Another fill for the hobbit kink meme on livejournal. It took me a while to actually get to writing it with the proper distance, but I'm glad it's completed. C&C is welcome and appreciate as always.
"Fili," Kili says, interrupting his brother as he fastens his gauntlet. They had been preparing for a long, stubborn wait while Thorin rebuffed the efforts of the Elvenking and Bard to claim their own portion of Erebor's treasure, perhaps by force alongside their kin if necessary, but Gandalf's sudden announcement of the approaching army of goblins and wargs had spurred them into action. Already, the cacophony of war is blaring from beyond the gates. Fili clenches his fist to test the fit of the armor, and, apparently satisfied with his choice, turns toward Kili.
"What is it?" he asks. He's noticed how tense Kili has been since Thorin called them to take up arms, and fears.
"I have something I need to tell you," Kili says as he steps forward. He has that hard look in his eyes, one that Fili recognizes from childhood arguments and more recently during times of trial during the journey to the Lonely Mountain (on the edge of a twilight cliff cornered by burning pines, pursuing orcs, and the battered figure of their uncle, proving they had everything to lose), and so Fili extends a hand and halts him.
"Wait. Speak to me after the battle. We will have time then."
Fili tries to make his voice as light and confident as possible. He ignores the churning in his stomach, and forces the ends of his mouth to turn upward. He doesn't dare to break eye contact with his brother. Kili hesitates and the muscles in his throat visibly tighten before he concedes.
"Very well. Until then."
Fili grasps his brother's shoulder and squeezes.
"Until then."
Fili tears through another goblin, knocking his opponent's scimitar aside with one blade while ripping a giant gash across the stomach with the other. The second his sword slips free from the goblin's flesh, tasting free air, he spins and defends himself from another attack. His armor is tarnished from the effects of combat and blood trickles from a negligible wound from his head, dripping into his eyes. But for the most part, very little of the vast amount of blood staining his body comes from him. Rather, it belongs to the dozens of enemies he has slain and that of Thorin's body, lying shattered a short distance away.
He thinks he might be screaming. He can't tell anymore.
Kili stands on the other side of their king, protecting him with blade and valor. His quiver is slung uselessly on his back, emptied of arrows long ago and bow snapped in half in a reflexive measure of defense.
A warg springs from out of the commotion aiming for Thorin, and Fili intercepts his bared jaws with a horizontal strike. The warg snarls, gripping tight and ripping it out of his hands to be flung in the middle of the chaos, but Fili simply pulls out another knife and plunges it into the creature's neck. It struggles, nerves twitching and powerful muscles shuddering, before it finally collapses. Fili ditches the knife instead of leaving his back open and swings around pre-emptively, expecting another enemy to be present, but suddenly freezes at the sight in front of him.
Sometime during his struggle with the warg, Kili had collapsed next to their uncle.
Fili's blood runs cold, and he nearly takes a blow to head when his instincts kick in and he effectively slays the goblin coming from the rear. Then, he abandons everything and runs to his brother's side.
Kili's eyes are shut, and Fili fears that the worst has already come to pass when they weakly flutter open again at Fili's touch. Then Kili shivers, hands clutching at the inflicted bleeding heavily from his side. Fili can't see the injury clearly, it being delivered at a gap in the armor plates now ineffectually shielded again. Then Kili coughs, wet and racking, and Fili knows that the worst wouldn't be arriving too late.
The worst is that he has to watch his brother die.
"Kili- Kili," he says, his voice high and breaking. Kili's gaze loosely wanders about for the source of the noise before focusing on Fili. His mouth opens, struggles to form words until broken sounds come spilling out.
"There's something I need to tell you," he whispers.
The battle rages on around them. There is a group of men and dwarves that have taken the brothers' place, defending the king, defending them. Fili does not see any of them, does not care for his own safety. He only notices the weight of Kili's shoulders, the way the setting sun casts a golden tint to Kili's loose strands of hair, the creases in Kili's forehead as he attempts to ward off the pain, the unnatural amount of times Kili blinks.
"What?" he pleads, as if listening to his final words will prevent Kili from dying.
Then Kili grins, bloody and awful, and Fili has to lean in to catch what he says next.
"You are my one."
Kili trails off in the middle of the last word, macabre smile still plastered across his features, and then he moves no more.
Something shatters in Fili then, and he pulls his brother's body to his breast and roars.
Later, when the battle is over, they find them amongst the heaps of corpses. They tell him to let go, he needs to be buried properly, and when he doesn't move, they have to pry them apart. Someone pulls him to his feet, grips him tightly and murmurs placations roughly into his ear. He allows himself to be dragged back, bordered by open stares and looks of pity.
Later, he watches Thorin die too, encased within the mountain he loved. He doesn't realize that he's been made King of the Mountain until Thorin looks straight at him and tells him how proud he is and how he will be a great leader. It's a day of unwanted confessions.
Later, clean hands bat at his armor, disembodied voices plead for him to let them assess the damage, bandage his wounds, especially now. He doesn't know what they mean by that last part- what made him so much more important than yesterday? If anything, they should be abandoning him to solitude and death now that they were aware of his inability to protect those most important to him. It's only when the hands attempt to physically wrest the armor off of him that he reacts. Pure, animalistic panic seizes him- that was his brother's blood on him, that was the only thing he had left- and it takes a team of Oin, Bofur, and Bifur to restrain him. He bucks against their tight holds until his body exhausts itself and drained of motivation to even move. He allows them to do as they will, concerned looks from his party members not reaching him.
Later, he is sent to recover overnight in an unfamiliar chamber. The straw mattress is heavenly compared to stone slabs and rooted floors of prior evenings, but he can't bring himself to sleep. Later, he tells himself. Later.
As it turns out, Fili can barely manage to stay in place for a couple hours before he feels the need to move. The bones in his legs twitch as if they are trying to break free from their flesh prisons and his chest burns with the heat of the recently relit forges. He can't stay, at least not here.
Some of the energy disperses when he rejoins everyone else in the main halls, though not for long. Among the attempts at restoring the damage from time and Smaug, the first disputes are arising; in a corner, Gloin and Balin are disputing financial allocations, and a frustrated and fatigued Dwalin looks prepared to take Grasper and Keeper to some Iron Hills folk right in front of everybody. Dwarves are built for endurance, but not for eternity. The many sleepless nights and the repercussions of battle were finally taking their toll on dwarven morale. Its weight and the heavy responsibility of ruling suddenly fall on Fili. Fili envisions the fissures within the kingdom only widening now that there was no singular enemy, and he wonders what Thorin would do.
He wonders what his brother, in all of his rashness and daring charisma, would do.
The winter sun is just rising, casting its first light onto the stones beyond the battered front gate. It had not yet trickled into Erebor, dim torchlight continuing to be the main source of illumination, but the remains of the Company's makeshift wall stand in silhouette against the grey dawn. Fili crosses the hall in large strides, posture stiff from staying forcibly calm amongst the growing disorder. No one notices him until he climbs to the top of the pyramidal ruins, light finally streaming in behind him, and opens his mouth.
"Dwarves of Erebor!"
The turmoil settles, and Fili takes a deep breath before he carries on.
"There are no words in the common tongue to describe the feelings going through me to be able to address you as such. Feelings of honor, relief, and pride, for we have all had long journeys to make it to this point. For some of us, this is the first time seeing these consecrated halls, and for others, this is a long-awaited homecoming. My journey began in the Blue Mountains, where I heard stories of the glory of Erebor and the valor of its dwarves, and then not a year ago when my company set off to reclaim our kingdom.
"During that journey, whenever things would get too difficult, whenever all hope would seem lost, my kin would look to the sky. He would look up, and he would always find a solution to our problems.
"But my fellow dwarves, now I tell you, there is no longer any reason to look to the sky! For our darkest days are behind us! We have back our home and our riches! There is no longer any reason to despair!"
The speech continued, and as it rises it embodies all of the elements that would have made his brother a great ruler- endless hope, infinite confidence in himself and therefore others (but those weren't Fili's. Fili could handle the hushed behind closed doors politics, the hushed meetings with a select few counselors, the kind of work that drove others up the wall but he always knew when to strike). There is a touch of recklessness that Fili does not naturally possess by himself, only for the sake of his brother.
Yet if this was for nothing else, this was for him, to carry on that spirit that resonated so much with others. And indeed, his people were responding, forgetting their quarrels. He speaks, and with every line resonating with the promises of reconstruction and rebirth, the roars of the other dwarves grow ever louder. By the conclusion, there isn't a hall in Erebor that isn't reverberating from words that aren't his.
Balin takes him aside afterward and informs Fili he will do everything in his ability to support him. Then why couldn't you protect him, he wants to say, but he knows that's not fair. He casts aside the urge and tells Balin that he would be honored to have his advice and they will meet following breakfast. Fili has only one thought on his mind as he walks away.
Why couldn't I protect him?
Over the next couple days, Fili attends to all diplomatic business, no matter how menial. He sorts out trade routes with Bard, oversees the cleansing of the foulest spots and makes sure to thank the workers afterwards, sends out units to scour the rest of the orc packs, leads the caravan of apportioned treasure down to Lake Town, and even cordially meets with the Elvenking without lodging one of his knives (all returned to their hiding spots, at least) into Thranduil's throat. There is a never ending tide of duties to be fulfilled, but Fili endures, with no little help from the elder dwarves.
The burials are unbearable. They come far too early into his rule for Fili to feel any sense of closure, and with much pain he watches Dwalin and Bifur close the coffin over the Arkenstone and his uncle. Being of the line of Durin, his brother joins Thorin in the Tombs of the Kings, though in a side passage with an honorary grave for Frerin. Fili nearly interjects after the last dwarven rites are recited, his heart feeling like it is being cloven in two. He doesn't symbolically leave part of himself in that darkness; if anything, if he could, he would take his brother back with him. He stands through the rest of the burials, suffering in silence. The only blessing he has is that the services are conducted at sundown, allowing him to claim sanctuary in his quarters and mourn properly on his own. The rest of the party is too courteous to say anything the following morning.
He misses Bilbo's departure amid all of the bustle. It takes place on an unremarkable day, and there isn't any time to reflect on the hobbit's accomplishments, only to note the absence of two chests, a pony, and Gandalf.
At last, several nights later while they are pouring over preliminary city plans for Dale, Bombur realizes he doesn't know the last time he's seen Fili sleeping. Almost immediately Fili is ushered off despite his claims that there are greater priorities, but he is one against many, not to mention a guard is placed outside to make sure he does not wander off. It all happens so quickly that Fili spends some time blinking dumbfounded at the inside of his door.
They have a point, though- Fili himself has no recollections of anything more than a doze recently, although that may be a side-effect of the sleep deprivation- so he tries to turn his mind to rest. His body is certainly prepared, joints aching and muscles over-extended, eyes weakly struggling to stay open once he lies down. Maybe Bard's requests could wait. He attempts to clear his mind of all official business when-
"You are my one."
His eyes snap open and just like that all drowsiness abandons him. Such a simple statement is driving him mad. Ever since Fili had cradled his brother in his arms and listened to his final words, he can't get them out of his head. Every free moment is filled with endless repetition, and every repetition felt like an axe being driven into his gut.
Why hadn't he listened to his brother before the battle? Why had he been so sure that the two of them would emerge relatively unscathed? Instead, he had knowingly ignored his brother's concern, fear, and feelings for him solely for his own comfort.
Kili had told him he was his one, and Fili could not, cannot even give that to him. There was nothing he could give to him.
Fili does not sleep that night either, driven awake by his racing thoughts and burning sense of guilt as he hears over and over and over."You are my one," "You are my one," "You are my one."
That incident passes. And technically, so does every other wakeful night Fili spends haunted by these thoughts. They go unmentioned, unnoticed. He distracts himself with ruling, especially the relocation of his kindred dwarves from the Blue Mountains.
His mother arriving at the rebuilt gates of Erebor is a sight to behold. Dís has always been the most beautiful female to Fili, moreso than any wandering elf or charming Dale lady, because of the strength which he held herself when his father died. It is a strength that she has always possessed, but Fili only noticed it when she raised them alone and it shone the brightest when he and Kili left her for unfamiliar lands.
Dís has always been a queen, even when she was covered in dirt and sweat from a hard day's work, but now she has the garb and the caravan of other dwarves to back it up. She proudly marches into Erebor, a pinch between her eyes the only sign she was moved by returning to her childhood home. But her embrace is so light and fleeting Fili wonders if he has done something wrong.
He offers to lead her to the tombs, yet to both relief and confusion she declines and insists on joining him in his work. Having known of their arrival, Fili's only plans are to manage the resettlement, and so she joins him. Together they record names, occupations, and claims to the treasure, arrange for temporary living quarters, and hold a grand feast that evening in celebration of the kingdom's reunification. The entire time Dís barely speaks to him, and with each unsaid word Fili's anxiety grows. He doesn't know whether he wants to scream at her or cry, so he is extraordinarily grateful when the banquet ends, not knowing if his hand could stop shaking enough to raise another toast.
Some of the elder dwarves he had known well enough draw close as the festivities end and everyone either returns to their beds or finds a soft spot to drunkenly sleep, but in their congratulations refrain from slapping him on the back as they might have once done. He is their king now, not the runt with overambitious dreams. Fili laughs them off and waits in anticipation for his mother to see him privately, to explain.
She doesn't.
Fili goes into the next day twitching with anxiety and fear. He startles at every approach, something that has not occurred since Bilbo was in the company (hobbits are a surprising folk), and nearly cuts himself on an ancient blade when one of his counselors enters the armory during his inspection. He turns it into a feat of agility instead, and the mistake is overlooked. He is overlooked.
Dís is a force of nature. Fili wants to liken his mother to a storm at sea, only he has never been to the shore, or to a wave of dragon fire, only she is not nearly so cruel. But she is unstoppable, and unapproachable in her rigid demeanor. There is no time for soft conversations of childish longing- not that he would even be capable of that, for the longer Fili has to withstand her without a word, the more agitated he gets.
His patience eventually snaps and he summons Dís to his quarters one evening. He can barely look her at her, torn between his need to sob into her arms and to push her away. It's too much, too much.
"Ma," he chokes out.
"My son."
And that's all there is to it. That's when he knows that over the course of a year, something had been irrevocably shattered. She has never referred to him so plainly- no, so vaguely. He has always been her master-of-weapons son, her son with gold spun in his hair, her lionhearted son, for he and Kili were always together and needed to be distinguished.
Now there was no need to.
Fili reels in the urge to scream and stamp his feet- funny how, no matter how much has grown, he always reverts to a child around his mother- and musters all of his limited concentration to remain quiet. After a period of silence, she speaks again, but Fili hardly hears it; he waves her away, claiming the matter was resolved. Dís's footsteps gradually fade away, never losing their steady tempo, a beat that should have been interrupted by the rambunctious approach of two young dwarves, a wash basin in her arms on the verge of tipping over, and her own laughter. Fili sinks to the ground, not wanting to hear any more.
Fili's first mistake as king is not a large one. In fact, in the grand scale of his foolishness, it falls in between getting trapped (unharmed) in an empty mine shaft and accidentally lighting the end of Balin's beard on fire (it is a long story involving kingsfoil, one of Bifur's toys, and of course, Kili), and only so because of its wider scope. At one point, Fili would have been able to laugh the unreceived shipment of hares from the Woodland Realm off, but now it comes like a stab to the gut.
Truthfully, he understands that he had no control over the situation at all; he should be able to trust his financial ministers to send the proper payment to the elves, and he had been right to do so up to this point. It would require days of extra work if he read over every official document that came into his kingdom and guaranteed that it had a royal seal. Furthermore, he understands that the only ramification is that there is one less meat dish at the one year anniversary of Erebor's reclaiming.
Understanding doesn't prevent the flood of emotions from knocking him over when Fili realizes the error, because he doesn't understand where it is all coming from. Shame, thick and bubbling hot, runs through him, and underneath that, a painful current of guilt. Fili can't recall feeling like this on any occasion, except, except-
Except when Kili died. And any instance he ever thinks about Kili. The sense that he has let someone, anyone, down is too much to bear. Fili savagely attempts to distract himself, trying to forcefully reject the emotions by burying himself in his duties, but they only reassemble with greater strength. Every time his thoughts stumble upon the hares they return to Kili, a vicious cycle Fili needs more than a week to escape from.
"You are my one."
More often than not, Fili attempts to bleed out his extra tension through training. It is a practice he must keep up regardless, preserving the image of the dwarven warrior king and preparing himself for any sudden conflicts. Yet the long hours he is able to spend honing his abilities on every sword, every dagger, though useful in its distraction, do not come as easily as they used to. In less time he finds his heart rate higher and his breathing more labored. But his lungs and muscles are always aching nowadays, so he refuses to think anything of it.
Once the kingdom is settled down, Erebor in healthy stages of reconstruction, and no risk of imminent war with goblins, men, or elves, Balin comes to him with the next most important matter- producing an heir. And that means finding a spouse.
Of course, Balin understands better than anyone that dwarf marriages do not come easily, only after confirmation that the two are bound in the same earth and created out of the same form by Mahal. But with the relative peace as of late, the dwarven female population is high, and there is no better time to capitalize on that. At the end of the season, there is a congregation of forty dwarf maidens from Erebor, another fifteen from the Iron Hills, and ten from the Blue Mountains.
They come from all backgrounds, in all shapes, with varying lengths of beard and bearing proofs of their craftsmanship, for that was the nature of their courting. No amount of wealth or skill can guarantee a connection on either part, but both are certainly attractive features, normally.
Fili does not have the energy nor will to claim any as visually pleasing at the very least. His eyes are dull as he glances over them, and his whole body is weighted by signs of royalty, ruby-encrusted hair ornaments, robes woven like tapestries, and boots polished brighter than the finest gems. When he is forced to shuffle slightly in the process of descending from the throne, he cares little about the impression it must give.
Though no longer the youngest in everyone's eyes, Fili still does not understand exactly how finding a spouse works. He's attended several dwarf weddings and even officiated over some as king (with a piercing pain in his chest), so it is not the documentation that is foreign to him but the process of falling in love. According to Gloin, and even Bombur once he was persuaded to get a couple words out, one simply knows when they have found their beloved, and fortunately for his company members that affection was reciprocated.
So should he be feeling something other than annoyance after gazing upon so many potential faces? He waits for waxing violins and ethereal choirs to sound in his head, for him to just know, but that confidence never comes. He spends the afternoon speaking and entertaining each before hosting a feast with the finest meads from the Shire. Once they have been ushered to their respective accommodations, Fili releases a sigh of relief and heads off again in search of Balin.
He finds his closest advisor in an out of the way chamber, deep in discussion with the elders in charge of excavation. Fili summons him with a single word, although if he's not mistaken, Balin takes longer than usual to organize his papers and join him in the hall.
"Well?"
Balin's eyes flicker to where the conference is continuing without him, and Fili decides to get right to his point.
"I don't care for any of the suitors. You can send them back to their homes."
"Give it some time, lad. You never know when feelings will develop." Balin tries to wink, but it's a shadow of his usual mischievousness.
"I will not—" Fili cuts himself off, startled at the vehemence of his reaction and what was about to slip from his lips. The person he had on his mind.
"You will not what?" presses Balin, his voice rising as well.
Fili hesitates and decides to make his exit. "It is nothing. Don't worry Balin," he says, roughly clapping a hand on Balin's shoulder as he passes, "I will look at each of them seriously and fairly."
He doesn't know who backs out of the marriage negotiations first, he or his suitors.
"You are my one."
When the darkness seems to swell all around him, when even the vastness of the main hall closes in on him, Fili wishes Thorin was here. He escapes to the safe haven of the past where his uncle could solve any problem through a furrow of his eyebrows or a daring story, before he learned how fallible and broken Thorin was. He longs for that blind faith, and more so the hero figure to worship alongside it. Anyone who can take this burden of ruling, of making mistakes, is acceptable.
Even his mother, who had found things too irreconcilable with her memory and had returned to the Blue Mountains relatively soon following her arrival, would be welcome with open arms. Outside of the line of Durin and in his old age, Balin can only do so much for him, especially when the weight of the past is crushing Fili as well.
"You are my one."
In the silence of the deepest night, Fili awakes from another narrated nightmare and arrives at a conclusion.
Kili had to be his one.
There is no other explanation. Why else would he always be hearing his voice, repeating over and over in his mind? Why is that statement in particular haunting him above all others? Barely a couple hours would pass each day, whether morning or night, when he doesn't hear those damned words, over and over and over again, like a condemnation, like a chant known by memory, like a torch flickering in the darkness. It has to be guiding him somewhere; it has to mean something.
Why is always thinking about Kili, missing him, dwelling on their lives together? Everything is a reminder of the brother he has lost- spinning tops, like Kili's first attempt at craftsmanship; autumn leaves, the same color as the ones Fili had once woven into crowns for them; hard biscuits, that crumble just like those Dís had packed when they accompanied trading caravans. Why does he even see Kili's features in unfamiliar faces, and why do more than a few dwarves seem to share the same silhouette as his brother from the back?
Otherwise, why else does he always feel so guilty, as if every error in judgment is caused by his same flaws of indecisiveness and foolishness? As if every error is related to his greatest one, that of letting go of Kili?
It was love, and he had lost it.
From then on, Fili sleeps easier, refuses to meet any more suitors, and is much more assertive in his ruling. If Kili and their potential bond died because of his fear, he can no longer afford to be afraid. That's another thing that changes- Fili begins to talk openly about Kili, regarding his death and his enduring valor even at the end. The others share smiles at this; for a while they have been silent on the matter, not wanting to reopen recent wounds.
As for his love for Kili, Fili carries it tight in his chest. Just knowing that they were remarkable together is enough to grant him strength. In his free hours, Fili lingers in the tombs, pressing his head against the coffin. Nothing else makes him feel so complete.
A total of seven years pass before Gandalf returns to Erebor. He arrives unannounced to all, and simply says to Balin, "I think this would be a good time to pay an old friend a visit." Instantly plans are devised for the duo's journey to Hobbiton; baggage is packed, provisions are provided, and dwarves young and old crowd around Gandalf, wanting to show off their wares to one of the heroes from the Battle of Five Armies. Gandalf himself is rather disinterested, though he gives a couple polite compliments before excusing himself to speak to the king. Fili allows him to approach the throne, and he believes them to be having a pleasant conversation when Gandalf suddenly interrupts.
"You are not the same dwarf that I left in charge of the Lonely Mountain. You remind me of your uncle."
Fili bristles slightly at the implication that Erebor is not his birthright, and cordially replies. "That is a great honor."
"I would not consider it a compliment, Master Dwarf."
Before Fili can respond to that barb, Gandalf sweeps himself away to Balin's side, and considering the wizard royally dismissed, other dwarves swarm around him. Fili crosses his arms and lets Gandalf enjoy his petty admiration.
At midday, the sun beats on the ponies laden with luggage, yellowed maps are in hand, and the two-man company finally extracts itself from the others. By now, most of the original party has gathered at the gate as well, calling out best wishes and messages to Bilbo. Balin promises to deliver them all and packs away an empty red book bound by Ori as a gift. Fili keeps his distance from the commotion, as does Bofur.
Only when Gandalf and Balin have left does Bofur speak.
"Makes you want to go with them, doesn't it?" He laughs, hard and forced.
"My duty is here, as is everyone else's."
The longing to drop everything and travel is alien to Fili, especially over so many leagues and for so little a purpose. He scowls and turns away, seeking to put some distance between him and the sentimental lot. Bofur, sensing his displeasure, runs after him to try and make amends.
"I'm just saying, it would be nice to have the whole company back together again."
Fili whips around, stopping short so there is little space between him and Bofur. "It wouldn't be the whole company."
Bofur's eyes widen, and Fili can practically see the gears in his head furiously turning to come up with a response. When there isn't one after a couple moments, Fili lets out an exasperated snort.
"You're a fool if you think things will ever be the same without Kili."
"You're not the only one who lost someone that day!"
Fili reels back, stung. Bofur continues, a fire in him lit.
"I would give anything, anything for things to be different. For all of us to have met under different circumstances. I'd give up this kingdom and all of its wealth if we could have just stayed in Bilbo's house that night and considered that good enough!"
"That's not your choice to make!"
Fili suddenly realizes that eyes are on them and their voices have been echoing across the hall. Panic surges through him for a moment before he smothers it under a forced calm. Across from him, Bofur's chest is heaving from the yelling, and he opens his mouth for another tirade when Fili cuts him off.
"Enough. I will not continue this conversation. Nothing can be done about the past, and that is final."
Bofur clenches his teeth, but then his eyes dart to Fili's crown. He mumbles an apology, or an excuse, and takes his leave. Fili stands his ground.
Whether because of his argument with Bofur or other indications of his developing disposition, Fili becomes known as a temperamental king around Erebor. The whisperings aren't particularly desirable, but Fili refuses to let them affect him. If anything, he has become a better ruler as of late. His assertiveness is demanding obedience, a prior struggle due to his age. The number of meetings he finds too tedious and aggravating increases, although such is the nature of peace, and he simply handles those by delegating them off to others or having Balin at hand.
If their relationship with the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood becomes colored with tension, it's because they view Erebor as an established power not to be underestimated. And if Gimili, his former companion and troublemaker, ducks his eyes whenever he passes, it's because he has come to recognize himself as only a subject in his presence.
The kingdom, and Fili himself, are something to fear.
Sometimes, he can't help but remember.
Sometimes, when he holds one of his knives a certain way, or hears the clash of notched iron against iron, he can't help but feel the memory come to life in his bones. The clash of blades, the heavy gait of warg footfalls, the stench of blood and sweat and trampled corpses that sends stomach bile rushing straight to his throat- all of it returns. He is painfully aware of the old scars reopening, beating back the medicine of time and stitches to lay waste to his body. His muscles ache and ache, but he can't stop moving, can't stop swinging.
Above everything else, the thick presence of fear smothers him, its hold tighter than his mother's last embrace before he left to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. It drives out every speck of wisdom from his head until nothing save for the inevitability of cruel death remains.
He's too tense. His ligaments overextend and nearly snap under the pressure of another thrust forward, another slash. The backlash of colliding weapons send painful reverberations down his arm, and he nearly drops his weapon as his fingers go numb. Another stab of terror. He covers his openings with his free arm and takes another vicious swipe in desperation. This time, there's the satisfying sensation of something giving way underneath his blow, and he advances for a finishing strike.
He can hear his brother's voice, whispering to him to press forward.'Fili… Fili… Fili…'
"FILI!"
Fili blinks, and pulls back his swing just in time to block an axe headed straight for his face. Right in front of him is Dwalin, both hands wielding Grasper and an angry snarl escaping from him lips. Behind Dwalin, the small figure of Ori cowers on the ground, shield and staff shattered around him. Fili has a moment of blinding confusion before he remembers.
He had asked Ori to train with him.
"Are you crazy?!" Dwalin is shouting at him. "You nearly killed him!"
Fili doesn't move. More apparent to him than Dwalin's looming figure is the look Ori is giving him, not entirely of fright but more of confusion, like he's viewing him for the first time.
"Look at me!"
Fili finally steps back and sheaths his knives. He brushes some of the dirt and dust from his clothes.
"I don't know what's going on in your head, but if this happens again…"
He stares Dwalin straight in the eye. "I understand," is all he says before he summons some servants to take his training armor and leaves them behind.
It takes years for Fili to slip into a regular sleeping pattern, and even longer than that to dream again. When he does, descends into the deepest mine shafts, walks among the heavens and the setting sun, and captures the light of the morning star into a single gem. He sneaks past sleeping trolls, dines with the liveliest in Bree, and relives the day when Thorin taught him how to forge a hammer. And yet, despite all of his nighttime escapades, he never sees his brother, not once.
He can't handle much more of this. How beautiful would it be for them to finally reunite in a world in between living and death, for the darkness to be penetrated by Kili's wild grin and the stars in his eyes! Every evening he lays down his head and closes his eyes with the intention of finding Kili somewhere in the depths of his dreams, thinks and thinks and thinks about him just before he nods off, but his brother is nowhere to be found. And each time he wakes up without a trace of Kili, the disappointment and pit in his gut grows.
Does he not love Kili enough to see him? Is this some sort of punishment? Has he not devoted enough of his life to his brother to deserve at least this?
Is he unworthy?
Finally, Fili tries to stop sleeping altogether. To be tempted each night by the hopes of a reunion is too cruel. Maybe he's a bit more irritated as a result, maybe some days his body feels like it's on fire, but he can endure.
"I'm leaving, Fili."
And that's it. That is the only farewell Fili gets when Balin finalizes the colonization plans for Moria and gathers his dwarves for departure. The plans have been in the process of formulation for years now, an idea of Fili's that blossomed into fruition with the fanatic approval of his counselors, save Balin. He had always urged caution, remembering the Battle of Azanulbizar and its incredible losses at the feet of the Misty Mountains. More than once Balin had stormed out of the conferences, but as of late, Balin has seemingly come around to his persuasion of the glory of reviving one of the original seven kingdoms and expanding the dominance of dwarves.
But Fili cannot even deceive himself with that. Fili doesn't know when their relationship changed, when every interaction turned into an argument and Balin started looking at him with something akin to disappointment in his eyes. When Balin would no longer intervene to smoothen out relations between him and Thranduil, when Fili wouldn't support Balin's position on how bread to purchase when Fili himself knew that he was right. When Fili would rather stare at useless documents than admit Balin was leaving.
Balin tarries by the door, but when Fili doesn't look up at him, he releases a sigh and walks on.
He isn't the only one abandoning him. Ori and Oin were among the many hoping to make a fortune in Moria over Erebor, though at least it appears to be a difficult choice for them. Both are leaving behind brothers; Oin is only opting to go as the most competent healer in the kingdom, and Nori had forsaken Erebor long ago, but Fili has heard the numerous disputes between Dori and Ori, the way Dori's voice grows ever higher in pitch before Ori says something low and indistinguishable, and then Dori shoots a glance over to Fili and reluctantly agrees.
Fili only appears at the departure for ceremonial purposes. There are no true orders to deliver or questions to be answered; all of the preparations have been completed for months, and some dwarves left a week prior to scout out the path. Fili has a short speech prepared for him that he dutifully recites before a line of warriors blow their horns in farewell. The note sounds loud and clear over the landscape, echoing through the valleys below, and only ceases when the entire group has passed through the gates and its doors slam shut. Balin does not look back, not even once.
And then Fili is alone. But not in a manner that matters. He doesn't need any of them, not Balin, not Ori, not Nori, not Oin, not Thorin. He doesn't need anything besides his love for Kili- the special connection they shared, the strength of his attachment reminding Fili that he is alive. No one could understand the bond that he and Kili share, not even Gloin who has found his one because it isn't the same. Gloin hasn't spent his entire life with his one, not like Fili and Kili have. It isn't the same, it isn't the same.
Fili spends his lucid hours in the iridescent world of his memories, of the time when they were both alive. Of ankles deep in freezing mountain springs, of nights spent on pine needle beds crowded under the blanketed sky, of near-misses and brushes with stone giants and death. They shared so many quick glances and lingering touches meant only for each other. There was so much love, and they were so happy together.
Knowing that, Fili doesn't need anything else.
But that isn't true.
The more and more Fili dwells on it, the faster his heart races and the more his chest burns. And the longer he spends in his memories, the more unsure he becomes. In the middle of a conference, Fili pulls himself away and runs back to his quarters, physically ill.
As much as he searches through his memories, he can't find any. He can't find any where he felt anything more than brotherly affection or familial concern towards Kili. He's tried so hard to convince himself, to give at least this to Kili, that now he has nothing left.
He collapses on the ground, pounding his fists onto the floor. The physical pain is nothing in comparison to the crushing weight of his realization. The strangled screams coming from his mouth are more animal than dwarf, and his body shudders with the force of his sobbing. He dry heaves once, twice.
He didn't love Kili. He doesn't love Kili. It feels like he's losing him all over again.
He wants Kili to be his one so desperately. He wants to have something to hold onto, something to justify all of these years of pain and unfulfilled mourning. Instead, he has nothing, he has no one, he has no-
Suddenly strong arms wrap around him from behind, pull him off the floor. The rush of vertigo sends black spots dancing into his vision, and he can barely get enough air into his strangled lungs, but the unabashed contact seems to be what he's been waiting for this entire time. Fili surrenders control and sags into the other's arms.
"There there, lad. Just let it all out. We'll get through. We'll get by."
As the darkness spreads to all of his sight, and his extremities numb, Fili isn't sure he believes those words.
But he wants to, and that's good enough for now.
Though we sleep beneath stone for now, one day we will awaken to take our hammers once more
- a line from traditional dwarven funeral rites
-end