A/N: LOVED DoS. Absolutely loved it. Of course, I had to write a little fic focusing on the Durin bros with a hint of Kiliel...hope you enjoy it. Review?
His brother is an idiot.
With a sigh that carries the weight of years as an elder sibling, Fili presses his weary shoulders against the stones of his cell and wishes that a mere fragment of his (comparably greater) prudence would sift through the wall to Kili, who is, at the moment, having the audacity to flirt with one of their enemies.
Oh, she's not…displeasing to the eye, Fili can admit that much. The angled features, silken hair, and slim, shapely form are not as alien to a dwarf as might be presumed…after all, things of delicate beauty are often crafted by the skillful fingers of smiths and jewelers. But here, in living form—flesh and blood—that beauty is unpredictable and deadly.
Which is why Kili is an idiot.
He listens (half-reluctantly, half-amusedly) to their banter about the supposed talisman and Kili's recklessness (that much is right, at least) and he hopes that Kili realizes that coming home alive also means avoiding the death which their uncle will dole out if he finds his irrepressible nephew making eyes at their elven captor.
When her light steps have faded away across the hall, he hears Kili relax on the other side of the wall, blowing out a long breath.
"Kili."
"What?"
"What in Mahal's name were you just doing?"
There is a rather deafening silence and Fili weighs in his own mind the possible risks and benefits of lecturing his younger brother into immovable stubbornness, or sacrificing a bit of his own lofty pride and approaching the issue from a subtler angle.
He is not his uncle. He decides on the latter.
"She's an elf."
"Obviously." The flippant edge in Kili's tone does nothing to strengthen Fili's resolve for patience. He tries again. "Elves are dangerous."
"I know."
"Then why—"
Kili snorts in derision. "There's nothing to do down here." The almost-whine in his voice turns smug. "And she's beautiful."
Fili rests his head against his knees. First it was the spiders—by all his ancestors, but he won't admit to being terrified, even now—and then the elf-guards, and he's sore and tired and Kili…
"If Uncle finds out about this, little brother, it won't end well for you," he threatens, the words hissing between his clenched teeth as he investigates a rather large bruise across his ribs. "He—"
Kili interrupts suddenly. "Where is Uncle?" His voice has shifted from self-assuredness to something that only Fili can recognize as fearful. "Isn't he—"
"He's not returned from Elf-King's hall yet, laddie," Balin's lilting voice wafts from another cell, just above them. Fili squeezes his eyes shut in embarrassment. His reprimand of Kili's folly was meant to be between the two of them. At least the rest of the company had had the good grace to stay out of it.
"You…you don't think they'll torture him, do you?" The very suggestion elicits a curse from Dwalin, and rumblings of outrage from the other dwarves, but all Fili hears is that Kili's voice has an (almost) imperceptible quaver to it. Fili drag his fingers against the thick wall separating them, wishing that he could be beside his brother to throw an arm around him and comfort him, as he used to when they were wee dwarflings.
"No," Balin answers slowly. "It's not the elf way. They're a cold, proud, tricky folk, but they're not barbarians."
Dwalin does not seem to agree with this.
All the same, Fili is relieved by Balin's words—and by the fact that he hears Kili lean back against the wall and begin flipping the runestone again, as he does to pass time (and has for the past fifty years, since their mother gave it to him).
It reminds Fili of something. Cautiously, he drops his voice lower, wanting his words to be heard only by his brother.
"Kili."
"Yes?"
"The promise. To mother."
The stone stops hitting the floor. "What about it?"
Fili runs a tired hand through his tangled hair. "Just…it will make me rest easier if I believe you've any intention of keeping it."
Kili huffs, sounding offended. "Of course. It was a promise. To mother."
"Good."
Fili lets the word hang in the air for a few moments. At length, he hears a faint laugh from the other side of the wall. "But I am reckless."
Fili coughs out a laugh in return that is half a sigh of long-resignation and of future dread. "Aye. That you are."
