Mother had always said they should be grateful for what they had. She had been able to escape Erebor and with uncle Thorin they had managed to procure for their people as best as they could. Although Fíli and himself had received a proper education and training in the things that one day might be useful for them as members of the royal family, they had also had to work hard.

He had never looked upon the homeland everyone longed to see again and the memories of his father had started to melt with those stories mother and uncle Thorin told him. Everyone said Fíli was the one who had taken after him, both physically and in character. They were the heirs of Durin, the last of their line, but they lived not unlike merchants and smiths and they had to see their mother struggle with the house and work and the worries over those left of their family.

Kíli had never felt very grateful. And yet, he was not bitter. He tried to take the opportunities presented to him and prove himself superior to his circumstances. He was not grateful for them, but he did not flinch from the reality before his eyes. It had worked for him so far.

And then, the arrow wounded him. He had tried to ignore the growing pain in his leg and the acrid taste in his tongue when he swallowed, but he'd been made to stay behind anyway. He'd tried to avoid Fíli's eyes as he held his shoulder, his back on the Lonely Mountain. He was angry and ashamed of himself; he had robbed his brother the chance to show his quality and to prove himself worthy of being Thorin's heir.

A burden, they had to drag him across the town and rely on the goodwill of Bard. He could feel himself unwelcome, and yet his pitiful state moved Bard to let them in. This was all he was now, a pathetic creature. His mind started to dive into incoherence, only taking short breaths into reality. He heard the terrible noise and like a dream saw Bard and his son leave their house. He had tried to be of some use when the orcs attacked them, and had seen impotently how the children threw them plates and hid under the table. If only he could only his bow and his strength back. If he could just steady his feet and focus his sight. If only the lights were back again in the room, maybe he could help those fighting.

He had never imagined light could be so beautiful. It wasn't like the red light that came from the fires in the forge or the torches in the mines. It was the light that she had described, pure and precious. He had not understood why her eyes gleamed when she talked about the stars, but now he did. He saw the light she treasured and realized she was made of those stars.

Mother had always said they should be grateful for what they had, he remembered. Tauriel had said that his promise to her was precious and pure, like the stars she was made of and that danced all around her. And in that instant, Kíli felt that some of her starlight might lie inside him too and all the shame and guilt left him as a soft warm breath flooded his body.


Very short one-shot. Feel free to comment!