declaration, he ventured to the back, meeting Oin quickly and exchanging some soft words with him. Kili found he felt a bit ashamed but he could hardly argue with his uncle’s logic. The entire company was important, not just him, nor his pride. He couldn’t risk them…

“Here.”

Lifting his head at his uncle’s return, Kili accepted the small mug from him. It was half filled with a light white liquid and it smelled like a mix of fish and sulfur. All the same, he drank without protest though his tongue tried to fight him on that quite readily. He would not cause more trouble than he already had. If he hadn’t dropped the weapons then…

Fili turned about, for the third time, waiting nervously as the others rushed into the few boats there were. Bilbo stood by the golden haired prince’s side, looking up at him, “Fili, Thorin said he would not leave your brother. I’m sure he meant it.”

Normally, Fili would have agreed. The way Thorin had been looking to the mountain lately though. The distant look in his eyes. It was his Uncle and yet not his uncle but…

“Fili, Bilbo, move quickly.”

The welcomed sound of Thorin carried down from the house above as the King made his way slowly down the stairs, more slowly than normal. Fili waited, with baited breath and sure enough, his uncle slipped from the dark, a slumped Kili on his back.

He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding and hurried to prepare a place on the nearest boat.

Thorin shifted Kili’s weight, relaxing the boy against his back, as near as he could manage. When the boy exhaled, he felt it. When he inhaled, he felt it. It was slow, as was the expected outcome of a drugged stupor but it was steady.

The boy was no longer as light as he had once been but for Thorin, having him this close…he was safe. As long as he was this close, no harm would come to him unless it ran him through first.

As he took his position on the boat, he gently shoved Fili to his side, clamping a firm hand on his shoulder and set himself slightly in front of the elder prince. Again, to get to Fili, an orc weapon would have to find him first.

Or dragon fire.

He’d gladly burn to ash for those two.

Taking a shaky breath, Thorin forced his mind to quiet. Little good it did to reflect on events past. Kili had not given into the poison (though he had still entered battle against Thorin’s wishes) and Fili had not succumbed to the weapons that had pierced his chest.

Though, as he looked over his young nephews, the scars had still been left on their hearts. Physical wounds were so much easier to treat, so much easier to tend. He could see if they were infected, if they were healing. He made a habit of checking both boys’ wounds, despite their assurances, so he could be certain.

He had no such view into their hearts.

Well, at least now, he knew how deep the wound went, at least for Fili. If his actions the night before were any indication, he needed to take control and action NOW. He had seen those that slipped away to the horrors of the mind and he would not allow such a thing for either of his sister-sons.

Closing his eyes, he looked down to his left hand and fingered the ring that sat there.

Gandalf had presented it to him after they had won the battle. There had been age on the wizard’s face and deep pain as he folded it into his palm. He’d not had to say anything else; Thorin knew the ring.

Only his father would have had it.

The fact that Gandalf had deprived the Necromancer of the last of the Dwarf rings was a small consolation. His father, according to the older wizard, had been a shadow of his former self, lost amid madness of loss, grief and torture.

No. He would not let such a fate come to his Fili, to his Kili.

So, when Kili snuggled closer and Fili finally unfurled only to wrap his arms around Thorin so tight that they cause his fingers to tingle in protest at the loss of blood flow, Thorin let them.

He would ignore the calls of his men for his attention.

He would ignore the urge to eat until his sister sons woke of their own accord.

He had told them he would stay.

Chapter Text

It felt good to be back among the workers. 

Fìli had to admit, the sleep last night, while fragmented, was the best he had received in a while. There was a comfort to having your family close by and while the day had started late, it was the most energy he had felt in many moons!

His Uncle had been reluctant to allow him or Kili back on the repair duty but the crown prince was insistent. “Uncle, last night, as horrific as it was, must have been a fluke. Lingering nightmares, nothing more! I feel fine, energetic. Please let us help! Is not Erebor our kingdom as well?”

There was not much to be said against that and Fili’s enthusiastic “I’m fine” was hard to resist. Even Thorin knew when to stop pressing so he had relented though only after retrieving a promise that Fìli And Kili would mind their injuries. He’d not seemed convinced at their reassurance but allowed it.

Fìli meant to prove his worth!

“Here,” he stepped beside one of the other workers and added his strength to the pulley. The piles of rock and rubble were not easily dispersed but they were making a lot of progress. The old doorways were being unraveled, the carved mosaics being revealed and a spark of Erebor’s ancient glory was struck with each drop of sweat.

“Pull!” The commander of the line gave his order and the line of dwarves  responded. Used to moving stone and rock, a group of Mahal’s people could make short work of rubble. The fallen stone would be reused, pushed into works of grandeur for the kingdom, made into tools, or even utilized in weaponry or toys for the coming children. Rock was the lifeblood of dwarves and they meant to remind everyone of it.

“Again!” 

Pull. Hand over hand, hair bound back, muscles tensed.

“Harder, lads!”

Fili’s muscles bunched and howled but his face smiled as the large chunk of fallen wall gradually began to move, slow at first, then upon a quivering rope, it swayed and rose. Behind it, they could make out yet another passageway. Erebor was full of them! Where did this one lead...

The sudden shouting and cracking snapped him out of his wonderings. The left side of the rope has given way and the large collection of debris was shifting, back and forth.

“Tow it in, lads! Tow her in!”

Feet cut into the dirt and stone, hands clasped a rope so hard that palms burned and tore. Yet it still swung.

“Now, lads! All you got!”

Pull! Pull until the muscles gave and—

A sharp blinding pain cut through Fili’s side, that healing wound where...

Pain! Pain! It wasn’t like a normal cut. This was a stab, this was a deep wound. He felt his lungs scream out in protest and almost instantly when the blade was pulled out, his chest half collapsed.

Breathing wasn’t supposed to be this hard! A sucking sound emerged when he inhaled and exhaling was even worse. Blood filled his throat with its nasty chemical taste, like old rust. He spat as best he could.

“It ends here, Son of Durin,” the voice was coarse, like metal untempered and rough, cutting with its timbre. Fili’s eyes refocused after a moment, the blinding pain being forced aside by the survival instinct running through his blood. Bolg...it was Bolg with his sharp teeth gleaming at him, hissing like putrid snake he was. “It all ends here. First you!”

That foot slammed against his chest, pressed against a set of lungs already struggling to work and he almost choked at the blood in his throat. Swallowed some of it, leaving a deep burn in his gut as it landed. Blood from a gash across his hairline dripped into his eyes, blending his world a hazy red.

The blade tip on his throat he recognized though. He held his breath, refusing to give this thing the satisfaction of knowing he made his blood run cold.

“First you.”

Look him in the eyes, he told himself. Look him in the eyes and show him defiance! Defiance to the last breath!

The blade was abruptly pulled away and Bolg gave an audible choke at the sharp wood against his throat. Rushing to his feet as quickly as he was able, Fìli immediately recognized that wood being used as a chokehold on the orc’s throat.

“Kili!”

Sure enough, it was his younger brother, using his bow as leverage and all but riding the orc’s back, using all his weight to pull him back.

Bolg gathered himself, rather quickly, and grasped hold of Kili by the hair rendering an indignant squawk from the lad before he was ripped off like a leech and slammed into the hard ice. There was an audible Klunk! when his head connected and Kili lay stunned a moment. It was just enough for Bolg to slam his foot onto his thigh—the same thigh that had been shot, Fìli realized swiftly—and Kili let out a cry of pain.

“So the younger one wants to go first?” The blade was out and Fìli was running and tackling the orc, all reason and strategy gone. 

The creature was at least two feet taller than him and he moved slightly at his ambush as Fili pulled one of his knives from his tunic and slammed it as hard as he could into Bolg’s side. It went in and the black blood splattered over Fili’s face, staining his beard.

Bolg suddenly had Kili on his other side, digging in with his nails and slicing into the shoulder with his blade. He roared, dead fell and Fill shouted out as the weight and impact forced the air from his one working lung. Blood erupted from his throat again as the fist of Bolg made its mark on his injured side and the damaged ribs gave.

“Fìli!”

The younger brother was jerked upward by his hair and Bolg’s hand quickly cracked ribs and clavicle as he slammed him back into the ice with enough force that Fìli winced in unison was his brother.

Bolg, sick and twisted thing, picked up Kili’s fallen blade and heaved it high. 

“KILI!”

“Fìli!”

The blond haired prince fell short when his limbs refused to move. He screamed, howled, cursed Bolg in every foul term he knew.

Kili looked at him. “Fìli, it’s okay.”

No, no, it was not okay! It was not! He struggled again and he could not rise. Could not run. Hands dig into the hot ice.

Hot? Hot ice?

And crumbling. Loose. Like dirt.

Dirt.

He looked down. Dug his hands in again. 

Loose. Soil. Rocks, little pebbles, not ice.

Fìli blinked, once then twice and looked up. 

Ravenhill was gone. Bolg was gone. He was here, in Erebor. The main halls with the fallen stone and debris and...

Kili WAS in front of him, knelt, shaking, hands on Fili’s face. “Nadad.” He whimpered out in trembling Khuzdul. “It-it’s okay. We’re here. Battle’s over. We won, ‘member?”

Blinking again, Fìli looked up around.

Several dwarves were gathered around them. His sword was lying clattered on the ground as were several of his knives. He saw several cuts on the surrounding group, some holding bleeding arms and there was broken stone, wooden frames and...

“Are you with us, laddie?”

Abruptly, Fìli turned, eyes settling on the concerned face of Dori who had him in a tight hold. That was why he suddenly had been unable to move and...

“Di-did I do this?” He glanced around the room. “It-it wasn’t here. It was Ravenhill and...”

Understanding bled out of the eyes of several of the dwarves, the warriors of Dáin but he didn’t have much time to focus on it because a rumbling voice called out.

“What’s happening here?!”

Uncle

The King Under the Mountain came plowing through the group, Dwalin and a frantic Ori trailing. Ori looked like had just run the whole of the mountain, panting and shaking.

Kili locked eyes with Thorin “Irak’Adad!” He called in a pitiful, lost voice.

Thorin paused, took in the scene: the broken wood and rock, the bleeding warriors, the fallen weapons of Filí.

And Fìli—white as snow, covered in sweat and shaking as if he had seen a ghost.

A nod to Dori and the dwarf released the young Prince.

As if lit by fire, Fìli rushed his uncle, flung his arms right around him. “I’m not fine, I’m not fine.”

Chapter Text

“So I haven’t lost my mind?”

Shaking his head, Thorin took a seat in front of his nephew and gently grasped his hands, “No, Fili. You are not mad, I promise you.” It was hard, seeing his normally strong and confident nephew this way: slumped, shaking, hair framing and hiding his face. Subconsciously, Thorin parted the golden curtain of mane and lay one hand on that trembling cheek. “I swear it to you.”

“But...I couldn’t...it was like Erebor was gone and it was Ravenhill all over again. I could see it! Everything else was gone! I could see it!” He was well aware how hysterical he must have sounded but what else could he be? He had completely lost sight of who he was, where he was, what was going on. What else could he possibly think?! That...that feeling of no control...he shuddered at mere memory. 

Lifting the cup from the tray between them, Thorin pressed it into his nephew’s hands. “Drink, Fili And we’ll talk.”

“What is it?”

“A tea Bilbo put together for you. It will calm your nerves.” He offered “You know as well as I do that if we attempt to discuss and ponder while our minds and hearts are electrified then little gets done.” A slow smile spread across his face, “As I recall, you and your brother were quick to remind me of that in my rough spots.”

Peering into the tea glass, Fili was abundantly grateful for the warm fire and the quietness. Just him and his uncle, away from all the stares and noise. He eyed the swirling liquid with eyes narrowed in focus but he lifted it to his lips and drank. It was a bitter taste, without the comfort of honey or sugar but there was a distinct scent and feel to it that soothes his rattled senses.

He drained it, set it down and after a moment more, asked “You know what’s wrong with me, Uncle?” He added when his elder paused and took a breath “Is it the same thing you have? When you would get that dark and faraway look in your eyes when Kili and I asked?”

Thorin took a moment then clarified “In a way, yes.” He leveled Fili with a stern but caring look. “Warrior’s Heart. I should have taken precautions, I should have pulled you two aside as soon as you could sit up again...” Shaking his head, he sighed “Naught to be done about it now but we have time. I...I went through much Fili but I sealed it inside, I would not reach out to others.”

“But you didn’t freak out like I did Uncle!” Fili protested. “You’d get angry or sad but—“

Raising a hand to still the questions, Thorin corrected. “I used to. And some with Warrior’s Heart do not drift back to the moment. I have seen your brother have his nightmares, his shortness of tolerance, his jumpiness and clinginess. It is different than yours, different than mine just as war and horror leaves its own unique scars.” He leaned forward but kept their eyes locked. “But you may ask your mother when she arrives and she will tell you it’s true. My mind used to drift often. I had a few moments where I would re-enter a burning Erebor or once more witness Grandfather’s death or Frerin’s fall. Just as something triggered your drift today, something would trigger mine.”

Fili eyed him “But...why don’t you drift anymore? Will it stop?”

“Aye but not on its own.” Thorin sighed “I did not start addressing mine until after you were born. I did not wish to burden anyone with my troubles but in the process, I worsened it for myself. Just as a sword dipped in hot oil will harden, simmering in my own anger, fear, frustration, sadness...I tempered my Warrior Heart and it hardened.” He looked so lost suddenly. “I have learned to control the pain, to use it to fuel me but it shan’t ever stop entirely.”

He lifted his head and took gentle hold of his eldest’s hair, stroking it softly as he soothed the fear in those bright blue eyes. “But not you, my Fili. You are young and your pain is fresh. We can heal it and we have time to heal it fully, if we act now. Your pain has not tempered it yet. Your Warrior Heart is still soft, malleable, fixable. It is untempered.”

Biting his lip, Fili asked “But what about Kili? You said he also...” 

Thorin knew this trick; Fili always diverted to others’ needs. He had a sneaky suspicion that he had learned it from his Uncle. Admirable but no good here, not with this.

“I will speak with Kili as well.” The King promised. “You two have always been a strong support for one another. It may serve you well now as it has before.” He deepened his gentle caress of the boy’s hair. “But my focus is on you, right now. It is not an easy task, Beardling. It is hard, painful. Like bleeding an infected wound.” 

“But we can make...these visions...stop?” He sounded so young,  so vulnerable. Like he was a little dwarfling again, pleading for Uncle Thorin to please make the orcs hiding outside the door go away. 

Thorin was divided. He had not lied. He would not lie. Far as he knew and suspected, Fili’s condition was a curable one. He knew though...there was a chance, regardless of how early they caught it, if it was a wound that bled deeper, then it may not go away but...

No. Fili was young, Fili was brave, honorable. 

His Fili was GOOD. 

Mahal would not...could not have...

Mouth firmly set, Thorin nodded. “We will make this better, targ mim.”

Eyes still haunted, Fili asked softly, “Uncle...how did your...visions...stop?”

Thorin knew the question was coming but he dreaded it all the same. He paused, gently drew away and stood, pacing a bit. Fili, his patient Fili, stayed quiet and still—waiting.

“The visions moved to my dreams. I tried for so long to press on, to ignore the smells, the sights, the sounds that would always bring me back to the moment.” He turned and faced his nephew. “Until one day, when I was watching you and your mother was away with your father and a sound, the sound of a distant warg pack, took me right back to that battle, the carnage laid before us at Moria.”

Fili didn’t remember this but it sounded as if he had been very young. So, he listened without interrupting.

“I know not how long it lasted.” Thorin admitted. “Time is not itself when our minds drift to the past.”

Fili nodded. His outburst at the work site was proof of that. It had felt to be hours but he doubted if ten minutes had passed in total.

“I just remember that finally, it was a shrill cry that pulled me from the torture of my own mind.” Thorin returned to his seat across from Fili. “It took a moment but I finally realized it was you crying. Seeking out my aid in the only way you knew how.” While they did not fall, the elder dwarf’s eyes were wet. 

Fili nodded, but said nothing else.

“You had lodged your arm amid a crack in the stone. Playing, exploring as all dwarflings do. But I had been slow to respond.” Thorin looked pained, sick even. “A horrible blue and black your arm had turned already. Oin said it was sheer luck you did not lose it.” Gently tilting his head forward, Thorin brushed his nephew’s head with his own. “I knew then...I could lie to myself no longer. Perhaps I would not be able to erase the past but I would...must...take command of my present.” He let his eyes, so full of pain and shame, color and warm. “I still had a sister and her sons. For them, I must. I did.”

“And the visions stopped?” Fili’s plea was soft.

“Not right away. I learned. Learned what brought them on. Learned what to do if I saw one coming. Learned to look at myself, my own heart. And to surrender that which I could not control. It was the hardest, most violating examination I ever did for myself.” He smiled. “I feel I will never fully escape its grasp Fili. Too deep without healing for me. I let it scar too long. But I see it coming now. I can prepare. I can plan. But you and your brother...” He laid a hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder. “Your pain has not tempered your heart, your mind. And I’ve no mind to let it. But...you need to be with me. Honest. Full and sharp, no matter the emotions.”

Swallowing hard, Fili nodded.

“Can you do that, my lad?”

Nodding again, Fili said “If you’re with me.”

“Always, my Fili. Always.”

Chapter Text

“More?”

Kili shook his head but gave Bilbo a smile with gratitude at the extended tea kettle. He had a feeling that his smile was far from convincing. It was odd for him, usually a bright smile was a simple task but not so much lately. Much as he tried, he knew it was full of shaky nerves but the Hobbit just offered a plate of small pastries. 

“I can’t do much,” Bilbo confessed. “Bombur hasn’t got much of the kitchen up to par yet but a true Hobbit only needs a portion of a kitchen to make a good pastry or crumpet!”

The younger dwarf prince hardly had much appetite but it would be rude and so insulting to turn down an offer of food! So, selecting the smallest one available, he relished the sweet cherry taste. “Thanks, Bilbo.”

The hobbit sat himself down, eyeing the boy. “How are you doing, Kili?”

“Me?” It was impossible not to hear the worry, as horribly covered by nonchalant attitude as Kili attempted. It vibrated in his voice, fierce as fire. The slight heightened pitch was just more convincing that Bilbo’s instincts were correct. “You don’t need to worry about me, Bilbo. Worry about Fili.”

“I do worry for Fili,” Bilbo admitted. “But I will worry for you as well. Both of you are just like your uncle—in more ways than one.” He reached out, gently touched the boy’s hand but pulled back when Kili jerked involuntarily at the contact. “I want to help you.”

Kili shook his head. “Nothing to help, Bilbo. Fili needs help right now...”

“And so do you.” The Hobbit argued. “Both of you are as stubborn as teenaged mule, I swear. Your uncle is going to talk to Fili and I’m sure he’ll have a plan to help him but I also know you need a little help too. You hide it by worrying about your brother.”

The dark haired prince eyed the Hobbit. “Fili needs more attention than me. I mean, yeah, I have dreams and I feel...odd sometimes but not like Fili.”

Scoffing, Bilbo folded his arms over his chest. “By that logic, I should ignore a broken arm on you because your brother has two.”

Shrugging, Kili nursed his cup. He was glad Bilbo had not insisted on refilling it. The little that was left tasted bitter and sharp in his throat. “Maybe you should,” he offered.

Bilbo set his cup down and despite his smaller size, he looked damn intimidating. Face drawn into a deep scowl, eyes narrowed and fists clinched, the smallest of their Company set the youngest Prince with a piercing stare. It made Kili feel quite small if he was going to be frank. 

“Kili...” Bilbo paused, just a moment, and cursed that he did not know a means to garner attention and seriousness among dwarves as he knew among Hobbits. Had Kili been a Hobbit boy, he would have added the family name but he didn’t know if dwarves had one. Thorin had his earned moniker and Fili and Kili seemed to have earned one but that didn’t help him out here. He huffed in frustration and finally settled on “Kili, sister-son of Thorin Oakenshield, listen to me and listen good!”

The dark haired dwarf blinked at him, surprised and that surprise only grew when Bilbo opted to push aside their cups and plates and stalk across the top of the table with a ferocity that would have made his Tookish ancestors proud. Bilbo could practically hear his father groaning and his mother cheering.

He had not intended to act such. He was a respectable Baggins after all. But, if he was going to get through this stubborn dwarf’s head (and Yavanna knew that with Thorin’s blood in him, it would be a task) he needed to look authoritative, stern. 

Hard to do that when you were looking up at someone. Only his grandmother had accomplished that and she’d not parted with her secrets to anyone. So, Bilbo made a note to properly clean as recompense and stared down at the seated Prince. 

“Are you listening to me now?”

A little too bewildered to give much of another answer, Kili nodded.

“Good. Yes, Fili is hurting right now. He’s been hurt and we need to help him. But I also see the way you react, Kili. The way you hesitate if you’re closed in. The way you jump at the smallest sound, the way you snap more than you used to. I may have only known you a few months but that is time enough to realize when something is off. But you throw yourself full force on your brother. You put him first, just like he tries to put you first.” Folding his arms, Bilbo surmised “And Fili would be putting you first now and you know it. That’s why you haven’t talked about how you are hardly fine yourself!”

Caught, Kili argued, “Okay so...so maybe I’ve got my issues too but Fili’s is worse! We need to focus on him!” On that, his ferocity was not hidden and it flowed from his whole body.

“Focus on you both!” Bilbo’s retort was just as fierce. “If we focus just on Fili and don’t try to help you then what do you think is going to happen?”

“Fili gets better!”

“And you don’t!” Bilbo spat, frustration nearly boiling over “Then, Fili worries about you and if he worries and frets over you, HE can’t heal. So NO ONE benefits from you being so stubborn!”

Kili locked eyes with the Hobbit, “Uncle is helping Fili. I won’t add more to his plate.” That bit was the truth. “I haven’t been trying to deal with my own stuff. I’ll...do it myself.”

Huffing, Bilbo sat, cross legged on the tabletop. “Kili.” His voice went soft. “You and Fìli grew up with Thorin, didn’t you?” Much as he wanted to howl, he had made his point that he would be heard. Kili was being quite responsive so it was only proper to reward it.

Lifting his head, letting some of his hairs drape into his face, the youngest Prince of Erebor studied the hobbit currently taking up space on the table as though it were a seat. But, eye to eye, he was hard to refuse. “Uncle was always close by but after Da died, he made it a point to always be there. Fili remembers Da some but Thorin was always Da to me. Fili too after a while.”

Nodding, Bilbo asked “Much as the others might tease, Kili, I see the wisdom in rearing you that Thorin impacted. His sense of honor, bravery, justice, it bleeds out of you and your brother.”

Face slightly flushed at the wording of ‘bleeds out’ Kili nevertheless gave a genuine look of gratitude, smile wide and eyes warm. “You could not give me greater praise, Bilbo.”

The hobbit inquired, “He’s made mistakes, your uncle but never with malice. Even when lost in the Gold Sickness, I knew he was still good, still Thorin.” Bilbo paused, deliberately, as he saw the memory of the dragon cursed gold and the Arkenstone’s influence over Thorin take root in Kili’s eyes. Frightened, wide and so vulnerable. Cruel as it made him feel, Bilbo was glad to see it. “That must have been so hard for you and your brother. To see him...like that.”

“He’s never turned...never acted like that before. He wouldn’t listen to me, to Fili. Not even as Smaug was hoarding us through the halls. And when Fili fell and he was still fixated on the stone...” Kili gritted his eyes shut. “I couldn’t help him. We couldn’t help him. When he came back...back to himself...” Kili gave a shaky exhale. “I never thought I’d see “Uncle” again.”

Bilbo nodded “Yet there he was, torn free of the spell.”

“He was.”

Swallowing, Bilbo reached out again, gently caressed the boy’s hands and this time, Kili let him. “It is a horrible feeling...not being able to help those you love.”

Nodding in agreement, Kili kept silent.

“My parents grew ill during the Fell Winter in the Shire.” Bilbo took a deep breath himself. It still haunted his dreams sometimes. “So little food and they were going to make sure I got as much as they could spare. But seeing them writhe from hunger, break out in fever...it does not easily leave your mind.”

Kili nodded. He hadn’t heard this from Bilbo before, this level of seriousness and it claimed his attention. When Bilbo met him with those deep eyes, he agreed “N-no Mister Boggins. It doesn’t.”

“So tell me, do you think your uncle loves you any less than you love him?”

Shaking his head, Kili affirmed, “Uncle isn’t always good at showing it but I know he loves us. Always has.” He smiled “Dwarf families love deep and Ma always said that was doubly true for Durin’s line.”

Smiling, Bilbo gave a pat to the boy’s hand. “If his behavior throughout the journey was any indication, your mother is quite wise.”

“Always has been..,”

“So tell me Kili...if your brother has shown how deeply he is hurting, won’t your Uncle naturally inquire about you?” Bilbo raised one brow.

“He will...”

“And,” Bilbo interrupted “Will he not know something deeper is going on, despite what you tell him?”

“Probably in his own way but—“

“So,” Bilbo pressed on. “That horrible pain, that urge to do something...anything...because one you love needs help and it is not in your power to do so...you’ll lay that on your Uncle?”

Kili jerked, lightly, as if struck. “...what?”

“If you refuse the help, no matter the circumstances, your Uncle will feel that emotional pain, won’t he?” Bilbo asked again. “Because he loves you. And you won’t let him help you.”

Eyes drifting down, Kili’s thoughts drifted. That feeling...when Thorin was  entranced and scarcely even recognized him and for all his cries to fall on deaf ears...no wound he’d received in battle could compare. To have to watch him spiral into madness and there was nothing he could do to catch him out if it....

He would not wish such a fate to Morgoth himself.

Shaking a bit in the hands and voice alike, Kili nodded. “Le..let’s go talk to Fili and Uncle.”

Chapter Text

Fili had struck a vow with his uncle. He would listen, he would try, he would fight and not let this anxiousness eat him alive. He had meant it, he had meant every word of it and he wanted ANYTHING to make this feeling cease.

The fidgetiness, the constant pounding of his heart, the way his mind would not stop racing and the horrific crawling out of his skin feeling.  It had dulled somewhat during his time speaking with Thorin but it had not gone away. Uncle told him that if they wanted it to go away, it would be an uphill battle. Fine, so be it!

Before they’d had a chance to go into it, Bilbo had shown up at the door, Kili in tow. They hadn’t said much, a mere glance of the eyes and then his little brother rushing to his side, near collapsing into a side embrace.

“Are you alright, Fili?”

Golden hair dropping into his eyes, Fili managed a smile nonetheless and clasped a hand to his younger brother’s shoulder. “I’m fine, Kili.”

Instead of comforting, it appeared to do the opposite as Kili’s face darkened. “You’re not. Neither am I. Can you tell me the truth at least? It’s me, you know.”

The elder of the two princes managed a low chuckle and remarked “I never was good at lying to you.”

“You’re not good at lying, period.” Kili corrected with an indignant huff.

Fili eyed him, criticism dripping from his eyes. “Nor are you, little brother.”

Caught, the younger sighed in defeat. “Ma always said none of Durin’s Line is.”

Allowing a smirk, Fili nodded “Aye, remember when Uncle would come home all worn to the bone and insisted he was fine? Ma would have none of it!”

The two Princes went quiet, each looking at the other. Those nights were forever worn in their memory. They happened more often than a Thorin liked to recall—him coming in late, covered in sweat and soot, fingers swollen with burns and callouses but he would always come with a satchel of food, or ale or maybe even a small toy when the boys were young. He always insisted “Fine, I’m fine” until Dis would erupt in his face like a demon of the deep earth.

“You two are more like me than is healthy and I apologize for that.”

Thorin’s rich baritone turned their attention away from each other as he approached, sat and Bilbo trotted up behind, offering a small plate of tarts to Fili as penance. Much as Kili had done in the kitchen, he accepted more out of politeness than anything else and Bilbo did not press. He withdrew and stayed silent as Thorin set his eyes on each of his sister-sons in turn.

“We’re proud to be like you,” Fili shattered the silence and his voice was firm. “I’ve wanted to be like you all my life.”

Kili nodded “We both have. Always came up wanting but-“

“No.” Thorin interrupted and laid a hand on Kili’s left and Fili’s right shoulder. “If anything, you’ve put me to shame but you’ve also acquired some of my worst habits.” He shook his head with a slight snort, “Though I’ve only myself to blame for that. But here you are—both of you—brave enough to come for help, ask for help, something I can claim so easily.” He set his eyes on Kili’s. “Bilbo tells me you’ve come with similar pains to your brother.”

Nodding, Kili felt inclined to add, “Not the same but...yes. I want to help Fili but I think I...no,” he amended, at Bilbo’s hidden look and shook his head firmly, “No, I know I need help myself.”

Fili rested a hand on his brother’s hair “And I’ll help you through it, little brother. If you’ll let me.”

Setting his sibling with an incredulous look, Kili countered “If you let US help you.”

Chuckling, Thorin advised, “It is going to be a rough road, my lads. The wounds on the heart don’t heal easily. They fester and bleed and bruise.” The slight fear that sprung up in the two pairs of eyes fixated on him hurt his heart. “But they can heal. I should have...” Sighing, he amended his declaration. He was sure he would be cursing himself for a long while but the boys need not hear it. No point in dwelling on the undone. “No matter. We know now. I know now. So we will conquer it.”

Fili did not release his grip on his sibling and asked “How Uncle? How do I do this?” He shifted to meet Kili’s face. “How do WE do this?”

Thorin responded soft, an odd thing to hear from his lips. They had heard it more often than most but still, it was not a common tone. When he reached out and gently took their hands in his, rough warworn meeting young and naive, it was enough to melt any words away.

“We are made to be hardy, strong, to endure. But, when we falter, Mahal designed us to retemper.” Taking a breath, Thorin elaborated “The panic of the Warrior Heart is brought by Morgoth. As he sought to corrupt all things that Sulladad created, thus his corrupting spirit seeks and permeates all wars, all bloodshed.”

Bilbo, though he remained patient and silent, lifted his head slightly at this. He had never heard such an explanation but found it made sense to him and judging by the way the two other dwarves focused so intently on their elder, it made sense to them too.

“But Sulladad is wise,” Tucking a loose hair from Fili’s back behind the boy’s ear and stroking a loose braid on Kili’s left side, Thorin’s tone softened. “He gave Mahal wisdom, knowledge to make us not only strong and capable of enduring but able to cast out the impurity of Morgoth from the very stone he forged our ancestors from.” Gently, Thorin knelt and pulled his two nephews down with him to sit on the stone floor. He covered Fili’s hand with one of his own and Kili’s with the other and gently pressed them to the ground. “When Morgoth’s presence confuses the senses and distorts the memory, we return to our roots and we feel with our roots, trust our roots.” Advising with a stronger tone, Thorin nodded to each in turn, “Close your eyes, my sister sons and feel only the stone beneath your palms.”

First Fili then Kili obeyed.

“Good. Feel that and feel it with all your self. Its strength, its temperature, its composition and let that simple complexity bring you back to yourselves. One with stone, now and always.” That had been the phrase Thorin had been told, years ago when he first sought to gain his own control back and it never left him. Now, he could only hope it would serve his sister sons just as well.

The boys were quiet, silent and still. Moreso than Bilbo had ever seen them and moreso than he thought he would ever see them.

But still they were, hands pressed to the ground with Thorin’s hands never leaving theirs. Was it like a Hobbit with the earth he wondered? A peacefulness and belongingness that nothing else could touch.

After some time, first Kili and Fili opened their eyes. The pain had not left but there was a centeredness to it. The brightness of Fili’s eyes had returned and while the slight panic of his breathing remained, it had slowed. Kili’s intensity, the sharpness to his face had softened.

Thorin tightened his grip and gave a nod of approval.

The two boys closed their eyes again, refocused, recentered.

“One with stone, now and always.”

Chapter Text

Sweat.

Heat.

Fire.

Good.

Thorin brought the hammer down again and the clang against the metal vibrated through his bones and up to his ears. It was a familiar and welcoming sensation. To lose one’s self in the Maker’s craft had never failed him before and it would not fail him now. There were plenty of tools and bearings that needed crafting. Lose yourself in that .

“You planning on working yourself to death?”

Without pausing or allowing a second glance, Thorin fired back, in between his hammer swings, “You always told me it would likely be my end one day.”

Crossing over, Dwalin lifted a piece of ore, considered it then picked up another, pushing it into the fire. Eyes watching for that familiar sunset color, he asked.

“Session with the lads not go so well?”

Hissing out through his teeth, Thorin countered, “Better than I thought, less than I hoped.” A sweaty hair draped into his face and he pushed it aside like it had offended him, setting Dwalin with a dangerous look.

His old friend shrugged “You knew it was gonna take time, Thorin.”

Hammer down, metal gave, he readjusted his grip, “Aye, I know. But to...they aren’t supposed to have that look in their eyes.” A haunted, broken, frightened look. “They should never have that look in their eyes.”

His own sight still on the fire, Dwalin wrung his hands, cracking his wrists a moment “Should nots aren’t the kind of world we have.” He shifted, grabbed his friend’s shoulder, stopping another downward strike. “What happened, Thorin?”

With anyone else, Thorin would have likely said it was not their business and that he would let them know if it became their business. Dwalin and Balin has always been different.

When he and Dis would struggle with two very rambunctious lads, he could always call on them. Later, the others of his Company but those two...as far back as when he had been a Prince in Erebor, they would always respond.

So he stood up right, laid down his hammer and placed one hand over his eyes. “They shut down.”

“Then, we split and—“

The room went quiet and Fili’s voice went hard, hands bunched tight. “Not important.”

Thorin sighed and reached out, taking hold of his nephew’s hands. “Fili. I know digging up the battle is not—“

“That doesn’t bother me, Uncle.” His retort was fast, sharp. “But I see no point in delving into events that have no consequence.”

A knowing glance in his eyes, Thorin countered “Often, there is more consequence than we can see, lad.”

“Not this one.”

Sitting back and releasing his grip on Fili’s hand, he addressed him, a sternness but not harshness to his tone. “Fili. The wounds of war are not easy wounds to mend. They cannot just be swept over.”

“I’m not sweeping over them.” Fili insisted again and there was a bite to his tongue. “There’s no need to talk about us killing...” A pause and there was an exchange, almost silent understanding between Fili and Kili though the younger stayed quiet. The pause, though mild and short, was felt. “There’s no need to talk about—-we need to talk about the battle itself. I agreed to work with you Uncle . Mahal knows I want this pain to go away but we’re wasting time.”

The determination in Fili’s face both made Thorin proud and exasperated. Much as he felt tempted to blame his sister’s genes, he knew full well that the stubbornness he saw now was all his own doing.

“Fili. Why do you think the wounds of war rise up like they do? In dreams, in your loss of reality? In Kili’s sharpness and loss of interest? Because they are infecting the mind. To clear them out, you have to bear them—-“

“Uncle!” It was Kili that shouted out in protest. “Stop it! Stop it! Fili says there’s nothing worth discussing because there’s nothing worth discussing!”

“Kili—“

He saw it right away—the heaving chest, the wildness of the eyes, the tension of the muscles and the raw rage he never truly saw out of his youngest.

It exploded.

“THERE’S NOTHING!”

Thorin could count on one hand the number of times that Kíli (or Filí for that matter) had raised their voices to him. It was more a sense of respect than anything but there was also the matter that for all the trauma in their family’s past, yelling had never been found very effective. They all learned to tune it out.

But Kíli was yelling now.

“Just stop, Uncle! Fili’s right. The battle is what we need to worry about! This...we’ve said it’s nothing because it’s nothing! You don’t listen! You don’t listen! Maybe you’re WRONG! WE know OURSELVES! YOU were always too obsessed with EREBOR! EVEN WITH IT BACK, you’re STILL NOT LISTENING! If you’re going to waste our time, I’ll handle this myself!” That said, heel turned into stone and the youngest of his sister sons let the door swing in the air behind his huffy exit. “I don’t NEED you!”

Sighing heavily, Thorin rubbed his temples. He knew the rage of Warrior Heart. He was certain that he had unleashed his own burning fury on his family before, though never with intent. All the same, hearing raw anger formed into hurtful words always stung.

When Fili stood as well, Thorin rose. “Fili—“

“No more.” Fili spat, “No more, Thorin.”

The distinct change from his familiar personal title to his name stung like the boy had punched him.

But he resisted, nodded and let him go after his brother.

“Sounds about right,” Dwalin remarked, leaning on the anvil. “You weren’t exactly easy when you first started and yours weren’t as bloody fresh.”

“How am I supposed to help them if they won’t let me help them?!” Thorin slammed the hammer down and let it rest on the anvil, ignoring the painful vibrations. “They hide behind anger and denial. I cannot say I blame them but I know what it will do. I’m living proof of what it will do!”

Dwalin laid a hand to his shoulder. “I can’t tell you what to do with the boys, Thorin. You know them best. Maybe they need time, a break.”

Sighing, Thorin withdrew, casting his gloves down. “Rest...aye, maybe so but I must have their trust, their belief and right now, whether by the poisoning of Warrior’s Heart or by other faults of my own, I don’t have it.”

That was truth of it. His sister-sons needed him and he was failing them.

He left Dwalin with that, running his hands through his hair as he pushed out of the forge. Dwalin, bless him, did not follow.

“Thorin?”

Turning, more than a little shocked at the appearance of a voice by his side, Thorin let his defenses drop.

“Bilbo. Still quite the sneaky burglar, are you?”

The hobbit crossed his arms. “Hardly. You dwarves are quite the noise makers while we Hobbits relish in quiet, thank you very much.” His face contorted lightly. “I hardly meant to eavesdrop but...” he trailed off. “I’m hardly an expert but I’d be glad to help you, in any way I can. Maybe some tea for thought?”

Maybe he didn’t have much to offer but the sentiment made more light come to the dwarf king’s heart than he had felt in days. Allowing a small smile at the loyal halfling’s offer, Thorin laid a hand on the smaller shoulder “Make mine ale and it will be my pleasure, friend.”

Chapter Text

“You’ve had some success, yes?”

Sighing heavily, Thorin did have to give an affirmation as Bilbo refilled his glass of tea and Thorin indulged another pint of mead. The Hobbit used to worry the King would get drunk with how he drank at times but dwarf constitution remained ever impressive.

“We have.” Thorin allowed. “The boys have learned to root themselves to the ground and I’ve observed Fili doing it. It takes time to work and the lad can be impatient but he’s doing it. I’ve not seen him drift from reality in a time.”

“And Kili?”

“He’s still snappy, angry. I’ve heard him cursing at night but Fili can normally calm him.” The older dwarf shook his head. “But this...this is binding a wound with linen without bothering to remove the blade within! The wounds still fester!”

Bilbo nodded. “They will not speak of the battle? Or of Smaug?”

Snorting in dismissal, Thorin remarked “They speak of some of it. They talk of it to a point. They think themselves clever but I learned their faces long ago. When they start to speak of Smaug, Fili’s face tightens near his mouth. Kili’s fingers begin to twitch. And both of them, in their stubbornness, insist that such a thing is useless and there is no point.”

Bilbo, despite knowing he should probably not do so, nevertheless remarked “And where do you suppose they learned that?” If there was a slight bite to his voice, there was not much to be done about it and Thorin’s reaction certainly drove that factor home.

“Aye, aye.” Lifting his hands in surrender, Thorin admitted. “I’ve no one to blame for that but myself. Those boys have watched me all their lives and I know they’re only doing what I likely would have done.” He lifted his eyes to lay on Bilbo and the Dwarf King looked more lost than Bilbo had ever seen him. “It’s entirely different being on the other side.”

Bilbo could not comment on that. “Well, I can’t say one way or another on that but you know your nephews, Thorin. Why are they resisting so?”

“They’re afraid.” The answer was swift and sharp. “Something happened that petrified them and they fear to tell me.”

Bilbo eyed him. “Because you would criticize them?” Bilbo let a bit of sourness enter his voice. “Would you? Are their fears rooted in reality, Thorin?”

Leaning back, Thorin remarked. “It’s complicated, Bilbo.”

Snorting himself and arranging himself into as big a huff as he could manage, Bilbo countered. “Is it? It’s a simple question!”

“Would -I- ridicule them? Their Uncle ? No.” On this, Thorin was adamant. “But they have gotten it into their thick skulls that they must never show fear to the people, to the others and yes, I feel I am to blame for that.”

Folding his arms, Bilbo remarked “At least you can admit it. That’s something.”

“Aye but it doesn’t fix it.” Thorin sighed. “I taught them to hide fear from the people because it’s from the leaders that the people look to for strength. I have always tried to embody that.”

Taking a sip of his tea, Bilbo eyed his friend. “Do you think they are weak?”

“What?!” Oh, if there wasn’t a fire in Thorin’s eyes now and if Bilbo has been any less connected to how the Dwarf King operated, he might have feared for his life. Thorin certainly looked like he might have been considering such an option. “How can you ask such a thing, Bilbo? I am proud of them, so proud I might burst and their pain is nothing to feel shame of! I’ve told them such!”

“Have you shown them?” Bilbo asked suddenly.

That seemed to stop Thorin cold. “Shown them?”

Bilbo nodded. “Yes. Shown them. I know you’ve told them. I’d wager even the people of Dale from the eldest to the newest know how proud and special your nephews are to you.” He reached over and grasped the elder’s hand. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about you dwarves and about those two in particular is that you learn by doing. By experiencing.”

Thorin considered the hobbit’s words and nodded. “Aye. Those two more than most. I could tell them a thousand times that the forge was hot and Fili would still insist on prattling about it, shocked when it left a dark welt on his arm. I could tell Kili that the mine was dangerous on your own but it was only after a night lost and alone that my words made sense to him. I suppose it should not surprise me that this is the same.”

Bilbo frowned but then smiled a little. “They’re young. I am told young dwarves are normally hardheaded but the scions of Durin’s Line remarkably so.”

A smile passed Thorin’s lips. “Well, you’ve not been malinformed.”

The room went quiet again, save for the occasional sipping of mead, tea, and the tapping of fingers to stone and wood.

Setting his mug aside, Thorin rested his hands on his forehead. “So that is how the gem cuts, is it? I must show them that it is alright to be vulnerable and to be afraid.” He exhaled, as if he was pushing the weight of all of Erebor out in that breath. “So be it.”

Bilbo eyed him and stood as he did. “You’ve an idea.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

Bilbo trotted after the dwarf, asking “Is there anything I can do?”

“Keep an eye out for those boys. I’ll speak with them tonight.” Thorin lifted his eyes skyward, as if asking for support. “You are right, my friend. Dwarves learn by doing and I’m the one that taught them to build up that wall. It’s what they saw me do all their lives.”

There was nervousness, even fear in Thorin’s eyes. He walked away from Bilbo, leaving the Hobbit alone in the halls. Wisely, the small one did not follow, leaving the Dwarf King to his thoughts. This was not a simple situation and it certainly did not have a simple solution.

Thorin wandered the halls of Erebor, all others drowned from his mind. It hurt more than he let on to be rejected by his nephews. He knew why they did it. He had pushed away others as well, he’d said things he did not mean when his emotions were raw and fresh. And he was not 77 and 82.

Young. So young, both of them. Strong, brave, capable warriors—both of them. With more courage in their hearts than most dwarves would be blessed with in a lifetime. Yet, Thorin couldn’t help but still see the two lads who would dart around his legs, screaming about some unfairity that Uncle must surely fix.

They had always come to him when something was wrong, whether it be a quarrel amid the courtyard that was completely valid for the black eyes they delivered or that Mother was being doubly cruel for the amount of greens she was insisting they consume.

He’d always been the one to teach them, to help them. Anyway he was able. He was certain it was not always correct but it was never with malice.

Thorin’s mind drifted. To when he had been so full of rage and tears and fright. The coldness that took his veins when Grandfather fell, when Frerin fell. He had told the story of so many a time.

But never about his uncertainty. His fear. His cold sweats when he awoke in the night.

That had been a mistake.

To be open on fear, on pain...it was safe to be vulnerable with family. That was the most valuable lesson he had yet to instill in them.

And as Bilbo said, dwarves learned by doing.

“So, if I am to teach them to be vulnerable with me...I must be vulnerable myself.”

Chapter Text

            Deep breath in.

            Feel the stone. Feel the earth. Be one with the earth. Let it anchor you.

            Imprudent dwarf, foolish scion of Durin. His stench is all over you and oh, I will relish in burning it to nameless ash!

            Fili’s eyes flew open and his breath came in sharp, sudden gasps. Digging his fingers into the ground, he focused, refocused. Yes, yes, that was what he needed to do. The dryness of the earth, the slight bite when broken bits of stone pressed against his skin, the way the soil crumbled and spilled away between his fingers.

            No burning flames. No coarse cutting scales. No raw, unforgiving ice.

            Blinking once, then twice, Fili set aside his pick and slid against the wall to flop into a pile of loose bones. The crews working had more or less scattered to grab bites to eat, rest their bones or repair broken weapons and tend small injuries. Those that WERE left wisely left him be.

            Well, Uncle Thorin’s method certainly worked to bring him back into the moment.

            But that was no excuse for…the other nagging. The other pressuring. Fili was adamant and hardened his heart against the pain he had seen rise in his Uncle’s eyes. Never mind that he had struck a vow to keep such a look from ever clouding those eyes. Never mind that his Uncle had been trying to help them, in his own cantankerous way. Never mind that no, he did NOT have a problem with talking about Smaug, the battle and he certainly was not avoiding anything, it simply wasn’t relevant.

            No, it wasn’t. It simply wasn’t. There was no need to address it. That was NOT where the issue laid.

            Was it? Or is it your own failure that you dare not look upon? Is it the fact that even as you dug your blade into my body that my threats truly reached you? That my voice was sharper than the worst blade? That you are, of all things, weak?

            Shaking his head, Fili dug his hands into his braids. It had been a brief interaction, him and Smaug but the damned dragon’s words refused to leave him. Even now, they formed and morphed and he could HEAR that accursed worm LAUGHING at him.

            He knew Smaug was dead. He knew that Kili’s arrow had found its mark and he had approached, seen and felt the dead thing’s flesh himself. But, unlike his brother and the others, he had been subject to the thing’s speech. Smaug had thrown threats, insults at his Uncle, at the Company but upon his back, Fili would not forget the things that were said there until his bones were taken into the earth.

            Yet he could not address them. How could he? His uncle had spoken to the dragon. He had called to him, cursed him, taunted him. What right did Fili have to be afraid? What kind of future King was he if he could not face his foes without terror all but claiming his breath?

            Coward. Expected of one of Durin’s Line. Arrogant, foolish, and broken kings, the all of them and you are no different. I devoured your families, your kingdoms and you think you can withstand a Worm of Morgoth?

            Dead. Dead. Dead, he’s dead, Fili! The blond haired prince took a shaky breath in. Dead. He’s dead. You saw it. You saw him fall. He touched him, poked that wretched flesh! These words aren’t from him! They have no power! They’d have no power even IF he was alive—which he ISN’T!

            Am I? Are my words so powerless, little son of Durin? That laugh. That laugh. Just as loud and deafening as it had been soaring over Laketown, hearing them cry. Hearing them scream. Women rushing to help their elderly fathers to the feigned safety of the lake but even water caught under the scorch of dragonfire. Seeing the little children turn to utter ash even as they stretched for the safety of their mother’s breast…

As you may not know, little dwarf, those of Morgoth’s brood have much power that you cannot possibly comprehend. Did Glaurung’s words not cast madness upon Nienor or were such tales hidden from you, dwarf child? Do you know not of the curse Glaurung delivered upon her and Túrin? You think my sting is any less? Especially upon a family already burdened with lunacy? Oh, Nienor’s end will seem a mercy to you! Húrin’s curse be upon your line, tenfold, be it!

            Standing again, shaking even as he fought with the words that cut through his mind, Fili set his sights on the far off hall and trotted that way. He needed to take some time for himself, obviously. The dragon was dead. There was no way he was speaking to him and he did not hear the words with his ears, only within his head.

 The kitchen, while still need of repairs, always had something that could distract him and that ale was desperately needed right now.

            Drink enough of it and you couldn’t focus on anything even if you wanted to.

*O*O*

            Kili drew another arrow and cursed aloud when it missed its mark, by a good two inches.

            Another arrow to the string, drawn, notched, released.

            Missed.

            “Yi’” Kili cursed in annoyance. He pulled another arrow and released again, and cursed aloud once more when it did not even connect with the target at all. “Abali,” he cursed himself again, coached himself “Abali, Kili, abali.”

            The arrow feather cut his cheek when he released and the string twanged against his forearm. It caused a sharp, intense throbbing and it was enough to make him look down and lower his bow.

            He’d not tightened the arm guards. They were slipping. He cursed, again, to himself and in a state not normally observed amid the youngest of the Durin brothers, he tossed his bow to the side and tore at his arm guards as if they were poisoning and burning his arms.

            Damn it! Damn it all! Damn the dragon, damn the mission, damn his uncle, damn it all, all of it!

            That wasn’t fair, he knew. His Uncle and the others had helped win back Erebor. His uncle had been nothing but supportive, he always had—

            So why did he have to press? Why didn’t he stop when they asked him to? Why did he keep asking about the battle against Bolg? It didn’t matter. No one died except the orc. It didn’t matter. Why did he ask about Smaug? He’d seen it. He’d seen Fili take off on the worm’s back and he’d seen his arrow met its mark by a miracle of Mahal alone.

            It. Didn’t. Matter.

            What was done was done. The event was passed; the enemy dead and his family alive. What did it matter to go over it? He saw it often enough in the darkness of his dreams, there was no reason, no fallible reason, to comb over it with his uncle.

            With his strong, proud Uncle. His uncle that even amid facing their deepest foe, the murderer of Kili’s great-grandfather had never faltered. No fear, no hesitation. The Uncle that had called, cursed the Great Worm. That had laughed at it, even as the halls of Erebor had been set aglow with the deepest of fire. When they had stumbled across the bodies, long since deprived of their flesh and yet never return to stone so their spirits could reside with Mahal, Kili had thought he was going to be sick with the thoughts of those spirits lingering so long not at rest but his Uncle had not even hesitated. He had pressed on.

            Kili could not…would not…look at his lack of strength. If he did not peer into their past, the cowardice he had felt in his heart would remain hidden, remained pressed deep into his soul. He would not pull that in front of his uncle. He could not.

            Yet his uncle insisted. Why? What purpose did he have? He said he wanted to help but that was the opposite of help! Did his uncle want to show them how much they had truly failed? To rub their faces in how their acts were mere luck and happenstance?

            No, no, that was not his uncle. It had never been his Uncle.

            Was it so far-fetched though? Was he not just the second heir, the one that had never been a good student? Always gone for the less aggressive weapons? Never truly garnered the focus on political necessities that now would be commonplace?

            Shaking his head, he cursed his ever racing mind and the anger that came with it, The frustration, the desire to not think about any of this and rage at his uncle for pulling such thoughts out of his subconscious when he had been trying so hard, so hard, so hard to bury them and leave them buried.

            Retrieving his bow from the ground, Kili removed his arm guards entirely, throwing them into the dirt and nocked another arrow as quickly as he could. He was hardly even aiming anymore. Just something, anything, to refocus his mind, to rebury those thoughts. Those feelings, that doubt.

            The sharp biting when the bow’s string lashed against his forearm silenced the thoughts for a moment when the message of pain overrode everything else. It was pain every archer had experienced at least once and Kili would never forget the first time it happened and the tears that had flooded his vision. The way he had sobbed and grabbed his forearm and the low baritone of his uncle, half-comforting, half-reprimand as he eased a soft and cool paste onto the damaged limb and rubbed the welts far longer than was necessary.

            Yet he had failed him, failed everything he had taught him and now Thorin was trying to drag it all out again, all out again. All out again for everyone to see.

            Kili let another arrow fly, gritted his teeth and bathed in the temporary silence the stinging in his arm brought.

            Again.

            Again.

            He had a lot of arrows.

Chapter Text

            Bilbo was not entirely certain what plans Thorin had in mind but the fact he had a plan was certainly encouraging. It seemed that their talk had done something and maybe there was an approach that the Dwarf King had not yet tried. There was little Bilbo could do on that regard. What he could do was seek out the two Princes and hope that perhaps he might get in touch with them a little bit.

            “I’m fine!”

            That was a sharp and unforgiving shout. Full of fire and had it a little more depth and rumble to it, Bilbo might have mistaken it for Thorin’s. But no, it was coming from the training yard and as he grew closer, he recognized Kili and a handful of other dwarves, though none of the Company.

            Kili was not happy.

            In fact, had Bilbo not known him any better, he would have sworn that the youngest heir of Durin was throwing a tantrum. While most of his shouts were in the common tongue, there were several Khuzdul phrases in there and one of the dwarves looked to the ground, grabbed a handful of dirt and murmured “Iltinî Mahal” after one of them. No need for translation there.

            Hurrying over as fast as he could which was quite a feat for a small Hobbit, Bilbo stormed onto the scene and demanded with all the huff of an angry mother, “Kili, in the name of Yavanna AND Mahal together, what is it?”

            The young Prince shifted his eyes downward and Bilbo still wasn’t used to seeing such raw anger in them. They flashed like lightning and his voice came out spitting and cursing like a cobra. “It’s not your business, Bilbo!”

            That Took temper and Baggins etiquette decided it was time to work together. Slapping his hands on his hips, he set the young Prince with his best glare and declared. “I dare say it is! You and Fili had turned rather sour with your Uncle but I know these good fellas here would not intervening if they thought it was unnecessary. Therefore, it IS my business because I happen to care for the lot of you!”

            “What _I_ do with MY time is not their business or yours!” Kili snarled. “I’m not a wee dwarfling that needs to coddled and watched! I’m not a dwarfling that can’t tend to themselves! I’m not a dwarfling!”

            “Then, by Mahal’s anvil, stop acting like one!”

            Maybe it was hearing a Dwarf curse from a Hobbit’s lips or simply the fact that he looked like a miniature version of Dis but at that sharp tone, something appeared to click in Kili’s head. He paused, stopped his cursing and while he pulled his arms away from the nearby Dwarf, he did not jerk as he had been.

            Bilbo folded his arms across his chest, satisfied. “Now, see, that’s much better. I would be glad to speak with you about whatever horrific transgression these dwarves have done to you and if justice need be done, we will speak with your Uncle. However, I do require you to be calm enough to speak and maintain one language while we do it, if you please.”

            Shame climbed into Kili’s face and he looked around at the gathered dwarves, his face blood red. “Iklalalfâtakhaf,” he murmured, looking from one dwarf face to another. “Iklalalfâtakhaf”

            One by one, the dwarves said something to him in Dwarvish that Bilbo did not know but he could tell by tone that it was with affection and concern. They each seemed reluctant to leave but it was evident that the Hobbit had a better handle on the situation than they did. So, they murmured to themselves and left the Hobbit and Dwarf Prince alone.

            As promised, Bilbo walked over to a nearby collection of bags and plopped down on one. “Now, come, Kili. Speak with me.”

            Head bowed, Kili followed and slid to the ground next to him. The height of the bags put Bilbo a smidge over Kili in height and for this circumstance, it worked to his favor. “I…apologize, Mister Boggins.”

            Smirking, Bilbo remarked, “You’ve your Uncle’s temper, I’ll give you that.”

            A low half smile graced his face. “Me and Fili both do. Fili has a longer fuse than I do. Still, I shouldn’t have been so short with you. I…I am sorry.”

            Bilbo shook his head, “It’s no matter Kili. I am sure I will endure much more of your tongue before the winter is up and in any event, I believe I have grown a bit of a thick skin, travelling with you lot. But, if you would be so kind, what got you so riled up?”

            Kili blinked, seemed to be processing something for the first time. A bit like coming out of a daze, it appeared. He was suddenly reaching down and rolling up the sleeve covering his forearm on his bow arm.

            Bilbo cursed aloud. “Yavanna’s bounty!”

            Up and down the arm, so many that they overlapped, were welts. Dozens and dozens of them, bright and angry; a few had split open and were dotted in red. Most of them, but especially on the worst, had begun to blend the skin blue and black.

            Kili stared at them, as if he were seeing them for the first time.

            “Kili…what happened?”

            “I…” The dwarf prince trailed off and as much as Bilbo wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, he reframed. The boy just stared, hands trembling as if caught in a storm as he looked over his mangled arm. “I…it wasn’t this many…”

            “It shouldn’t have been ANY!” Bilbo declared, taking hold of Kili’s hand and looking over the damage. “What happened?”

            Biting his lower lip, Kili remarked, “J..just bow string welts. That’s all.”

            “No.” Bilbo frowned. “One or two is ‘that’s all.’ These…look at these, Kili. How many are there?”

            Kili had no intention of counting them, “Too many.” He shook his head. “I was just…” What _had_ he been doing? He’d been angry, he’d been upset, he’d wanted those horrible thoughts to go away but he had not done this on purpose, had he?

            Had he?

            No. No, that was silly. He’d become upset, angry and in a moment of stupidity, he’d thrown down his arms guards. Nothing more, nothing less. That was ALL that had happened. Nothing worse than that.

            The fact that it made him forget for a moment…that had been a side perk.

            He reported such. “I…got frustrated, tore off my arm guards and kept shooting.”

            Bilbo groaned and buried his face into his hands. “Ayie….the curse of youth!” He removed his hands after a moment and eyed Kili. “You’re certain that is all it was? After all, wouldn’t you have stopped after a few of these? They look horrifically painful.”

            “Oh, they hurt.” Kili admitted. “But I was…really upset. Thinking.”

            Bilbo nudged a bit closer. “About?” He lay a hand on Kili’s uninjured arm, “I am sure that there is much going on in your head but I am a fairly good listener.”

            No. Not going back there again. Not here. “No…nothing important.”

            Heaving a deep sigh, Bilbo offered, “You are your uncle’s blood, that is for certain. If you will not speak with me then—“

            “No.” Now there was a darkness to the tone. “I don’t need to unveil my thoughts to him. He bugs me enough about it, don’t you start too, Bilbo.”

            “You know he does it because he worries about you.”

            A slight pain cut Kili’s heart at that. He knew that and he knew he and Fili had likely been way too harsh, though sometimes you HAD to be to get through to Uncle’s thick head! They wouldn’t have to be so hard and mean if Uncle would lay off. “I know he worries and we appreciate what he’s taught us but we don’t NEED to talk about anything else.”

            Raising a brow, Bilbo countered. “I dare say that your forearm might disagree with that.”

            Standing, Kili retorted “We heal real quick, Bilbo. It’ll be fine.”

            The hobbit stood as well “So, I don’t need to talk to Thorin about it?”

            Freezing in mid step, Kili turned and his eyes were large and pelading “Don’t Bilbo. Uncle has enough to worry about. I made a stupid mistake and I just didn’t notice how bad it was. That’s _all_ it was. I promise.”

            Bilbo didn’t believe him. It was evident on his face. But, he also had to admit that he was not well versed in dwarf physiology. And perhaps Kili’s tear filled eyes had some effect on him though how they had come to that, he was not entirely sure. Sighing, dropping his head with a shake of his shoulders, Bilbo relented. “I trust you Kili. If you tell me  that it’s nothing then I’ll take you at your word. But…if it turns out that it’s NOT nothing…”

            “It _won’t_” The decisive answer was through clenched teeth.

            “But if it _does_...” Bilbo pressed, again.

            “If it DOES and it WON’T then I’ll get help for it.” Kili relented. “But it _won’t_ Mister Boggins.”

            Knowing when he was beat, Bilbo relented. “Like I said, I’ll take you at your word. But I would still have those looked at.”

            Kili didn’t smile but he did nod. “I’ve gotten used to handling these. I’ll go take care of them. Don’t _worry_, Mister Boggins.”

            Shaking his head, Bilbo remarked, “You sons of Durin make it very difficult to do so.”

            A laugh, though forced, drifted from Kili’s direction as he left the field. “That’s what Ma always says.”

            Once the field was left at his back, Kili glanced down at his forearm. They did look pretty nasty but they would be easy enough to treat. What _had_ happened? Had he…gone after the pain?

            No. No, that was ridiculous.

            Yet…the sharpness of the twang of the string cutting into his flesh HAD driven all thoughts of the battle, of the dragon, of the what-ifs out of his mind. It had been rather liberating, all things considered, something that made his mind quiet for the first time in weeks.

            It had been a perk of being distracted. Nothing more. He’d enjoyed it, perhaps, but that was NOT what he’d been doing. After all, what archer didn’t at some point cut up his arms? Especially when you were stressed and unsure and frantic, it was so easy to want to cast aside the precautions and just let your arrow be your release.

            The slight twinge when he moved his forearm cut through his thoughts, rendering them null for a brief moment. For just one moment, the thoughts were gone.

            Like when the string had struck him in the first place.

            It was a side effect of an accident but he found he liked it.

            Well, not liked-liked but…well, every archer hurt their arms from time to time and that was all this was.

            Clutching his wrist as he walked, Kili murmured to himself, “It was an accident. I lost my focus, I got distracted. Nothin’ else.”

            All the same, he flicked one of the larger welts and savored the brief peace it brought.

Chapter Text

It had been a long time since he’d ventured into the belly of Erebor. Thorin remembered it well enough, having gone there several times as a child. Frerin usually right on his heels and much later, Dis bringing up the rear. It was almost alien to be down here alone.

It was necessary though.

Thorin stopped before the great doors and looked upon them in reverence. The images of Durin, the Valar, Mahal and Sulladad glanced down at him and he dropped to one knee with respect for a moment. Rising to his feet when he felt enough time had passed, he passed through the large doors and walked until he found the large prayer chamber.

Seven fire pits, unused for a long time but still with the vents above them and the hollowed, sloped center inside the ring of fires for the dwarf seeking Mahal’s guidance.

Taking a deep breath to calm and center his mind, Thorin went from pit to pit, clearing the vents, offering kindling and lighting each in turn. By the time he reached the seventh and largest one, he was soaked in sweat from both work and heat.

Taking his spot amid the scoop of rock and earth, Thorin peeled off his outer layers, leaving only the undershirt and his slacks. Folding the clothes neatly, he set them aside and settled on his knees.

Khuzdul was the language for this chamber, as it was for all their important ceremonies. It flowed more naturally off the tongue and it was Mahal’s first gift to his people. It only made sense to utilize it.

“~Maker, I humble myself before you. I know I have done wrong, I know I have committed acts that do not bring pride to your name. Perhaps I have little right to be here. But I come not for myself this day, Maker. I come for my children.~”

It didn’t feel wrong to call them that. As Dis had told him many times, they could not be more his if he had sired them himself. Mahal knew more than even she did. Sulladad knew all.

“~I do not know what I can do for them. I know what plagues their hearts and the Enemy’s poison has sank deep. I must help them to draw it out, to heal, to become whole again. You know my heart and you know I would surrender all of Erebor and every ounce of gold that has ever passed through it if it would soothe their hearts. I ask you, Maker, and through you, All Father, grant me the strength, the patience and the time to heal the burns on their hearts.~” Thorin paused, head still bowed and the fierceness of the flames painting upon his back. “~They are...priceless to me.~”

That was all that could be said, all that he could ask. While he did not expect a response, he found himself sitting there for a time regardless.

                            OOO

The sounds of the mountain had become very familiar to the Hobbit over the past few days and weeks. Not quite as familiar perhaps as the birds in the Shire but recognizable enough. There were still days he became hopelessly lost wandered about like a frantic fauntling but he felt he had rather mastered the layout of Erebor, for all necessary travel.

Thus, he knew it to be rare for someone to be digging about in the cellar behind the smaller of the kitchens. There had been transport of some of the wine and ale back there but the kind used more regularly was kept in front with the barrels or pantries.

Well, curiosity was certainly a trait of a Hobbit with Took blood! Slipping into the room, the small Shire-folk approached cautiously with small steps. Sneaking up on big folk (and yes! The dwarves were Big Folk as far as Bilbo was concerned) was their speciality and Bilbo had additional practice of approaching a dragon!

All the same, he didn’t quite know what such a small fellow would be able to do against a major intruder (aside from run for assistance) so he let out a sigh of relief when he saw the familiar head of gold.

“Fili, my boy, you nearly stopped my heart!”

The dwarf in question turned abruptly, effectively startled and promptly feel against the wall in the process.

Now, Bilbo was not an expert on dwarves but they seemed rather spry and solid on their feet, especially the younger ones. Fili was many things but a clumsy oaf was not one of them.

However, he did not normally reek of wine and ale either.

Hurrying to his side, Bilbo offered his support to help the young Prince stand and luckily, the lad had enough sense to listen. Even as he laid far more of his weight on Bilbo than was physically comfortable, Fili was slurring his words and dragging a bottle behind him.

Clearing his throat, the Hobbit advised, “I’d say, my dear boy, that you have had quite enough to drink.”

“Naw,” The dwarf protested and leaned his weight on the stone wall of the room. “Jussa mixi’ it up.”

Bilbo frowned. “Never thought I’d see a drunk dwarf. You all seem to have a ridiculous constitution.”

“...no’ drunk, ‘ilbo.”

“Fili,” the hobbit crossed his arms, similar to how he had approached Kili. “You are certainly heavily intoxicated.” He frowned. “Bit unusual before dinner is it not?”

“...s’fine.” The dwarf was definitely avoiding much conversation which only prompted Bilbo’s concern. Fili was many things but neither he nor his brother were shy to conversation.

“Then walk without hugging the wall as if it were your bride.”

Perhaps that was a bit harsh but Bilbo  failed to see another method of getting the boy’s attention. As it was, the lad looked ready to stumble through Erebor’s hallways and potentially tumble right over the edge of one of the higher stairwells. He did not doubt that the stubbornness of the Durin line would insist he could scale the narrow pathways, despite his current—very accurate—impression of a sapling in a storm.

Filí eyed the hobbit with eyes so glassy he looked like he might have been crying. “Don’t wanna.”

Groaning, Bilbo approached and it took far less strength to wereste the bottle from his hand than it should have. Looking it over, Bilbo inquired. “Elven wine? Thought you dwarves hated it.”

“Tastes ‘ike orc ‘iss.” Fili slurred again. “‘ix it ‘ith ale...’ood ‘uff.”

Bilbo set the bottle down and approached again. “If it tastes so horrendous, why drink it. As much as you dwarves are indeed talented with ale, I don’t suspect you can destroy wine that tastes that despicable no matter how much you try. So why drink it? You and your brother have very specific palates.”

Under normal circumstances, Fili might have answered because he was ‘that way’ or maybe even ‘to say I tried it.’ This time though, with far more alcohol than blood in his system, he opted for truth.

“‘Uts up the uslukh in m’head.”

Bilbo blinked once then twice even as he scurried after the prince as he headed for the door. The heir of Durin was not going to fall to his death if he had anything to say of it! Perhaps, if luck was with them, they might stumble across a member of the company with more persuasive abilities than he possessed.

Even as he trotted alongside Fili, Bilbo’s heart sank. Much as he was respectful of the secrecy of the dwarven tongue, he was a linguist at heart and some words had naturally been repeated with his earshot multiple times. Time enough to catch their meaning.

He’d been among fauntlings enough to more or less translate slurred speech. It was different from a drunken stupor but with similar skills required.

He was fairly certain he knew what Fili had said and it made him gesture to the nearest dwarf they found, a simple deliverer of rock from and to the quarry, to please go and quickly find Thorin.

To shut up the dragon in my head.

Chapter Text

Waking up felt alien. Usually, given the training his uncle had pushed on him his entire life, waking up was more a shift from one plane to another rather an abrupt change. This time though, as soon as his consciousness began to reorient, it was a jolt. A sudden wrenching of the senses that left him disoriented.

The throbbing pain came a moment later and it rushed his body like an unwelcomed wave. Nausea claimed every fiber of his body and the minuscule amount of light that invaded his eyes made his brain erupt in pain.

Fili rolled to the side in a decidingly UN-prince like fashion before emptying his guts to the side. He didn’t even register someone holding his hair out of his face until his stomach stopped clenching. Sweat sheen was all over his face but after a time, he managed to sit up and Kíli greeted him.

“Guess it’s payback for all the times you had to do that for me, eh?”

Fìli hadn’t the energy to tell him off and Kíli didn’t bother pressing him. Instead, he offered him a glass of cold water which he took with comment. Taking in his surroundings, Fili became accurately aware that he was not in the room he and his brother had been bunking in but their uncle’s room, the chambers of the king. The thick curtains around the bed had been drawn to block out additional light and even the lanterns in the room had thick shades over them to reduce their intensity.

“How long was I out?”

“A while.” Kili flopped on the bed next to him and pulled a small platter over. It was laden with crackers, cheese, dried meats and fruit. Hardly the most filling but reasonable for one looking to start fulfilled enough to be alert. The sight of the cheeses made him lurch internally but a few cut up orange and apple slices seemed to do just fine. Helped eliminate the taste in his mouth if nothing else.

“I should go, Kili.”

His younger brother shook his head. “Uncle’s coming right back and he wants to talk to you and me.”

“All the more reason to go.” Fili said simply. “I don’t want to be lectured or badgered again and again—“

“Fili, you almost fell off the walkways.”  There was worry coating every word. “Even when you get buzzed or a little drunk, you’re always firm footed. But Mister Boggins was trailing you like a puppy, pulling you back until you ran into Uncle!”

Paleness claimed Fili’s face. “Uncle saw me like that?”

“I’ve seen you at your best, and your worse, ever since you left your mother’s womb. This was no different.”

The voice was a surprise though not so much as it may have been to others. While he might have put up an  air about him, there was never any doubt where Thorin would be it either Fili or Kili were hurt. He was always near.

As it was now.

Crossing the room, though not without giving a motion to the guards that it was only under the most dire of circumstances they be disturbed, Thorin took a spot in the plush chair by the bed. He wanted to sit closer, to pull his lost ones close but nay, he needed to approach this cautiously. So, much as he desired to do otherwise, he kept his distance.

Fili, to his credit, gave a low bow to his Uncle. “Uncle, I’m sorry. I’m sure I made a scene and it does not bode well on our family line—“

Thorin scoffed though not without a low chuckle. “You worry too much about that, my boy. You are young. You are not the first dwarf to have drank himself into unconsciousness and you shan’t be the last. You being the Crown Prince makes little difference aside from reassuring the people of our humble start.” He reached out and when Fili did not withdraw, he lay a hand into the golden hair. “How fares your head and stomach and do not insult me by lying to my face.”

After a moment delay, Fili acknowledged, “Neither are in the best shape. I would prefer to let them ease before I try anymore work, much as it pains me to admit.”

“As I suspected. Given what Bilbo told us you were mixing, I’m surprised you are not clutching your temples, howling in agony.” Here, his face turned serious and hard. “You’ve no taste for Elvish wine, my boy. Nor are you particularly fond of Iron Hills ale or Ash Mountain Whiskey. Yet, it appears you decided to partake of all of them together. A rather nasty taste on the best of days.”

“It’s not...the most appealing, no, I must admit,” Fili shrugged a bit but he made no more argument. “The touch of Blue Mountain brandy made it tolerable.”

Thorin nodded. “Not something you drink readily, my Fili, given your mother will need to replenish our stock when she comes. So, such a drastic combination...I suspect it was hardly to relax nor to enjoy the flavor, was it?”

Silence followed and Fili did not lift his head again.

Kili moved so he sat behind him. Hands on his brother’s shoulders, Kili remarked, “You were trying to get drunk.” It was a statement not a question. “Why?”

Fili didn’t reply.

Kili sighed loudly. “Same reason you’re don’t sleep much, isn’t it?”

Fili set him with a look and his gaze fell to Kili’s wrapped arm. “Same reason your arm is all torn up?”

Folding his arms so the injured one was tucked away, the younger Prince protested, “No. I got distracted, that’s all. This is different!”

Fili let out a sharp breath and opted not to answer his sibling, turning instead to Thorin, “Uncle, I—“

“Fili. Think before you go on. I may not always be the most observant but I feel I’ve come to know you and your brother well indeed. Please don’t insult me by feeding me a story that dwarflings would have difficulty buying.”

And just like that, Fili heaved a deep sigh. “Kili is...not wrong.” That felt distinctly better than admitting it out loud. Having someone else say it and admitting they were correct was somehow less nerve wracking than saying “Yes, I drank to get drunk” himself.

Thorin remained quiet for a time, processed what he was being told. It filled the room with a nervous energy but when he spoke, it was with deep emotion and heart. “Are you content with that, my sister-son?”

The question surprised Fili if he was going to be honest. The physical ailments that he was undergoing now were not fun and as much as the drunkenness had done its job—silencing the thoughts—the worry he saw etched on his Uncle’s face, the terseness in Kili’s grip and if he thought back, the sound of Bilbo’s voice made him wince.

“No, Uncle.” Fili finally answered. “I will not lie and say that the...mindlessness... was not welcomed but I am not happy with the other effects.”

Thorin nodded. “I had hoped to spare you—both of you—from following these paths to dull your pain. If I had the ability, I’d take it from you and into my own heart. But, we do not have such power.” He heaved a deep sigh. “I fear that I am to blame for some of it. I see how you strive to appear hard, unmoving as the mountain base before the people. I have shown that unto you but...it has taken root too deep.” Shaking his head, he said, “I wish that I might teach you something else now. I will not ask you to speak.” He said quickly when he saw Kili tense. “In fact, I shall not ask you to do anything but sit by my side and listen.”

The two brothers exchanged looks and Fili asked, “Uncle?”

“Come, my Fili. My Kíli. Please.”

Again, there was a silent exchange of looks before Fili moved to the side and Thorin sat on the bed. After a moment, Kili crawled to flank his uncle on the other side though still being careful to hide his wrapped arm as much as possible. Thorin did not mention it nor did he comment any more on Fili’s drunkenness. In fact, he pulled the code to the bed’s drapes, closing out the light.

“Uncle, what do you have to teach us that you haven’t already?” Fili’s tone was not disrespectful but was legitimately curious. Kili nodded in agreement with his brother.

“I wish to tell you the story of my encounter with Smaug. When Erebor first fell.”

Fili swallowed hard. “Uncle, we already know this story.”

Kili agreed. “Yes, Uncle! You’ve told it to us lots of times!”

Shaking his head, Thorin corrected. “I’ve told you what I thought was vital—the loss of our people, the strength of us rallying survivors together. The bravery of our soldiers. But, in my arrogance, I did not tell you the most important piece.”

“What’s that?” The two of them spoke together, as if little dwarflings once more.

“That I was afraid.”

Chapter Text

Chaos.

There was simply no other word for it. The crumbling of stone, the shouting of dwarves and the horrible scent of sulfur and burned flesh. That was by far the worst. That smell would haunt Thorin until the day he died. He thought he knew what fire did, the smells it could make. This though...this was on a whole other level!

“Thorin! Come! We must go!” The call of his father was shrill and deep, the tone that usually left no room for argument. For the young Prince though as he looked back and blinked away tears from his eyes, he could barely hear his father. You could barely hear anything. The sounds of the dragon, of the snapping of jaws, of the scalding of flesh and burnt hair. The screams.

A realization hit Thorin and it was as if he had been struck with an ax. He slammed on his brakes and shouted to his father. “What of Frerin? Dis? Where are my siblings, Adad?”

The pain in the dwarf’s face was tangible. You could see it, feel it, hear it, taste it, smell it. There were salty tears on the bottom of his eyes. “Your brother and sister were in the sitting hall, Thorin. The dragon has barred that path. We must get YOU to safety. YOU are our future! Our people will look to you!”

“Not without them!” That said, Thorin pulled from his father and ran down the familiar halls. The sounds of his father screaming after him were haunting but he ignored it. He had to ignore it. By all accounts, he should have been leading their people in battle against the dragon. But he had seen their people flee, he’d seen them scatter before dragon fire, mere leaves in the wind. They could do nothing against his thick hide.

But he COULD get his family out!

Neglecting the path of most wear, Thorin slipped into the doors of the walls and he passed through sleeping chambers, storage rooms, even a rather unpleasant trek through the lavatory but the inner connected rooms led him past the crumbling corridors and after some effort, he dislodged the debris blocking the final door.

Smoke and flame was nearly blinding but he could hear movement and shouting. Frerin and Dis had been working on their lessons this morning so they had to be close.

“Frerin! Dis!”

A strangled gasp and then, thank Mahal, a reply.

“Thorin!” That was Frerin, in a frantic tone but obviously trying not to alarm Dis. “Where are you? I can’t see ANYTHING!”

“Use your ears, Frerin!” Thorin snapped, without meaning to. It was impossible to see and that meant he did not have much time. “You can hear me, can you not?”

“...aye, Brother.”

Then, quiet. Pure quiet. Thorin felt heavy in the chest, as if his entire world would crumble away. It WAS crumbling away. This place which had been made from blood and sweat and tears and with HONOR was turning to dust and flame even as he stood here!

He might never leave here. He would never see his people thrive as they had been. He would not see his people that had lost dear ones to the dragon proclaim victory over its corpse and justice for their dead. He would not see the wondrous treasury his grandfather had generated be passed down the line of Durin.

Fear, fear so tight and burning so hard it caused his breath to give way took Thorin’s heart. His brother would never grow up and claim his spot amid the esteemed warriors that he loved so much. His sister would never marry. The line of Durin would collapse, burned alive here.

No. This could not. Would not be their fate. It couldn’t be! It absolutely could not be! They were meant for more than this! They were not throwaways and they would not die here!

They...this could not be their end? It could not be...all his loved ones...crumbled by the home meant to protect them? Mahal was not so cruel. He could not be so cruel.

“Thorin!”

The sound of Frerin cut through his mind like a roar and from the smoke, he saw an outstretched hand. Burned, covered in soot and missing one finger but alive. What had happened? His little brother was shaking or was that him that was shaking?

“Frerin, grab tightly!” Grasping his brother’s wrist so hard that it might have bruised it, Thorin pulled and stepped back, bringing his little brother with him. Now that his heartbeat was not so loud that it was deafening everything else, he recognized the shrill shout of Dis.

She was clutching to Frerin with a death grip, no intention on releasing at any point in the near future. Though she spied Thorin and appeared to be considering it. Frerin covered her head with his good arm when the ceiling gave way and Thorin yanked them both underneath the nearest doorway.

“Come, move quickly.” Thorin’s voice betrayed nothing of his feelings though it bled through his face. Frerin stood, stock still for a moment and it was Dis that responded, “Go where, Brother?”

Go where indeed? It had been...unreal before. His father stating they had to leave but to leave and go where? This was their home. It had been for centuries. Where would they go? How would they provide for their people? How would they offer defense from the elements, from orcs, from trolls—

These had never been a concern before; they’d never crossed Thorin’s mind. Yet here it was, reality staring him in the face. What were they going to do? What could they do without the mountain? He felt raw, cut and bare all at once and nothing he could picture ended this scenario well.

Father...yes, yes, get back to Father! Surely, Father and a Grandfather would make sense of this! As lost as Grandfather had been amid the gold, surely this would pull him from it! His people needed him! And—

Dis reached over and pulled Thorin’s beard. “Thorin, where’s Amad?”

That seemed enough to snap Thorin to action. He set his eyes on Frerin. Mother was always nearby when Dis was playing. Frerin was never one to be far from her when she was in a mode for encouraging imagination. With her laugh, her songs, her playful banter...

Frerin’s eyes were empty, torn and they bled sadness. For a moment, he shifted his sight downward to the collapsed flooring. Molten fire roared beneath, sending billowing smoke upward. It was a horrible smell—flesh and hair. Though he knew it was impossible to know—he knew his mother was among the fallen.

His lungs were lead. Amad. She had never failed to be a kind listening ear. To call stops when Adad became far too rigid and one of the few that Grandfather would always give way to, though he would insist it was by his own desire.

To be gone...and because of this dragon. This Damned dragon. Oh, he would tear the scales apart by his hands! He would relish in its cries!

“Thorin?”

Frerin’s soft voice cut into his bloodlust. Then, Dis’ soft tug on his beard came again.

“Amad...she resides with Mahal now, Dis.” Thorin’s voice trembled, and he hadn’t the care to silence it. “And I’ve no intention of losing anyone else to this dragon.”

“Amad!” Dis screamed and Frerin clutched her close, trying to silence her cries. “Want Amad!”

“As do we all!” Thorin snapped. “And we’ll do nothing for her memory if we are lost too!” He added “And I will not...CANNOT lose anything else.”

Thorin waited.

He did not have to wait long before Fili answered. “I...didn’t know Grandmother was among the lost.”

Kili added. “Yes...you never told us that, Uncle.”

“Because I did not wish to recall it. It still aches and your mother’s heart has never forgotten it. I failed to see...much as my heart ached, so too do yours.” He looked at first one then the other. “I know all too well the fear of being afraid. And it is far worse when you think you must face it alone.  There is foolishness in that pride, my lads, that your uncle still struggles to conquer.”

The two were quiet.

“I meant what I said. I will not force you to speak of the fear in your hearts. But I want you to know that I trust you with mine.”

Chapter Text

“I will not force you to speak of the fear in your hearts. But I want you to know that I trust you with mine.”

Fili set down his axe, leaned against the handle. His uncle’s words from two days prior refused to leave his head. And the Dwarf King had been true to his word. He had not pressed them any further regarding the living nightmares that their minds played. All he had said, beyond that promise, was that it might be wise for Fíli not to drink alone for a bit so that he might better gauge himself.

Fili could not argue with such a thing. As much as he’d welcomed the darkness that being drunk had brought to his mind, the resulting hangover was hardly pleasant. Much as he likely didn’t deserve it, Uncle had allowed him to rest and sleep it off. It would have been acceptable to make him suffer through it.

But Uncle did not.

“I will not force you to speak of the fear in your hearts. But I want you to know that I trust you with mine.”

Shaking his head, Fili dug his axe deeper into the stone. Maybe work would clear his mind. Mahal knew that the Mountain had more than enough to offer. Work was the lifeblood of the dwarves, was it not? Surely it, if nothing else, would ease the racing thoughts?

Yet it didn’t.

With each strike, the smell of rock and dust in his nose, he could only continue to revisit the words that haunted him each waking hour and became unbearable upon sleep. Yet there was a different flavor to them now.

Uncle had been frank with him.

When was the last time Thorin—Thorin Oakenshield—has confessed to being afraid? To feeling not good enough? To feeling inadequate?

To hear that...the tremble in his voice...to see that...the way his eyes had gone wet...

That had been raw truth—nothing else. Fìli has always held great respect for his Uncle and now, if possible, it was even more so. It was one thing to be stoic, strong and immovable as the rock from which they were made. But to let those cracks show...to let down that which protected you...it was a bravery Fili had never thought on.

And he could not take his mind off of it now. He knew that Uncle spoke with raw honesty and he knew—the drive to just return to the kitchen for one bottle (honest, just one!) was intense. He knew what would come of it but the words of Smaug—which he had not even revealed to Kili—would not cease. He tried to replace them with thoughts of the now, of what had been gained and not what had been lost but the spell of dragons were not easily broken. Even one of the Third Age like Smaug. The dark sorcery planted in their blood by Morgoth was difficult to shatter.

“I will not force you to speak of the fear in your hearts. But I want you to know that I trust you with mine.”

Fili cursed under his breath, set his axe aside and strode from the chamber, silently weaving his way through the corridors and ignoring any that tried to engage him. Once more, he felt the draw of the alcohol but he took a different route, finally slipping into the room he and Kili had been making use of and closed the door behind him with a huff.

Leaning against the old wood and stone, he was immensely relieved Kili was not here. He needed a moment, a time to be alone. Though, had he not been doing that for so long? Had he not pushed aside his Uncle’s approach even when he dared bare his own soul to him?

Do you think yourself stronger than Túrin?

Fíli grasped hold of his golden hair and twisted and yanked and pulled. As if that would stop the memory from replaying. As if that would make Smaug’s threat any less potent. As if that would make him braver.

He was afraid. It made him sick and weary to think of it but he was. He was so deeply afraid. Not just of what had come to pass but because of what had yet to happen. Did Smaug’s words ring true? Would their line fall as Túrin had? No, it could not be but what did he know if dragons? What abilities did they possess? Glaurung had such ability to fracture a family...and what was he? A simple dwarf boy from the Blue Mountains, playing games of war and royalty.

Yes. Yes, that was much easier to process. It was him but not him. A dwarf of similar stature, similar look, similar background but not him. To pull himself away, to step back...it felt so much less overwhelming.

Though writing was not his forte, and indeed, his handwriting was impossible to decipher unless you shared his blood, Fili found himself putting ink to scroll nonetheless. Not of himself...no...

Of a dwarf fighting to show his worth, to prove himself full of honor enough to stand by his family’s side and reclaim that which had been taken from them. Yet he was afraid—so full of doubt and fear of loss that it made him sick to his stomach. So full of uncertainty that his family would be never be themselves again and that the blood from battle would not call them home to Mahal that he would awake at night and wonder, if just a moment, if the victory obtained was a fever dream on the edge of life and death. Of a dwarf that in his insanity to save his Uncle has dared ride upon the back of a dragon and drive him into his brother’s death trap.

The dwarf often revisited that moment, he penned. Those scarce few moments upon the dragon’s back when the coldness of the worm’s voice froze him to his bones. When he was told of the fragility of his line and of how satisfying it would be to burn them to ash. Where the dragon painted a picture in his mind that—

That—

Fili stopped, his hand shook. Not him. He reminded himself. Not him. This was another...another dwarf. One they would talk about around fires and ale. One he and Kili would tease about besting in battle and of meeting with a fervor of passion. But one as distant to them as the Dwarves that first awoke under rock and stone.

Not. Him.

It was a picture woven of word as well as magic. It had nearly blinded him—this dwarf—the image of his family ripped flesh from bone, the sound of blood evaporated by steam and flame, and the knowledge that as much as they desired otherwise, the Gold Fever would turn those they loved into a shadow, a walking corpse of madness and desperation that would fall so deep into —that their own heart would be lost.

And all because he—this dwarf—has crumbled in fear. All because he cowered under the great beast’s voice. All because the battlefield had turned his bones to ice and he had frozen. Frozen once against Azog, once again Smaug and once against Bolg.

Thrice.

Thrice he failed.

Fili sat there, long after the ink dried and his ears were deaf to the calls at his door until a pair of strong hands settled on his shoulders.

“ Targ mim ?”

Fili reached up and laid his hand on those of his Uncle. For a moment, he let his fingers grace the familiar scars and rings, relishing in the familiarity. It was like the...like Uncle had taught them. Rely on what you could feel. The Rock and Stone.

Uncle Thorin, more than anything else, had been their Stone.

He couldn’t speak. He would not. He did not trust his tongue. Rather, he lay his fingers upon the scattered mess of tunes and letters he had marked out his—no, not his, not his—

Yes. His.

His tale. His story. His...

Turning, face into that strong shoulder, Fili wept.

Chapter Text

Kili urged the beast to go faster.

He needed air.

Needed it badly.

Like he could not breathe. But he was a dwarf, they were at home in the tight, in the dark. He had grown up amid caves and caverns. Mines and dark work holes were the life blood of dwarves but right now, he wanted as far from them as possible.

He truly was happy for Fili.

It had been a rough few days but Fili had withdrawn from the work and was spending much more time with Uncle. Writing, it looked like which was a miracle of Mahal himself. Fili’s writing was a chore to read. He pitied his Uncle who likely was asking for clarification after each mark.

But it was doing something. Fili’s eyes did not look so dark anymore. He was smiling more. The rest of the Company was spending more time with him and Uncle and while Kili felt that he SHOULD have been there, he could not .

It wasn’t a matter of if he wanted to. He did. He wanted to be next to his brother, sitting by his side as he dealt with whatever haunted his mind. By all accounts, he was expected to be there! Family did not abandon family, least of all in their most troubled times! Staying with Fili had been easier before, when the bursts of anger, drinking or shouting would die away, buried under the cloak of denial.

Not healthy, perhaps, but something Kili found far easier to handle than…now.

The Dwarven Prince bowed his head. How could he ponder such things? How could he even begin to consider them? Did he want his brother to suffer? Of course not. The light that had returned to Fili’s eyes—while still weighed and heavy—had been a forge lit in his heart. Knowing all too well how much Fili strived to be the best he could be, how hard he was on himself and how much he longed to be strong and brave and…

Well, seeing him smile again was the best reward in the world.

But then, came the recovery. The healing. The…processing.

The talking.

Things Fili said, the things he spoke about…it still made Kili’s blood freeze and turn cold. It still caused his heart to fall heavy, his muscles numb. Maybe he should have taken comfort. After all, Fili and Uncle where who he looked to for strength, for how to be, for what to do. They had both exposed their inner fears, their deepest pains. Uncle had said, quite plainly, in no uncertain terms that he had been afraid. That he could be afraid. That such a thing was not to be taunted. A shock it had been but it carried with it a promise. Promise of coming back from this battle, from this confrontation. A promise to find themselves again. Not as before perhaps but a new form—renewed, wiser and still full of such reward.

Yet, Kili, for all his trying, could not. He didn’t know why. He supposed it had once been pride but now it felt more like he did not possess the words to convey it. He couldn’t pinpoint it. Why couldn’t he do what his brother was doing? Why?

Running his hand over the healing welts (and honestly, they would not have swollen so much if he had not been picking at them—but the impulse was so hard to fight) and reveled at the temporary distraction. That had become his saving grace—distraction.

Drawing an arrow, notching it, he settled his ears and focused. A hunt was another distraction and he would drown in it.

OOO

 The water, flowing from Long Lake as well as from the recent rains gave the world a soft and renewed scent. The trees and plants that bloomed south of the Lonely Mountain and gave way towards the Wilderlands if you went far enough carried enough coverage to give the eyes a pleasant feast for traveling.

For Bilbo Baggins though, he had scarcely the time nor heart for such things though he would certainly like to revisit them later. No, his thoughts were on the Dwarven Prince that he had been trailing for a good hour. Under normal circumstances, he would not have been able to remain unseen but his special ring was quite handy for these occasions. The boy was certainly not welcoming to any company but by all of Yavanna’s flowers (and Aulë’s gems too for that matter), he dare not leave him alone.

It wasn’t unusual for Fili or Kili to just randomly take a ram and go gallivanting into the distance (though this bothered Thorin far more than he let on—“they’re just foolhardy and impulsive enough that they would likely only notice they’d crossed into Mordor when they came upon the Black Gate”) but it was odd that Kili had opted to go hunting instead of helping his brother. His refusal to take anyone with him was another concerning feature.

Oh, he’d made all manner of acceptable excuses “My brother is finally making progress! How can I not go and fetch him a stag for the ages?” He’d babbled about a white stag that the people of Laketown had spotted several times, stating that his brother would likely be drained later and he meant to have something truly special to give him! He rambled about the fact that only “I can bring it in,” something about being useful and productive and had left before anyone could get a word in edgewise about the truth of that matter.

True enough, a milestone had been reached with the eldest Prince.

Fili had finally broken down and while it had been heart breaking, the progress that had begun by it was oh so lovely to see. Thorin had swiftly canceled any and all meetings he’d been scheduling, evidently telling the other Dwarven clans that he had “more vital matters” to attend to. It was so good to see and judging by the rest of the Company’s reaction, this was a vital piece to recovery and it meant things boded well for young lad.

Bilbo, however, was not buying Kili’s enthusiasm. Had Thorin or any of the Company been present, they would not have either. But the halls of Erebor still required aid and fixing and work. They simply were not always around.

But Bilbo was.

He had gone to see Fili once the breakthrough had been made but it was quite clear that whatever Thorin had done was effective so Bilbo surmised, he could be more useful elsewhere. He had gone, with Thorin’s blessing, to inform the rest of the Company and then retreated to find Kili, in hopes there was a similar progress.

Instead, he had stumbled on the Prince all but running away from Erebor.

So, he pursued.

The sparse trees around Erebor did not mean that there were none. Bilbo recognized the small forest quite easily. The few deer that had not fled further south took refuge here but it was rare to spot one this late in the year, according to Balin and Bard. Not that such a thing would stop someone with the stubbornness of the Durin Line.

Except this was not born out of stubbornness. It was born out of fear.

Watching the boy—because while Kili was older than him, mentally, he was still just a boy—Bilbo approached, slowly. Last thing he needed was to startle a hunter and end up with an arrow between the eyes. Kili had the skill to do it with nary a thought.

It was quite clear that Kili’s thoughts were not on the hunt though. He would pause, slap at his lower forearm that was still bruised and coated in welts. Bilbo had wondered why a bow would cause such damage and after quite some observation, he thought he found an answer but in the long line of things, it was rather irrelevant.

What was important was that, despite what Kili told himself, he was leaning into the pain.

The invisibility granted to him by the ring made it all the easier to see—the way he would wait far longer than necessary when he drew the bow. The way he would shift his forearm TOWARD the string, even if it was slight. The way he would slap at the forearm every few minutes, especially the lower section.

Bilbo had his theory that one of those welts was starting to show signs of infection though he had not been able to get close enough to see for certain. That was going to stop today though, on his Baggins and Took blood combined!

As he came about the bend, Bilbo removed the ring, “Kili. May we talk, my lad?”

OOO

The sound of a voice behind him made his arm slip and the arrow flew off target, lodging in a nearby tree as the small hare he had spotted darted away. On the plus side though, the arrow slip had let the feather cut his hand and his forearm was stinging.

Drown in. Just a moment.

“Kili, may we talk, my lad?”

The voice cut through the short lived distraction, the pain that turned his memories to mush for a moment and he blinked. The hot sensation in his arm and hand faded and after a moment of reorientation, he shifted on his feet, blinking in surprise as the small Hobbit appeared from the small grove of trees.

“Mr. Boggins! What are you doing here?”

“I took it upon myself to follow, in hopes we might talk where this is far less banging and clanging.” He shook his head. “I do so love how devoted you dwarves are to your craft but I must confess that my ears are much less so.”

Taking one breath and then another, Kili lowered his bow, setting it aside, propped against the nearest tree. “You decided to follow me all the way out here just to talk?”

“Oh, perhaps it is more than that.” Climbing the nearby half dead tree, Bilbo found a half comfortable spot so that he could look Kili more or less in the eye. “I think you are aware why I would follow you, are you not?”

The silence that followed was heavy and dark. Kili could have refused, could have insisted that such a thing was foolish. “You decided that because Fili had accomplished such a grand leap in his recovery that you need to ask me about mine.” He shook his head, “As I said before—“

“Kili, son of Dis, if you say you are fine, so help me, I will box your ears.” Bilbo’s tone held deep force and no small amount of concern. “You may not have taken to the bottle as your brother did for a clear sign but you have been carrying one of your own. Your arm tells me that much.”

“Welts occur with archery, Bilbo.” The dwarf said with a shrug.

“Aye, I suppose they must. But forgoing your guards as frequently as you have are not the fault of a poor memory. Nor is it common to bring a war bow to hunt or to practice in the field, is it?” Casting a glance at the bow at the base of the tree, Bilbo asked, “That IS a war bow, is it not? With far more of a draw necessary to fall a stag?”

Kili eyed the Hobbit, silent.

“Kili?”

“…I suppose it is a bit of overkill.”

Bilbo shook his head, “Because it is not the archery nor the hunt that you are seeking. It is the slap from the string. I see it.” He frowned. “And if I’m not mistaken, you have failed to tend to one of the oldest ones as you should. I can practically feel the heat of it from here.”

“It is fine.”

“It is not. And you know it. If you thought it was fine, you would not go to such trouble to hide it.” Bilbo sighed heavily, “Kili, my boy, I am just a Hobbit. But I tend to think I am a good judge of character and I have come to…care deeply for all of you. A hobbit’s heart is a boundless cage with no key. There is not escaping it.” He reached out and took hold of Kili’s good hand. “And I see fear in you.”

“Fear? What do I have to be afraid of?” The nervous laughter burned like coals.

“I was hoping you might tell me that. I suspect you probably are not even sure how to, much like your brother was unsure. Writing was an odd outlet for him—as you and your Uncle told me—but it has worked. But you have not yet found you. But that pain, that fear, fights its way out and paints your body in it.”

Kili subconsciously clutched his forearm and the pulsing heat from the lower part of his arm burnt through the linen. Bilbo was right about that…

“And I suspect…unless I am completely mistaken…that an infected welt causes more pain than a healing one. I don’t understand it myself but it must do something for you. Will you at least tell me that?”

Kili wanted to shout, wanted to scream at Bilbo that he had no business butting in but the calm nature and softness of the Hobbit’s voice made it nearly impossible. There was no judgement in that voice and maybe a Hobbit would be less…

Well, Uncle wouldn’t reject him. He knew that for a fact.

So why couldn’t he say anything? Why couldn’t he go to him, tears in his eyes and sob over the pain that made his heart beat as drums and his chest tight? Uncle had been afraid and he certainly was not stronger than him but…

But what would he say? What would he discover about himself?

“It’s a pause.” He finally said. “It stops thoughts that I would rather not explore.”

Bilbo took this in stride, oddly enough. He just nodded, quietly. He sat where he was, feet kicking back and forth but he was silent. Quiet.

It was unnerving. Was he thinking that he…what did he think? Did he find him weak, disgusting, a coward, a…

The quiet was deafening.

“It isn’t too much.” Kili insisted. “It’s…just once in a while.”

“But how often is once in a while and when did once in a while start to overtake your entire bow arm?” Again, just a quiet inquiry. “It used to be just one or two welts, one or two events on the training field but now you coat it in linen. If it is truly just…once in a while…might I see them?”

Kili froze, his grip on his arm tightened. “Why?”

“Well, if it’s just once in a while, it should not be something too bad, should it?” Bilbo’s voice stayed even keel. “Though, perhaps a Hobbit’s version of once in a while is quite different from a dwarf’s. And if you are truly not hiding anything and have nothing to fear about revealing it, then showing an old curious Hobbit would mean nothing much at all, would it?” Bilbo considered. “And if you do not feel comfortable showing me, perhaps it means you may have gone a bit too far?”

Too far? No. No. He was in control.

“I’m in control. It’s not too much. It’s what I do, every so often. You don’t understand. Fili doesn’t understand and Uncle wouldn’t understand!” He paced, a bit and the pulsing under his arm was no longer a distraction. It was hot and warm and like a steady beat but it did not block out the memories or the thoughts that Bilbo’s words were bringing.

He curled his fingers into his hair and tugged lightly. The throb at his scalp and throughout the tresses did a mild response but not like before.

What Uncle would think? Was this too much? Was he afraid? If it wasn’t bad, why didn’t he want to show Bilbo? Why did he feel sick to his stomach at the mere thought? Sick like when he had seen Bolg. Sick like when the blood had made Uncle look pale. Sick like when he thought Fili would tumble from that dragon’s back and splatter upon the ice. Sick like when he thought his aim surely would not be enough and he would the one sealing his brother’s fate…

Too much! Too much! Too much!

The pulsing did not stop it.

The dragon’s laugh.

Bolg’s threat…what he would make sure to do to Uncle Thorin. What he would do to their whole family, their friends, their…

In the time of a heartbeat, Kili pulled his hunting knife from his belt and jerked upward, severing one of his shorter braids from his head. It flailed, tiny threads dripping and drifting away with the wind. It left Bilbo startled and Kili stood there, as if frozen in time.

A surge of mind numbing agony cut through his mind, running with the speed of  a hammer on stone. It fractured the memories apart but unlike before, it did not bring relief with it because it did not end. It burned, from cut tip to scalp.

The braid…the braid that he had earned by taking on the battle for Erebor. The braid he had smiled through the entire time Uncle put it in his hair. It was his pride, his symbol. Something he had longed for all his life—to earn a braid of victory.

It now rested in his hands and his entire mind was drowned in pain. But it did not bring relief. Not like before. Had it ever brought relief or was it just…was he just…had he just…

He stared at it, in his limp hand, trembling and fell to his knees. Even as the pain did not subside, despite the lack of blood—dwarves may not bleed from tresses but their hair carried nerves and messengers of pain all the same—Kili felt lost. What do do? What to do?

How had he…

When did he…

The pride of all dwarves was their hair, the sign of their family, the symbol of their achievements, the canvas on which all their triumphs were painted for all to see. When had he become so lost to…to just disregard it, as if it were nothing?

“Kili?”

Bilbo’s voice was like an echo amid a chamber. “Kili, my lad?”

Looking up, tears running down his face and entire body shaking, Kili managed, “It hurts, Bilbo… sahasîn?”

Chapter Text

The ride back towards Erebor was quiet and solemn. Bilbo found himself doing most of the directing of the beast—a task he was hardly most comfortable with—though, it seemed the ram was quite aware of the need to return home and was maneuvering that way without much prompt. It meant that there was little empty time before the outskirts of the mountain came back into view.

“I don’t have a stag.”

Kíli had a defeated tone to his voice and the boy had not released his grip on his cut braid. It was evident enough, even to a hobbit, that the pain was still intense from it. This was a different kind of pain—one of failure and self-loathing. And over a stag of all things!

“I don’t think anyone will mind, my boy.” Bilbo assured him, gently patting his hand before clinging back to the ram for dear life. “We have other concerns.”

“I said I’d bring Fili a stag. I promised a stag.”

What an utterly odd thing to be focused on! Bilbo had thought such a declaration to be excuse and nothing more but it seemed he was mistaken. “My boy, I do believe your brother would be much more comforted by you getting help, would he not?”

“...he would.” Kili rubbed at the not-present-by-Mahal tears on his cheeks. “But he’s with Uncle! I can’t invade them right now, not when Fili is finally making such progress!”

“Well,” Bilbo had to agree with him on that. It would not be fair to interrupt one boy’s needs for another. He was all too happy to help as he could but the issue with the hair was a Dwarven thing. “Well, we will see if Thorin is done and if not, then we have a whole Company we might seek out!”

Kili blinjed, stiffened. “The Company?”

“Of course, dear boy! Are they not dear to you?”

“N...no, they are! All of them!” No lie was in that tone.

“So, does it not stand to reason that they would surely want to help you?” Bilbo stopped as they reached the pastures and rocky terrain through which the rams would roam and dismounted, Kili following.

“I...I suppose they...might.”

Shaking his head, Bilbo remarked, “My boy, they have simply been waiting to be allowed to help.” Taking the boy by the wrist of his good arm, he gently pulled their way inside. Kili was not protesting which was a good thing. As horrible as what had occurred was (as much as Bilbo understood of the Dwarven culture) it may well have been the catalyst to get the boy to seek aid. He was quite grateful for that.

The situation inside the mountain was sheer madness as always. Dwarves running here and there, shouting about needing kite support here and less gathering there and always in a mix of westron and Khuzdul. It was chaos and despite knowing why Bilbo had never quite grown accustomed to it. It worked, make no mistake but all the shouting and rumbling and darting felt both foreign and intimating even if it was being done to be rid of all signs of the dragon.

Getting someone’s attention long enough to find out where Thorin was and if he was done or where any of the rest of the company was remained another manner entirely. Again, not out of malice but everyone had their own set goals in mind! Even Kili, had he been in his regular state of mind, might have struggled a bit.

And he was the Prince!

But seeing the utterly lost look on Kili’s face had Bilbo all but shouting. Grabbing at dwarves never did much good but when his third “pardon me!” resulted in just hurried faces, Bilbo Baggins had enough.

Heaving a small rock as high as he could (which, fair enough, was hardly noteworthy) he hurled it into the crowd even as he shouted “I SPEAK ON BEHALF OF THE KING!!”

The stone landed with a loud thunk amid the ground and the collection of dwarves finally went silent and turned their way. Bilbo heaved a breath out (hobbits were NOT meant to be hurling large stones!), planted his hands on his hips and stated, “Much better, by Yavanna and Aulë!” He took another inhale “Now, might any of you know if the King has finished with Prince Fili?”

“Not yet,” a tall, brown haired dwarf with tattoos all about his face replied. “Much progress made but it will be a bit.”

Nodding, Bilbo remarked “So I see. Well then, might you point me in the direction of another member of our Company? Prince Kili and I have matters to discuss that cannot wait.”

Another dwarf remarked “Balin was in the hall of records. You’ll likely find him still there.”

“Much obliged, good Sir. Carry on!” Bilbo grabbed Kili’s hand once more and after some ushering, they were headed along the corridors towards the meeting halls. Once away from all the working and shouting, Kili cracked a small smile.

“Did not know you had the gumption in you to shout like that.”

“I am quite capable of making myself heard if I have cause to.” Bilbo said simply. He did not relinquish his grip on Kili’s hand, not trusting the boy to not bolt though he’d shown no interest in it. If anything, he walked as if numb and pained all at once. “And I DO speak for the King as I have the concerns of his sister-son in mind!”

Kili did not raise voice in argument.

Sure enough, they heard the ruffling of scrolls and papers before too long and the gentle sound of Balin’s voice. Not talking to anyone in particular, just muttering to himself. Kili, once again, stiffened. Bilbo turned, voice calm, “Kili, it’s alright my boy. Do you think Balin would ever have anything but compassion for you?”

Shaking his head, Kili said, “He’s been Uncle and Ma’s closest confidant for years.”

“Hardly seems likely for that to change now then, eh?”

Again, Kili shook his head. “No. I...I know I need to..” he stared at the severed braid in his hand, as if it would give strength to his resolve.  It was a reminder that as much as he wanted things to fine, as much he wanted to pretend he was fine, he was not.

Lifting his head, Kili stepped forward, rapped on the doorframe with his knuckles. It seemed unbearably loud amid the relevant quiet. Or perhaps that was his nerves and fears gnawing at him. Bilbo’s grip on his hand was quite suddenly oh-so-welcomed.

“Aye?” Came the response and after a moment, Balin’s familiar face appeared over the rows of papers. “Oh! Bilbo, Kili! I was not expecting you to drop by. I might have been a bit more organized if I’d know—“

“No, it’s no bother, Balin,” Bilbo said quickly. “We hoped your might could give us some guidance.”

Blinking, a bit surprised, the old dwarf replied “Oh, I’m always willing to offer what I can.” His face drifted up to Kili who had yet to say a word, “Kili, my lad, what is it?”

Chin trembling, Kili could only hold out his open palm where the severed braid still sat, hands shaking. “Mr. Balin...”

Balin’s face paled considerably but then just as quickly, he was moving, pulling Kili into a tight embrace. The boy’s knees all but buckled and falling to the ground, he buried his face into Balin’s beard.

The old dwarf simply stroked the boy’s hair, saying over and over, “Madtûn, Madtûn,” and let the boy cry.