Those who have read "Choices" might remember the part in which Bombur tells Bofur about the time Fíli and Thorin showed up in his shop, shortly after Fíli's and Kíli's father died. This one-shot tells the story of that day from Thorin's point of view.

Happy birthday, Gisela! I hope you enjoy this fic and have a fantastic day today!

Despite everything

Thorin had never known that a single dwarf could make such noise. The walls of the home he shared with his sister were shaking with every wailing cry, each sound louder and more ear-deafening than the previous, and Thorin covered his ears to shut everything out. It was to no avail, of course, and to make matters worse he suddenly felt someone tugging at his trouser leg.

"Uncle?"

Before him stood a little dwarfling, barely reaching to his hips, who stared at the older one with wide, blue eyes. He looked worried, more worried than a child his age should, Thorin thought with a heavy heart.

"What is it, Fíli?" he asked and swiftly pulled his nephew up to let him sit on his lap.

"What's wrong with Kee?"

Thorin smiled a little, despite the noises coming from the nursery.

"Nothing is wrong with him. He's just a little cranky, and decided to take it out on your Ma."

Fíli creased his forehead and bit his lip.

"That's not fair," he said after a moment of thinking. "Why is he unfair?"

Thorin sighed, already wishing he had given the young dwarf a different answer. Now that Fíli could speak properly, he loved nothing more than firing question after question at the grown-ups, and Balin seemed to be the only one who never failed to answer each and every one of them.

Fíli had tried it with Dwalin, the younger brother of Balin, but had soon found out that with Dwalin, 'Stop' meant 'stop'. Thorin grinned as he remembered Fíli's disappointment, and the look on Dwalin's face that had shown his immediate regret for being so harsh.

"He doesn't mean it, Fíli," he answered his nephew, who had just undone the silver clasp that held Thorin's braid in place.

With his small fingers Fíli was incredibly fast when it came to opening things that ought to remain closed, like the door to Dís' pantry or the lid of the box with his favourite cookies. It was not hard to imagine that someday the tiny hands would wield a sword or an axe with the same ease, but it was a thought that Thorin tried to shove to the back of his head.

"He is just a baby, he doesn't know that he is bothering us with his crying. It's what babies do."

"Me, too?" Fíli asked almost in shock, as if he couldn't believe that he had once been just as small and fragile as his little brother. It wasn't so long ago, Thorin reminisced, that Fíli had been born. Five years wasn't much in the reckoning of dwarves, and yet these five years since the birth of his heir had changed everything.

The older dwarf tousled Fíli's blonde locks.

"Yes, you as well. Although I admit that you didn't cry as much as Kíli."

It made him wonder what that said about the brothers' personalities. It fitted Fíli, his sister's eldest, who had always rather kept his emotions to himself and who had never really caused any trouble. Kíli was only three months old, but Thorin guessed that he would be different.

Just as different as he and Frerin had been.

He choked and hoped that Fíli wouldn't notice. But luckily, he was focused on undoing Thorin's braid, which the black-haired dwarf acknowledged with a chuckle and a failed attempt at giving his nephew a scolding look when the young one smiled at him expectantly.

Only then he realised that the crying had stopped.

"I think your brother has decided to give us all some rest after all," he joked, and Fíli nodded solemnly as if Thorin had just explained the creation of Arda to him. "Shall we go and see him and your Ma?"

Fíli was off his lap in a heartbeat, and Thorin followed quickly. He and Fíli arrived at the nursery simultaneously, and Thorin opened the door carefully and peeped into the room. He wasn't sure whether the danger was banned completely, knowing full well that Dís would have his hide if he woke Kíli again now. Fíli didn't think of this, of course, and rushed past Thorin before he had a chance to stop him.

"Is he alright, Ma?" he asked nervously, his gaze wandering from his little brother to his mother and back while he covered Dís's hand, which was supporting Kíli's small head, with his own.

"He's fine, love," replied his mother with a smile. But when her eyes met Thorin's, he could see how tired she was. Her eyes were red even in the dimly lit room, and he wondered if she had been crying, too.

One month. One month ago their life as they'd known it had been changed irrevocably forever, and he had been left in charge for his sister and her two sons. Two young dwarf princes who would now grow up without a father, because a single arrow had sealed their father's fate in an ambush that should have killed Thorin, not Lîam.

Not his sister's husband.

Not his heirs' father.

"Thorin?"

He blinked rapidly and went over to his sister, who watched him with worry in her eyes. Reassuringly he squeezed her shoulder as he looked down on Kíli, who was now sleeping soundly in his mother's arm.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly.

"I will be."

She spoke with unwavering certainty, and Thorin knew she was right. His sister was as strong as any Durin, maybe even stronger than most, and while this was a new challenge life had thrown at her, she would prove to everyone that one couldn't spell 'enduring' without 'Durin'.

He watched as Dís buried her nose in the black hair of her baby, and he understood that she needed to be alone. She didn't have to tell him, and had he asked she probably would have denied and gotten up to make tea.

"Come with me, Fíli," Thorin said, and both his sister and his nephew looked at him in surprise.

"I wanna stay with Kee!" Fíli protested, and already his cheeks reddened.

"Thorin – "

"No, Dís, it's fine. Get some rest. Me and Fíli will be back soon."

"But uncle Thorin –"

"We can go and visit Bombur, now, what do you say?"

He grinned when Fíli's face lit up immediately at the idea of going to the toy shop. Bombur and his cousin Bifur were working there now, since old Borur had retired. The shop was running formidably, and not only the children of Ered Luin, but also those of traveling merchants loved the toys these two dwarves made every day.

He took Fíli by the hand – not after the young one had said goodbye to his brother, of course – and when he turned his head again at the door and saw Dís rocking Kíli in her arm, humming to herself, he knew that he had made the right decision.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The streets of Ered Luin were crowded, and everywhere dwarves greeted the black-haired dwarf and his little companion. Thorin and his family were well known in the village, of course, and normally Thorin would stop and chat with some of them. But today Fíli was demanding his attention, and he was more than willing to give it to him. It wasn't often that he spent time alone with his nephew, not when politics were keeping him busy – something he cursed more than often than not, especially now that his sister needed him more than ever. But it had to be done, he knew that.

"Ma was crying, wasn't she?" Fíli blurted out suddenly, and Thorin nearly tripped as he stopped abruptly.

Fíli eyed him questioningly, although Thorin was sure that the dwarfling knew the answer.

"Yes, she was," he sighed, thinking that no child should have to see their parents cry as Fíli had seen his mother cry. Dís shouldn't cry as she did. Lîam shouldn't be gone.

"Because of Da?" Fíli asked in a small voice. "Because he left?"

A crowded street wasn't the right place for such a conversation, but as all children, Fíli didn't care about such things.

"Because he died, yes. She misses him. You miss him, too, don't you?"

Fíli nodded, and Thorin almost expected him to start crying. But his nephew only pinched his nose and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment.

"Does Kee miss him?"

It was a completely unexpected question, one that Thorin himself had never thought of. Truth was, Kíli would probably not even remember his father in the future. He would grow up without ever remembering the deep, fierce love Lîam had had for his sons and his wife, and instead Kíli would know his father only through the stories of others.

"Yes, I think he does," he said softly and stroke Fíli's hair.

Fíli remained silent for the rest of the way until they reached the toy shop.

The doorbell rang as they entered, and immediately they heard Bombur's heavy footsteps approaching. The dwarf was nearing his one hundredth birthday, and for a dwarf so young it was already plain to see that he would follow in his father's footsteps in more than one way. His father Borur was almost twice the width of any other dwarf, and Thorin had no doubt that his son, who had a very sweet tooth and who took lunch break almost every hour on the hour, would eventually even rival him.

He kept that thought to himself, of course. Bombur was a fine lad, and that was all that mattered.

"Thorin, what brings you here?" Bombur greeted his friend. Only then he spotted Fíli, and with a bright smile he bent down and patted Fíli's back with his enormous hand.

"Fíli, lad, you've grown since I last saw you! Not long and you'll have a beard as long as mine," he joked, and Fíli laughed.

It was good to hear him laugh like that, Thorin thought. Mahal knew they hadn't had much to be joyful about lately.

"Hello Mister Bombur," said Fíli politely, bouncing up and down on his small feet, unable to hide his excitement that came automatically whenever he entered the shop. The shelves were filled with all kinds of carved figurines, animals mostly, some of which moved with the help of thin strings, while others even seemed to work magically by themselves. Bigger wooden figures were placed on the ground. A wooden horse almost the size of a dog caught Fíli's attention, and in the blink of an eye he stood next to it.

"Woah, this is great!" he exclaimed, and then squealed when Bombur lifted him up and placed him on top of the toy horse. Thorin exchanged a grin with Bombur, knowing that his nephew would be occupied for the next minutes.

"So, the shop is going well, I suppose?"

"Never been better. Bifur is helping me, of course – what he lacks in communication, he makes up for when he is in the workshop."

As if on cue, Bifur emerged from the workshop just then, his tunic and hair covered in sawdust, and as always his eyes were glinting a bit wildly as he perceived Thorin. The latter was polite enough to not look at the remains of the axe that were stuck in the toymaker's head. An encounter with an orc had left it there as a constant reminder of the dangers out in the wild, and for no known reason the injury had made Bifur forget how to speak Westron. Óin said it was because the ability to speak was hidden in one corner of the brain, and that Bifur was indeed lucky that Mahal had left him this ability, even though it was now reduced to Khuzdul, the secret language of the dwarves. It didn't really matter, anyway. The dwarves could understand him – not that he spoke too often, Bifur had always kept his conversations to a minimum with anyone but his cousins – and that was what mattered.

"Thorin," the dwarf muttered, signing a Welcome gesture. Sign language was his other means of communication, one he seemed more comfortable with. Fortunately, he was at least still able to understand Westron, which often led to conversations that confused outsiders from other town. Westron, Khuzdul, Iglishmêk, plus a few grunts here and there when Bifur became frustrated about the other's lack of understanding – it was no surprise that customers usually preferred talking to Bombur.

"Hello Bifur, I hope all is well?"

"Sul ghelekh barkûr ra turg," Bifur answered and bowed his head. It was his usual response, and it would most likely be all Thorin would hear from him for the rest of his visit.

"And how is your brother?" he asked Bombur, wondering when he had last seen Bofur. Bombur's little brother had to be in his eighties now, not yet fully grown-up, but not a child anymore, either.

"Bofe is doing great, the lazy sod," Bombur said and rolled his eyes. "Rumour has it he is working in the mine, but I say the only treasure he's after is found at the bottom of a tankard or beneath the skirt of a lass."

Bifur chuckled, and Thorin glanced quickly in the direction of his young companion. But Fili hadn't even been listening, so Thorin didn't have to fear that his dear nephew would ask his mother about treasures in tankards any time soon, let alone any other sorts of treasures.

"Speaking of lasses, I hear you're going to get married?"

At this Bombur actually blushed and smiled almost dreamily.

"Aye, that's right. We haven't set a date yet, though."

Thorin patted him on the back, thinking to himself how good these news were for the dwarves in Ered Luin. It was a well-known problem that there were only few dwarf women, and contrary to popular belief among men, dwarves couldn't be hewn from stone like their ancestors, the first children of Aulë. Children were needed, especially when many of the older dwarves died before their time.

Life had been cruel to his sister, but she had been blessed as well with two healthy sons. It was more than many other dwarves could say for themselves.

"Fíli, come here!" he called, and Fíli happily obliged. He beamed at the three older dwarves, and even Bifur smiled.

"When can I learn to ride properly?" he asked eagerly, his gaze wandering back to the wooden horse in the corner.

"You'll have to wait a bit longer for that," Thorin replied. Seeing disappointment in the young one's eyes, he quickly changed the subject. "But now go ahead and pick a toy for yourself," he added, and of course Fíli's eyes became wide at the idea.

"I can pick anything?" he asked incredulously, and Thorin hastily told him that the wooden horse was out of the question. It had, in fact, only been meant for decoration back in Borur's time, but Bombur was too kind to deny the children the joy of playing with it.

Fíli was silent for a moment, gazing at the shelves around him, obviously taking his time for a decision as important as this. After what seemed like minutes he went towards a side of the room which held the toy swords, which Thorin hadn't even noticed before. Fíli reached for a wooden sword that was hung up on the wall and turned his head towards Thorin.

"I would like that," he said in a determined voice. It wasn't exactly what his uncle had had in mind, though. These toys, though of wood, were for older children who used them for small fights in the streets and for re-enacting heroic battles of the past.

"Aren't you a bit too young for that, laddie?" Bombur asked as if he could read Thorin's thoughts.

"I need it," Fíli insisted, looking pleadingly at his uncle. Thorin didn't fail to notice how his choice of words had changed ever so slightly. It made his heart clench, although he didn't exactly know why.

"What do you need a sword for, hm?"

"To protect Kee."

It was only three words, but it was enough to make the three grown-ups stare at the young boy with wide eyes. Just three words, but they had been spoken with fierce determination that proved what Thorin had known ever since the day of Kíli's birth.

It was natural for older brothers to look out for their siblings, and Fíli was no exception. But somehow Thorin knew that for his nephew, it wasn't just a phrase. Nor had it been for Thorin when Frerin had been born. Older brothers would walk into a dragon's lair unarmed for their younger brothers; they would move mountains and go through fire only to keep them safe.

Thorin had learned the hard way that sometimes all of this wasn't enough.

He could feel his eyes starting to burn and he quickly turned away from Bombur to pick the wooden sword off the hanger. It was beautiful indeed, with intricate patterns carved into the blade and runes on the hilt. But of course the blade was blunt, not of metal but only painted silver.

"You shall have it," he said quietly and handed the sword to Fíli, who took it with both hands and gaped at it in awe. His small fingers followed the pattern, then grabbed the hilt. It was plain to see that wielding a sword came as naturally to him as breathing, and deep down Thorin had always known that.

But for now, it was only a toy sword, and it would be several years more until it would be replaced by a sharp blade. If it was up to Thorin, his nephew could well wait a bit longer than he himself had done as a child.

"Thank you, uncle," Fíli mumbled and hugged Thorin, and the older one got down on one knee and planted a kiss onto his blonde hair. He didn't care that Bombur and Bifur were watching.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After a long goodbye from Bombur and Bifur, Thorin and Fíli found themselves back on the street as they headed towards their home. Fíli glanced at his sword from time to time which now hung from his belt, but his expression was sincere, not like the joyful grin one would expect from someone who had just been given such a present. If anything, it was even more proof to Thorin that he had been right in giving it to Fíli. Many young dwarves loved the fight, the thrill that came with overpowering an opponent, the victory. But somehow, it was even now plain to see that Fíli was different. He was eager to learn how to fight, of course, but Thorin realised that, for Fíli, it would never be about victory. It would always be about something much more important.

Lost in thought, he almost stumbled when someone called his name. He stopped and turned around, smiling when he recognised the familiar face.

"Mister Dwalin!" Fíli exclaimed excitedly, and indeed it was Dwalin. Thorin hadn't seen his best friend in a while, and therefore the two older dwarves greeted each other heartily. It included a blow to the head and a clap on the back that could cleave a tree trunk, but they laughed while they gave each other scrutinising looks.

"Your hair is getting grey, my friend," Dwalin said mockingly, before turning towards Fíli. "Are you giving your uncle a hard time, laddie?"

"I'm not! But Kíli cries a lot and Ma makes uncle do the chores all the time and he doesn't like it."

At least Dwalin had the decency to suppress a grin, while Thorin looked rather mortified.

"Does she, now?" the tattooed dwarf asked and raised his eyebrows. "Good to know who's wielding the hammer in that house. Tell her I approve."

His expression became sombre.

"How is she holding up?"

"You know her, she's tougher than the rest of us."

"Aye, that she is."

The two dwarves stood in silence for a moment, while Fíli was swinging his sword, alternating between his right hand and his left. It was true, then, Thorin thought. He had indeed inherited his father's ambidexterity. Dwalin was watching him, too, and Thorin knew that his friend was thinking the same thing. Only then he noticed that the bald dwarf had changed since he had last seen him.

"A new tattoo, Dwalin?"

At that Fíli stopped his game and curiously looked at the older dwarf, who nodded at Thorin's question. He bowed his head a little so that Fíli could see it, too, and the blonde narrowed his eyes as he looked at the rune.

"What does it mean?"

Fíli only knew Dwalin as the fierce-looking, tattooed warrior that he now was, but he had not always been like that. It was only after the Battle of Azanulbizar that Dwalin had shaved off his mohawk and replaced it with ink. The first tattoo had been done in remembrance of his father, the renowned warrior Fundin, and ever since many more had come as the years had passed.

"It's for your Pa," Dwalin said as his finger touched the side of his head. "Just like this here, for your uncle's brother, and that one for my own Pa. This way I remember them, and they watch over me in battle."

Fíli looked genuinely impressed.

"Can I have one, too?" he asked and looked at Thorin, who groaned and wondered what his sister would say should her son utter that wish in her presence.

"Of course not."

"But…"

Fíli but his lip and didn't speak further, looking suddenly sad. Before Thorin could ask what was wrong, though, Dwalin was down on one knee before the young dwarf.

"You don't need something like this to remember your Pa, Fíli lad. Not when he lives in here," and he pointed at Fíli's heart. "He'll look out for you even if you can't see him. I know my Pa does."

Fíli seemed to ponder this, and Dwalin winked at Thorin as he straightened his back.

"I've also got a sword now," Fili said, proudly showing his new toy to Dwalin, who took it from his small hands and examined it carefully, swinging it a few times and running his thumb down the blade as if it was a sword made for war rather than for games.

And Mahal be willing, it would be all games for Fíli for a long time, Thorin prayed silently.

"That's a fine sword you've got there," Dwalin said appreciatively. He glanced at Thorin, then handed the sword back to Fíli. "What do you think, shall we test it?"

He patted the sheath that was attached to his belt, in which his own small sword was hidden. There was no reason to walk around fully armed in Ered Luin, so that his famous battle axes were stashed away at home, but Dwalin never left the house without at least a minimum of protection.

"Oh yes, yes, please uncle, may I?" Fíli shouted in glee, and Thorin thought that it wasn't the worst idea to keep Fíli away from the house a while longer. His sister would surely approve if the time of peace and quiet was extended.

"Sure, go with Dwalin. Be home for dinner, though!"

"I will, uncle," Fíli said impatiently and Thorin could see that it took all of his nephew's willpower to not tug Dwalin's sleeve. Mahal knew how much he would like that.

He put his hand onto Dwalin's broad shoulder.

"Tell your brother I said hello."

"Sure."

"And we should really meet at the pub again soon, it's been too long."

At this Dwalin smiled and punched him gently against the chest.

"Empty words, my friend, empty words. But seriously," he added with a more serious tone, "I know you're all going through a tough time. Just let me or Balin know if there's anything we can do. As long as it doesn't include doing the dishes," he said, winking at his friend.

Thorin nodded, being fully aware that Dwalin meant every word he said. Still, Thorin had never been one to ask for help unless absolutely necessary. Durin stubbornness and his damn pride, Dís would call it, and she wasn't entirely wrong. Through the years, Thorin had gotten used to rely on himself rather than on others. He had learned the hard way that others too often turned away when they were most needed.

But Dwalin would not turn away. It was one of the few things in life Thorin was certain of.

He ruffled Fíli's hair for a last time, and the blonde laughed and swung his sword, not even noticing that he missed his uncle's leg by a hair's breadth. Thorin turned to Dwalin again.

"Look after Fíli, will you?"

"Always."

It was all Dwalin needed to say, and thus Thorin left him in charge of his nephew, who chatted away as he walked down the street next to the tall, black-bearded dwarf.

Thorin himself headed home, humming quietly as he inhaled the clean, warm summer air as he passed the houses of the village that had become a refuge for him and his family, all those years ago. Still people were bustling about, ponies were pulling cartridges laden with goods, from somewhere he could hear the ringing sound of a hammer, and the scent of fire from the forges made him smile.

It was a good life they had, despite everything.

And someday, he would bring his family home.

Land of sun and land of moonlight

Land that gave us joy and sorrow

Land that gave us love and laughter

We will go home across the mountains

(Caitlin Matthews, "Song of the Exile (We will go home)")

A/N1: Sul ghelekh barkûr ra turg = All is well with axe and beard.

A/N2: I hope I'll eventually find the time for longer fics again, but right now I'm busy sorting through my old ones, deciding which ones are good enough to contribute to a collection that will be given to William Kircher at HobbitCon - any suggestions from your sides? I guess I ought to start writing about Bifur now LOL