A/N: Hello my dears! I wish you a happy New Year and truly all the best for 2018! May it bring joy, light, love and health to you!
I am truly, truly sorry for my long silence. Last year has been full of many changes, many decisions - I have learned so much, about so many things. Some about work, but a lot about me - it wasn't always shiny, often unexpected, and I have struggled with writing. Because I realized that, as long as I didn't know where I stood, there would be too much of me in my characters - and it made me feel too vulnerable. Now that my path seems a little clearer, their voices came back. I'm not sure if I can keep fully out of my characters - I'm not even sure I should. But I think that it's so much better to allow them to be themselves, so that you can fill them with your feelings, and your thoughts.
I hope you will be happy to read them again, in this sequel of "The Stars, The Oliphaunt and The Warrior", that I started months ago and was finally able to finish. Please know that they missed you, and me as well. I promise I'll try to work on my other stories soon.
Much love, Meysun.

The Strongest Flame

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T.A. 2684, summer.

.

This year, the summer is very hot, and very bright. The air outside feels like fire, when the shadows are at their longest, but when Fíli asks 'amad if it is hot enough for him to turn his breath into flames, like a Dragon, 'amad turns very still, and then she shakes her head and crouches, until she meets his eyes.

"No, my gem. Never. We do not breathe fire.

- But…

- We master it."

'Amad's eyes are like sapphires. Like the summer sky, when there is not a single cloud left. But this time, this time, they look like a deep, dark lake – there is something in them Fíli cannot place, something that makes them look like Thorin's.

Fíli is not allowed to go with Thorin in the forges, because he is too small, but he knows that 'amad is telling the truth – because Thorin knows how to handle fire. He makes it bend the iron, and shape whatever Thorin wants: a sword, a knife, new soldiers for Fíli… And things that are smaller, and more beautiful – like the tiny medal around Kíli's neck.

For protection, and blessing, because Kíli is a very small baby – to keep him strong and happy until they Name him. And Kíli is very happy – Fíli makes sure of that, playing with his little feet, tickling his face with his braids, and telling him about everything he sees, so that Kíli learns.

But Kíli sleeps a lot, and doesn't know how to talk back, or walk or play. 'Amad has promised him that he will, very soon, but there are still moments where Fíli wishes his brother would be bigger, so that he'd never be bored and alone anymore.

This day is very hot – and Kíli sleeps all the time. 'Amad is hanging the clothes to dry outside, between the apple trees – and Fíli is bored. So he plays a game he loves – he plays searching for cold spots in the house: under the table, but there's nothing interesting there. Then he goes to Thorin's room and leans his cheek against his iron chest, for a very very long time, until it gets warm under his skin.

And then Fíli spots the door hinges, and smiles. Because they are made of iron, and iron is always cold. So Fíli wraps his fingers around the hinges, until they warm, and he does so with every single door, even Kíli's, opening it very silently so that he does not wake up.

Fíli warms up every door – except the front door. This one has big hinges, three of them, and Fíli's finger are almost too small to wrap them in, he has to squeeze his fingers very tightly in the space between the door and the wall.

"I'm going to warm you up", he whispers, and he's so engrossed into his game that he doesn't hear the handle move.

But he feels the door open, squeezing his fingers hard.

And for a while nothing happens, nothing but black in front of Fíli's eyes, and fire in Fíli's fingers, heavy boots on the floor and lighter steps behind...

But then Fíli wails.

He wails and there is no air left in his lungs, no air and it feels like he'll choke, like he'll never manage to find air left to cry again, and there is pain in his hand. It throbs, throbs, throbs, and all this time Fíli just screams.

He screams because of the blue that is beginning to cross his fingers – he sees it clearly now that his fingers have been pulled from the door. He screams because he hurts, because he is terrified, because he has never even dreamt this could happen, and all the time his hand throbs, and throbs, and throbs.

Someone takes his hand, and Fíli knows it is Thorin, even though his eyes are swimming with tears, and his body is shaking with sobs – and suddenly he is lifted, pressed against Thorin's chest who's saying words Fíli fails to understand, because he is still screaming.

And then Thorin runs.

And Fíli is still crying, sobs muffled into his uncle's shirt – but Thorin runs, runs like Fíli would never have thought him to run, and through his tears Fíli hears it, the thump-thump-thump of his heavy metal-clad boots, the way they slide against the sand and pebbles, and the way Thorin breathes, and the iron grip of his arms around him.

Thorin's fingers are fisted in his hair when he slides to a stop, and Fíli's throat and chest hurt from sobbing, even as his hand throbs, and throbs, and throbs.

"Óin!"

Thorin's voice is rough, and he does not wait for an answer, he just storms into the house, and even as he's struggling to take in a breath, crying against his uncle's chest, Fíli wonders how it can be that they are in Óin's house, because it is very, very far away from home, at the other end of the settlement, close to the woods – so far that Fíli would never go there alone.

"He's hurt. His hand. It got stuck in the door. His hand – his right hand."

Thorin is panting, and his voice cracks. Fíli swallows and it hurts, but he's crying silently now, face buried into Thorin's shirt. And his uncle keeps him there, fingers spread against his head, like a protective shield.

"Now, now..."

Fíli recognizes Óin's grumble and moans. He is scared. He doesn't want Óin to touch his hand, even though it throbs so hard he cannot stop crying. Óin's tools are always cold against the skin, and he's only there when Fíli feels sick. Even Kíli does not like him, and screams whenever he undresses him to weigh him, and measure him.

"And what happened there, I wonder…?"

Fíli coughs up a sob and nestles closer to Thorin, but this time his uncle shushes him, and forces him to turn towards Óin. Thorin keeps a hand against Fíli's chest, the other firmly slung around his waist, and Fíli feels himself shake, exhausted and frightened and in pain.

He watches Óin come closer and flinches when he takes his hand into his own – but Óin tuts and Fíli hiccups, helplessly, and sniffs, feeling his nose run and the way his cheeks are all stiff from the salt of his tears.

"Aye, aye… that was a mighty door, was it not?"

There are small creases around Óin's eyes. He has very dark eyes, and black hair and a black beard. And his hand is almost as big as Thorin's. It engulfs Fíli's like a paw, and he sniffs again.

"The… t-the entrance door..."

Fíli's voice is broken, and tiny. He's still shaking, and Thorin's hand on his chest tightens around him.

"And what business did you have with the door, eh?"

Óin's voice is gruff, but he's not angry. He lets Fíli's hand rest in his palm and takes a close look at his fingers, without touching them. There are crossed with blue, and there are dark red creases on Fíli's fingernails. His fingers still throb, but somehow Fíli feels a little better, because he has been scared to look at his hand and find his fingers gone, snapped by the door.

"I w-wanted to… w-warm it up."

Óin's eyebrows shoot up so hight they get lost into his hair for a while, but he does not laugh, and he does not comment. He just asks:

"Can you move your fingers?"

Fíli swallows. Then he sniffs. And then he moves his fingers, one after the other, and feels Thorin take in a sharp breath – they feel heavy and numb and the tips throb, and it makes him cry, silently, but he manages to lift them.

"Alright laddie. I'm going to touch them, now, right?"

Óin probes Fíli's fingers, and tells him they are not broken. But he also tells him he has to make a little pinhole in his nails, so that the throbbing can stop, and this makes Fíli cry again, nestling against Thorin and shaking his head fiercely.

"It won't hurt", Óin says, and Fíli feels the way Thorin clenches his jaw, and forces him to turn towards Óin even as Fíli squirms and struggles.

"Shhh, bunnel, I'm here, I'm right here..."

His embrace around him is so tight that Fíli can feel him breathe. Thorin's shirt is damp, and his eyes – his eyes are so dark and murderous that they would have scared Fíli, were it not for the way Thorin holds him. So tightly that, even as Fíli looses his battle against him, and has to let Óin approach him with a thin, heated needle, through the fear and the tears and the first tiny hole burnt in his nail, Fíli hears it all along.

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

Thorin's heart racing so fast Fíli struggles to keep the sounds apart.

His tears and sobs still immediately with the first hole, because it is true. It does not hurt at all. It's just very strange, to see the nail break through so easily, and right after the throbbing in Fíli's finger eases, almost instantly.

"See? The bruise is flowing away...", Óin says, and then, very quickly, he makes another few holes, before Fíli has even time to think about it.

And then he presses against Fíli's nails, firmly, tutting when Fíli squirms again, and indeed, it feels better. No throbbing anymore. Just a small pain, and overwhelming tiredness.

"We'll wash that hand now, will we? And then I'll bandage your fingers together. They are not broken. But you'll have to let them rest for a while.

- Will the holes stay?", Fíli asks, voice cracked. "Can I show them to 'amad, and Kíli?"

He wants to. These are his first scars. They are not as mighty as Thorin's, or Dwalin's, but they are still something. Something Fíli's a bit proud of, now that his fear has gone, and now that the pain isn't so sharp anymore.

"Yes, lad. They'll stay for a few months, and then you'll have fingers as good as new. "

Fíli nods, and sniffs, one last time. He lets Óin clean his hand, and wrap clean straps of linen around, binding the fingers together and keeping them stretched with a very thin wooden bar he fastens with another strip.

"There. Done."

Óin claps his shoulder, and Fíli eases against Thorin.

"You alright, laddie?

- Mhm...", Fíli mumbles – but then it dawns on him that it's not him Óin meant, because Thorin's shirt feels properly soaked now, and his arms around Fíli heavy as lead.

"I'm fine...", Thorin growls, but his voice feels faint and when Fíli looks up, he can see there's no colour at all left in his face.

Thorin blinks, fiercely, and there's a tiny crease between his eyebrows as he forces himself to sit up, drawing Fíli against his chest, and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He winces when Óin presses a mug in his hand but drains it all the same, with a small shudder.

And then he forces himself to speak, holding Fíli tightly against him all along.

"He won't… There won't be any… you know?

- No, lad", Óin answers, and there is a kindness in his eyes Fíli had not seen there yet. "His hand will be just fine. Good as new in a week, I should say.

- Is there anything we are supposed to… Are they any movements we have to practise with him?

- No, Thorin. It's just a heavy bruise. No broken bones.

- Good...", Thorin whispers, and Fíli feels him shudder once more, before his uncle bends, and kisses his hair, fiercely, pressing his lips against Fíli's locks.

And Fíli lets him, huddled against him, and listens as the thudding in Thorin's chest slows down, eventually, becoming the soft and even rhythm that has always lulled him to sleep.

The way Thorin grabbed Fíli and crossed the settlement faster than any Dwarf or pony soon becomes one of the merriest topics among them. His uncle is teased by absolutely everyone, Dwalin included, and even 'amad is wiping away tears of laughter, one evening where they have all gathered to take a look at the way Kíli is growing.

"And then I… my poor boy was standing there crying his lungs out and… Thorin… He just grabbed him under the armpits and…"

She mimics Thorin's gesture and tries to stand up, but she's laughing so hard she sinks back on her chair, and just lifts her arms again with a swing.

"Gone they were...", 'amad wheezes, and truly, Fíli should be upset of her making fun of them, but the way she laughs is infectious, and he finds himself stifling a giggle.

He knows 'amad laughs because she's relieved. His hand does not hurt anymore, even though it is still blue, and it does not prevent him from drawing with bits of charcoal, on the stone floor close to the table. Fíli simply does it with his other hand, drawing close to Thorin's boot who's sitting there, very calmly, Kíli firmly settled in his arms.

He has a small smile on his lips and his eyes are warm – and Fíli knows he is glad to see 'amad laugh, even if it's about himself. It's just Balin and Dwalin and uncle Glóin, and aunt Jona. And Óin of course, who has allowed Fíli to take off the bandages and start flexing his fingers again.

Kíli makes a little gurgling sound and Fíli looks up – his baby brother is moving his feet, roused by their laughter, and Thorin places two fingers on his tiny chest and rubs soft circles there.

"Let them laugh, bunnanun...", he whispers, stroking Kíli until he calms down, and relaxes in the crook of his arm. "Let them laugh…

- By my beard, is he cooing or are my eyes mistaken?!", uncle Glóin bellows, and the deafening laughter that follows startles Kíli, who begins to cry.

"Strong lungs", Balin comments, quietly, and aunt Jona makes a small sound and says "poor dear". Fíli looks up at Thorin, frowning, but his uncle just stands up, placing Kíli against his chest, moving a few steps away from the table and the noise.

"Shhhh… Bunnanun… Hush now… It's nothing… It's nothing…"

Kíli always reacts to uncle's voice. Thorin just has to place him against his chest and to speak, very softly – his voice is deep, and low, and never fails to hush Kíli, especially when he sings. But Fíli knows Thorin won't sing here, and now – he only sings to Kíli when there's no one around but Fíli, and Fíli has been amazed to discover just how many wonderful ballads Thorin knows.

But that night Kíli cries, despite Thorin's voice, and Fíli is sure it's because his brother knows, deep inside, that there's nothing to laugh about the way Thorin loves them both. He loves them just like 'amad, and Fíli knows it.

He has not forgotten the thumping of Thorin's boots, and the thudding of Thorin's heart.

So he stands up and wipes his hand against his trousers, and then he steps up to his uncle and gently tugs at the hem of his tunic.

"You want me to sing to Kíli?", he asks, even as his baby brother cries, and Thorin looks down at him and there is something in his eyes, something so warm and soft that Fíli is glad the others don't see it, because it feels like his heart is about to burst.

They end up sitting on the couch, and Thorin is still holding Kíli but Fíli is stroking his brother's head, gently sticking the tip of his little finger between his lips.

"Listen, Kíli… Don't cry… 'Adadmâ ni khulthu, mailgin akhrâmzu. Zibdînzu nekha, amnâdzu muhula..."

Kíli's cries have begun to still, and he's sucking at Fíli's finger, eagerly, but Fíli's voice falters, because the room has gone very still, suddenly. 'Amad is sitting very straight in her chair, uncle Glóin is gazing at them with his jaw slack, Balin has clasped his hands, bringing them up to his mouth. Dwalin is looking at Fíli, but it seems his gaze is very far away, and aunt Jona and Óin are still as stones.

And Thorin… Thorin simply cradles Kíli against him, and avoids looking at anyone but him, and Fíli, who tries to keep up singing but fails to remember the rest.

"Amnâdzu muhula… ai-kâmin, azafr ni… ni…

- Azafr ni khultu", Thorin ends up singing, very very quietly, but it is still beautiful, and deep, his voice rising like a ray of sunshine against the mountain as it wakes.

And they finish the song together – the one Fíliloves most, the one that always helps him falling asleep, even though he does not really understand what it means.

"Ikhjim mâ 'ala nurt hamdmâ nurtul

ra latunsu mâ shakâdmâ,

azafr ya lutunmâ ushkâdmâ.

Ra ma sazbadi mâ ni ansâkh,

ini mahsansisi mâ udu 'azn."

The room is very, very still as their voices drop. Kíli has closed his eyes and is dozing off, the pull around Fíli's finger growing slower and fainter.

Fíli looks up at Thorin, and his uncle's shoulders are squared, his posture slightly defensive – and Fíli knows he's scared, because he has just bared himself, shown them a part of him that was supposed to keep hidden. Perhaps it's because of this song that Fíli does not understand, perhaps it's about singing, perhaps it's also because Thorin has done that for them, in front of everyone, not caring for what it said about him.

"Oh lad", Balin ends up saying, very quietly.

There are small tears gathered in his eyes, but they do not spill. Glóin clears his throat and aunt Jona wipes her face, once, but 'amad has simply reached out for Dwalin's arm and is still clasping it. She's looking at Thorin, and after what seems an age, Thorin finally raises his gaze to meet hers.

Kíli is still in his arms, and though there are a thousand words swirling between uncle and 'amad – a world of love, and of sadness, and of memories, of joy and of grief – Thorin simply whispers:

"He's asleep. I think. I'm just..."

And then he gestures towards the door, and walks out to place Kíli in his cradle. Fíli sets out to follow, but Balin grabs him and places him on his lap.

"Come here, my lad. Come here. You just gave me so much joy, I have to hold you."

Fíli sighs, but he's pleased, and proud, actually. And he loves Balin's beard. It is so thick, and long, and warm. He loves to hide his hands between their strands, and he does, while Balin holds him, and rocks him slightly.

"Balin, what does it mean?", Fíli ends up asking, as the chatter around them begins again – even though 'amad is still silent, leaning against Dwalin's side who has begun a heated discussion with Glóin, but is stroking her back, very gently.

"What, laddie?

- You know… That song. 'Adadmâ ni khultu… Whose 'adad is that? Is he like… like my 'adad?"

Fíli's voice catches a bit. It's still so difficult to talk about him. He misses him so, so much – and he knows 'amad does as well. And Thorin. And auntie Jona. But not Kíli – because he's too small, and because 'adad never got the chance to meet him.

"It is more than a song, Fíli lad...", Balin says, softly. "It is called Uzbadul Agrâf.

- The Kings's prayer?", Fíli asks. "But…

- It is a prayer we sing to the One we see as the One who has fathered all Dwarves. He is our father, because He made us… because He breathed life into us. We sing that prayer to Mahal, Fíli."

Fíli knows that Mahal is the name of the Maker, and he also knows Mahal is the One 'adad has gone to – sometimes it comforts him, and sometimes it makes him angry, because he still thinks that Mahal should have let 'adad stay. So that he could see Kíli. And the way Fíli has grown.

But he keeps those thoughts for him. For the night, when he crawls into Thorin's room and nestles tightly against his chest, even though the air is still warm and sticky.

"Uncle?"

His voice is a tiny whisper, but Thorin always hears him.

"Do you think Kíli feels too hot?"

Thorin's hand finds Fíli's head, brushes his damp locks.

"No", he whispers. "His clothes are thin, and 'amad's room faces north. It is colder there.

- And you?"

Thorin's fingers move again.

"What about you, bunnanun? You should take off your tunic…"

Fíli shakes his head. He won't. Because he knows Thorin won't either – his uncle never bares his chest, only when he's ill or injured, and Fíli has only seen him so once, and hopes never to do so again. He would love to see Thorin's Raven-shaped scar again, though – the one on his chest, because to him, it looks mighty, mightier even than the criss-crossed pattern on Thorin's arm.

"You feel sticky", his uncle teases, and Fíli loves the smile he hears in his voice.

"I don't mind...", Fíli whispers, but in the end he allows Thorin to sit him up, take off his tunic, and brush his arms and chest with cool water, telling him it is an old warrior-trick against the heat.

He even allows Fíli to do the same on his broad, strong forearms, and then they lie silently next to each other, Fíli's head touching uncle's shoulder, hair spread on the pillow so that his bare neck can feel some air.

"Uncle…?"

Thorin makes a small noise, and Fíli looks at the shadows his chin, nose and forehead are drawing in the dark. He knows exactly what his face looks like, and would recognize him anywhere.

"Aren't you mad at… at Mahal sometimes?"

Thorin's faces turns, slowly, and Fíli sees the glimmer of his eyes in the darkness of the room. He knows that they are searching for his – very dark, very deep, with that gaze that makes Fíli feel both small and protected.

"This is a serious question, bunnanun..."

His uncle is very good at prying words loose from Fíli's lips and heart, because he never really asks – and this is one of the many reasons Fíli loves him so much. His hand moves, searches for Thorin's left braid and strokes it gently.

"Sometimes I am", Fíli whispers. "I know I shouldn't. I like the song about him, it's beautiful. And I'm happy 'adad has a place to stay. But…"

His voice chokes a little and he stops talking. But Thorin understands. Thorin always does. Fíli knows it, because his uncle draws a warm arm around him, and hugs him tightly against his chest, not caring for the heat. His forehead presses gently against Fíli, and for a long while, it is silent in the room – but then Thorin speaks.

"Fíli..."

Whenever Thorin speaks his name aloud, Fíli knows it is very serious. He braces himself, pries himself loose from Thorin's embrace so as to face him properly, and his uncle sits up – his shadow tall and mighty in the dark.

"I am not sure I should tell you this...", his uncle says, very softly.

Night always softens him. He wears no chainmail, no belt – even his hair flows freely, except for the two braids framing his face. Thorin never slumps, he sits very upright even in the dark, but his body seems to lose some bulk whenever he takes off his many layers, and allows himself to rest.

"Please, uncle...", Fíli answers, gravely, eyes locked with Thorin, and his uncle's hand finds his shoulder.

"So be it, then...", Thorin sighs, and then he looks away, at the wall, and inside himself – Fíli knows it, because when that happens, it seems Thorin is very far away, lost in another world.

"For a very long time, bunnanun… For a very long time, I have been something worse than angry at Mahal…"

Fíli waits, patiently, even though he wonders a lot about Thorin's words – he knows that Thorin will go on, because his uncle never gives up once he has started.

"For a long time, I stopped believing in Him. I thought He was just a lie. That if He truly existed, He would never allow certain things to happen, and the world to be as it is. That the songs we sang, and the tales we told about Him – that these were just lies told to help us endure."

There is something very hollow, in his uncle's voice – something that makes Fíli think Thorin has gone very cold inside. His uncle's words are swirling in his head, and Fíli is struck once again with the way his uncle truly understands. Thorin's words are clearer, braver and mightier than his, but this is exactly what Fíli had meant – even though he only realizes this here and now.

"But...", his uncle whispers, forcefully, and his fingers squeeze Fíli's shoulder, "Even then, there was one thing I couldn't make myself stop believing with all my heart, and Soul.

- What, uncle…?"

Fíli sits very still, very upright, just like Thorin.

"I couldn't stop believing that those we lost were still somewhere. A place where it was better. Lighter. Where we would go as well, once our time would come. I couldn't believe they were gone, never to return. I still cannot."

Thorin's voice hitches a bit – and Fíli swallows, because his uncle's words are raw, full of pain and full of truth, and yet he never stops seeing them as the gift they truly are.

"And… bunnanun… Slowly I realized that if I believed in the Halls, then I had to believe in the Maker as well… That it didn't matter what I expected of Him – I couldn't have the Halls without the One who Made them."

Something gives in Fíli's chest, then – something making him aware of an unknown pain that has been there, all the time, ever since 'adad has gone. He has a small, choked sob and Thorin's arms are around him again.

"You… you think I will see him again?", he asks, in a tiny voice, and Thorin rocks him, slowly.

"Yes, bunnanun", his deep voice utters, and Fíli presses his face against his chest and cries. "I believe so, with all my heart."

There is no one, save 'amad, Fíli believes in as much as Thorin. No one who can loosen the knots inside him, make him feel as treasured and belonging.

"What made you change your mind…?", Fíli croaks. "About the song..."

Thorin rocks him silently, for a moment. And when he finally speaks, his voice is full of awe, and so quiet that every word feels like a secret.

"I realized there was a balance I was too small to fathom. That there is a light to every night. That there is death, and loss… but also life. And that it was not my place to question that balance, even though I still grieved, and raged, and fought.

- Even now?"

Fíli means it all. The faith, the grief, the rage and the fight. His uncle is so many things – fierce and fearless. Strong and mighty, sometimes sad. Loving and caring, often silent and yet telling so much with his eyes… There is a fire burning in his uncle, Fíli knows this – and he only begins to understand that this sort of flame can be kindled by many different things.

"Even now", Thorin whispers, and Fíli leans his cheek against his chest and hugs him back.

"I'm glad you do, uncle", he tells him, and his words end in a yawn that brings back some lightness in the room, and make Thorin smile.

"Sleep now, bunnanun."

Fíli yawns again, and they both lie down.

"Thank you, uncle", he mumbles, sleepily. "For telling me. I promise I won't tell… won't tell…

- I know, bunnanun… Sleep now…"

Thorin's fingers find his hair, and his deep voice rises again, very quietly, singing the song Fíli loves just for them both. And as he falls asleep, Fíli's last thought is about warmth and fire, the kind of fire Thorin masters. That one that has nothing to do with the forge, and Dragons. It shines as brightly as the sun, and warms him more than the strongest of flames.

And Fíli will treasure it forever.

A/N : The song Fili and Thorin sing are the Khuzdûl version of "The Lord's Prayer". It is the most important Christian prayer, and one my father used to sing to my brother and me in Arabic. For ages, we sang the melody without even knowing what it meant, just like Fili. I was looking for a lullaby for this story and it just came into my mind - it gave me the idea to talk about Thorin's faith, and Mahal. These are just musings, they are not meant to influence or convince - just to try and explore this side of Thorin. These are the words with their translation :

Uzbadul Agrâf (The Lord's Prayer)
'Adadmâ ni khulthu, (Our Father in heaven,)
mailgin akhrâmzu. (hallowed be your name.)
Zibdînzu nekha, (Your kingdom come,)
amnâdzu muhula, (your will be done,)
ai-kâmin, azafr ni khulthu, (on earth, as it is in heaven.)
Ikhjim mâ 'ala nurt hamdmâ nurtul (Give us this day our daily bread,)
ra latunsu mâ shakâdmâ, (and forgive us our debts,)
azafr ya lutunmâ ushkâdmâ. (as we also have forgiven our debtors.)
Ra ma sazbadi mâ ni ansâkh, (And lead us not into temptation,)
ini mahsansisi mâ udu 'azn. (but deliver us from evil.)