"Fee?" The little voice made Fíli jump, looking down. A tousled dark head was by his thigh, and one of Kíli's little hands was curling into the fabric of his pants, clinging to him.
Fíli glanced warily at the hallway leading to both their mother's room and the tiny workroom where their uncle had bedded down. All was quiet, save for the low-voiced whine from his brother. "Fíli. . ." Kíli said, pouting up at him with soft, dark eyes.
Fíli shushed him, kneeling on the bench and sliding his hands under Kíli's arms. His little brother was small, even for his age, and Fíli hauled Kíli up to stand on the broad bench beside him. "I was looking at Uncle's map. . . Our Grandfather's, and. . ." he trailed off, tracing a fingertip over the surface of the soft, worn parchment.
Kíli made a quiet sound of awe, his small hand following after Fíli's, then sliding over to trace the stark red of the dragon over the Lonely Mountain with stubby fingers. Erebor. . .
Kíli shivered, pressing closely against Fíli's side. He didn't draw his hand back, his fingers - a little more slender than Fíli's own - splaying over the inked dragon. "Smaug?" Kíli asked quietly.
"Yes." Fíli nodded, shivering himself and sinking down a little more on the bench, drawing Kíli up and into his lap. Kíli was small, but Fíli was still only barely big enough for them to fit this way. He wrapped his arms around his little brother and rested his chin on Kíli's wavy hair, smiling faintly as Kíli's left hand came to rest on his arm, gripping firmly.
"We came from here." Kíli said quietly, his fingers trailing down over the long slopes of the mountain and lingering there.
"We did." Fíli said, though he, as well as his brother, had been born many years after their folk had been driven from the Lonely Mountain.
"And there one day we shall return."
Fíli jumped, his arms tightening around his brother. Kíli's hands tightened, one on Fíli's arm and the other on the map, and he was otherwise perfectly still. "We weren't- We weren't hurting anything." Kíli promised, even as Thorin approached them.
Thorin gently pulled Kíli's hand from the now slightly crumpled map - Fíli winced; his brother had not harmed it at all before Thorin had startled them both so badly. Thorin and their mother had both gone to bed some time earlier, it was why Fíli had felt safe to sneak out and take a peek at the map, which Thorin had for once left out.
"There, sister-sons, I know you have done no harm." Thorin said, his gruff voice gentle. He sat beside them on the bench, his back to the table, and spread the map out again. "It is your heritage after mine. The mountain. The map." he said softly.
Fíli's eyes widened and Kíli squirmed a little in his arms. Fíli leaned forwards, inching closer to their uncle, and Thorin smiled slightly at them, nodding encouragingly.
"Uncle?" Kíli asked in his tiniest, most wheedlesome voice. Fíli nuzzled into his hair almost without a thought in reaction to the sound.
"Kíli?" Thorin asked calmly, no indication of being swayed by Kíli's tone and no doubt equally pitiful expression.
"Will- Will you tell us about the mountain?" Kíli asked, and Fíli bit his lip, not sure if it was a wise request to make of his uncle. He remembered their father shaking his head and speaking in a soft voice to their mother about Thorin's rage, and seeing his uncle lose his temper when faced with quiet talk about their . . . their home.
Thorin was silent for a few long moments, Fíli and his brother waiting nervously, but finally he nodded, folding the map away and sliding it into an inner pocket of his tunic. "I will tell you a story of our home, yes." he said in his deep voice, soft enough to spin a close web around the three of them as he began.
Fíli could see the great, arching halls and the deep carvings, the strong walls and shimmering veins of metal deep in the mines - the glitter and sparkle of gems. The bustle of their kingdom, one where others visited but it was the dwarves who held domain; the great hall where their grandfather, and his father, and on back for many generations had all sat in glory and heard audiences, commanded armies. . .
He saw also the beautiful halls of the royal family's home, the comfortable and richly-appointed rooms. The training fields out on the slopes and the practise halls high in the mountain. The forges, huge and always burning, always being worked.
Fíli didn't even realise when he began to fade from story into sleep, not until his uncle's voice quieted and he was moved. Kíli was still curled against his chest, and Fíli hugged him tightly, snuggling his brother close even as he rested against the broad, solid chest of his uncle holding them both.
His mother's voice made him stir, and Thorin shushed him softly. Fíli was only barely awake enough to hear the sounds of the words they exchanged, and made little sense of most of them.
Instead he focused on the soft tickle of Kíli's head under his chin, hair brushing his throat, and then the familiar softness of their bed beneath him. Uncle Thorin lay them down together, releasing them slowly, and Fíli sighed, turning onto his side and looping an arm below Kíli's shoulders, keeping them close.
"I had thought to. . ." he heard from Thorin, but the rest was a mere rumble of a deep voice, and then a response from their mother, further away.
Thorin rested a broad hand on each of their heads, and Fíli blinked sleepily, then tucked his head against his brother's as a blanket was drawn around them. He fell into dreams of chasing through the halls of the Lonely Mountain with his brother, of curling up on the rug before a roaring fire to listen to his Uncle's stories while his mother laughed and interjected corrections from nearby, working on some small project in her lap.
Fíli's dreams smoothed and grew fuzzier, showing him bigger and strong, facing off with his uncle in the training halls - his brother at his back, as tall and broad-shouldered as he, and the pair of them training together, axes and swords in their hands. . .
Fíli smiled in his sleep, and Kíli's fingers twined tighter into his shirt.
"But there are no other markings or instructions on the map." Kíli protested when Thorin was silent other than a low growl.
"How would you know this?" Dwalin asked, and Fíli propped one fist on his hip - not quite resting his hand on his sword, but close - and moved to his brother's side.
"They are my sister-sons." Thorin said with a mild reprimand.
"We grew up far from our home," Fíli said, and Kíli took half a step back, bumping lightly against his shoulder, "but at our uncle's side. We both know the map well."
"We grew up learning of our home." Kíli said softly, his voice firm and even. "It is our quest to reclaim it at our Uncle's heels."
"I have helped to teach them. They may know the halls of the mountain better than many who lived there, brother." Balin said, and Dwalin backed down before his brother's words in a way that Fíli could simply never imagine Kíli doing so simply for his own, no matter how old and wise they might grow.
He didn't think he'd really want to see his beloved little brother bowing to him that way, though. It wouldn't be Kíli if he did.
"Elrond is one of the best in the land, with languages and with hidden words." Gandalf said, his patient tone tinged with frustration as he sank the butt of his staff into some of the leaf litter built up in the curve of the balcony near his feet. "If you but allow him to look, Thorin; he will help you."
Fíli watched his uncle's lip curl, and didn't follow after them as Thorin, Gandalf, and Balin walked a little further off down the path. Dwalin fingered the largest of his axes, which he had refused to lay down despite its awkward size - Fíli had held on to most of his weapons, too, but most of them weren't even noticeable, hidden away on his person - but didn't follow either.
Dwalin dipped his head in the barest hint of a maybe-apology, and Fíli's eyebrows twitched, but Kíli was the one to stiffen, drawing himself up - he was almost Dwalin's height, even if his lithe frame would never carry the same kind of bulk - and then tilt his head slightly in acknowledgement.
"Come on then, lads, let's get settled while we wait for our King." Dwalin said gruffly, and Gloin nodded agreement, muttering darkly about the elves before moving off. Fíli bumped his brother's arm lightly with his own, and Kíli looked over his shoulder, grinning at Fíli brightly.
Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur retreated to the far end of the balcony, talking amongst themselves, and as the rest of the Company began to spread out Fíli happily trailed after his brother. Despite their uncle's words - and Fíli's own suspicions of the elves - Elrond had thus far proven a gracious host, and suspicions or no, Fíli didn't fear an attack.
He and Kíli had been given their own rooms - as had every member of their Company - but Fíli slipped into Kíli's on his brother's heels. Kíli closed the door behind them, and Fíli realised as his brother pressed him against the door with a warm embrace that his pack was resting on the floor beside Kíli's own.
Though both were a bit thin - the elves had promised fresh supplies, and any articles of clothing they were not wearing had been taken away for cleaning and mending.
"D'you think we'll stay?" Kíli asked, his sharp nose nudging along Fíli's jaw, beneath one of his thicker braids, which were falling loose around his face. Fíli returned the embrace, idly thinking he'd ask Kíli to rebraid his hair before they left, if they had time.
"I don't know." Fíli said, torn between wishing to be on the road and wishing they could rest and recover a little more before they returned to their trek. "Uncle will tell us . . . if only in time for us to throw our packs together and get out." he said wryly.
Kíli nodded, leaning more heavily against him. Fíli closed his arms a little more tightly around his little brother, supporting him. "At least maybe we'll have tonight to rest." he said, and Fíli sighed, nodding.
"Let's go to bed, then." Fíli said, nudging Kíli gently away from himself and towards the big bed - very unlike their familiar bed back in the Blue Mountains, but it looked luxurious, buttery-coloured sheets draped over the mattress that was more than big enough for them to share and framed by delicately carved bedposts reminiscent of the trees that filled the valley.
Kíli yawned and tumbled into bed willingly, and Fíli laughed, swatting his legs and grabbing a boot, yanking at his brother. Kíli kicked out, laughing and yelling protests, but he eventually rose to remove his boots and outer clothing before Fíli managed to drag him into the floor.
Fíli did the same, then crawled into the bed - surprisingly not of man- or elf-height, but comfortable for them. He wondered why the elves would have furniture fit for dwarves in their guest halls, but put it out of his mind easily. He held out an arm and his brother curled into the offered space as he had almost since the day he was born, drawing the blanket over them both in his wake.
Fíli turned onto his side towards Kíli and sighed, quietly wondering if their Uncle would even make it one night before rousting them all and dragging them away from the elves and any aid they might give.
But whatever he led them to, Fíli and his brother would be there, on their Uncle's heels.