Prologue: Love's Death

The phone rang loudly, unexpectedly, through the house. Checking out the window to make sure that her sons hadn't gotten into any new mischief since the last time she'd checked, Dis hurried to answer it, curiosity sparking; she hadn't been expecting to hear from anyone. It was a bother that she had to use the corded phone, but a recent storm had incapacitated the wireless one, and until her husband replaced it, she had to make do.

Facing the window, warming her body in sunlight that pooled in through the kitchen windows, a twinge of anxiety stabbed her when she heard who was calling. But that wasn't anything compared to her agony and disbelief when they'd relayed their message. Gripping the counter until her knuckles turned white, the world tipping under her, she managed to gasp out a- "Thank you for informing me." –before hanging up.

The phone missed its cradle, bouncing on its cord as it thudded against wood of a cabinet. Falling to her knees, incredulity giving way to a surge of panic, she longed to find release for it in a scream, but her throat was closed to all but wretched whimpers of pain. The hollow sound of the wood, as the phone hit it, seemed to echo the pounding of her heart. How strongly it still beat when it's other half no longer did. But a tiny voice, the voice of obstinate hope, insisted that it wasn't true, that it couldn't be true, but she couldn't listen to it; the pain felt too real to not be true.

What would she say to Fili and Kili? How could she tell them, look into their eyes, watch the joy disappear, and tell them that their father was dead?

Hands trembling, she grabbed the phone (which now seemed conveniently close since it dangled within arm's reach) and dialed. Pressing the phone to her ear, she bit back another wave of sorrow, fresh tears rolling down her face. On the other side of the line, a familiar voice spoke into her ear, deep and comforting. "Thorin?" she whispered. "I need you."


Bells tolled dolefully, their bass voices mournful and ominous, reflecting the sullen gray sky as rain peppered the ground, a day that belonged to the burdened and low in spirit. A solitary white steeple, undaunted by the weather, stood beckoningly as solemn figures entered the church for a funeral.

Clinging to his mother's hand, Kili counted the number of times the bells tolled, amazed at how loud they sounded, gazing wide eyed at all the people gathered. Next to his mother, stood Thorin; Fili stood despondently on Thorin's other side. It didn't seem possible that all this was real. At seven years old, this all felt like a dream.

Several days ago, Fili and Kili had come in from playing (little knowing about the phone call their mother had received) and had become scared when they found their mother crying. Fili had half guessed at what had happened, but had been too afraid to voice his guess out loud because of how unthinkable it was. Not long after, Thorin had shown up and he'd taken his nephews aside to explain what Dis had been unable to; but to Kili the words had meant little.

The closed lid of the casket was a silent confirmation to what Thorin had told them. The picture that stood next to the casket, with flowers around it, was an affirmation, but Kili couldn't bring himself to believe that the body inside was truly his father's, it was just too impossible. Tucking himself closer to his mother, clasping her hand even more tightly (as if he was afraid of becoming separated from her in the crowd), his eyes roved over the faces around him. Towering above, they were grim, and tears glazed many of them, but they were as foreign as everything else around him. His family was the only familiar thing in this sea of strangeness.


Chest tight, cold crawling in his belly, and feeling as if he was about to burst, Fili stood silently next to Thorin. His head throbbed, an after affect from all the tears he'd shed in the past few days. His whole body ached with the pain. Like a well gone dry, his tears had disappeared, when on this day they would have been most welcomed, but the hollowness in his core was proof enough that he still grieved.

Aloof in his sorrow, Fili had closed himself off from those around him, unable to handle the comforting touch of anyone. Not even Kili had been allowed to come close. Kili, more than anyone else, had been shut out the most. Fili wasn't sure how much their father's death had affected his younger brother, but on a deeper level he understood that Kili was too young to realize just yet.

People filed past, as unimportant as the rest of his surroundings. It wasn't until Thorin placed a hand on his shoulder that Fili comprehended that it was time to say their final farewells.

Choking for air, feet dragging with dread, Fili sought something to grasp onto to save himself from this feeling of drowning. The picture of his father caught his eye; fixing his gaze upon it, he stared into the blue eyes (as blue as his own) and felt a wave of unbearable pain crash over him. Like the tide rushing in, the empty well inside flooded with tears. Falling to his knees next to the casket, he flung his arms on top of it and buried his head in his arms, sobs wrenched uncontrollably from him. The tears rasped against his dry throat, chest heaving as his lungs fought for air.

Somewhere, a hand reached out and stroked his back, combing his blonde locks back from his face, a familiar voice speaking in his ear. Smaller hands tugged at his sleeve, begging to know if he was all right, and fear in the childish tones. But the third figure, a pedestal of strength of comfort, offered no word of security or hand to ease his pain; Thorin knew what Fili was going through, and shared it. He knew that Fili would have to discover for himself how to move on.

Sitting back, wiping a sleeve over his face, Fili let his mother embrace him and lead him away. It was time to bury the casket.


Stopping at the door of the church, Dis released Kili's hand a moment, pulling his hood over his head to protect it from getting wet; her eyes were dull with sorrow as she clasped one of his hands in hers again, and pressed a tissue to her face as more tears spilled from her eyes. Tears filling his own eyes, Kili threw his arms around her. Fear wormed through his soul; he had never seen his family like this before and it scared him.

Stepping into the rain, they stood mutely, unable to turn their eyes aside, as the casket was lowered into the ground. The hiss of the falling rain blended with the pastor's voice as he spoke a prayer for the soul's safe passage to heaven.

Noticing that one of the pastor's shoelaces was undone, Kili wondered if he had forgotten to tie it, and tried not to shuffle his feet as he tried checking his own shoelaces. Now that he was outside, the fear that had overwhelmed him indoors melted away, and he was ready to go home. Everything would be better once they were home.


oOo oOo oOo


Three Weeks Later

Leaving his toys aside, Kili went to find Fili, his expression troubled, a frown creasing his childish features. He knew that he shouldn't disturb his brother; Fili would've just gotten home from school, and would be trying feverishly to finish enough homework in time to watch their favorite program. Kili also knew that Fili would be just as likely to be sprawled across his bed as he supposedly tried to "figure out a problem" but was really wasting time until he could quit after putting in enough of an attempt (once again, in time for TV). But Kili had a question that needed an answer now, one that had slowly come to bother his mind and wouldn't be settled until it was asked.

Fili hardly glanced up as Kili entered the room. (He had a book open and was hurriedly scribbling away on a piece of paper.) "Not now, Kili. I'm busy," he stated absently, not waiting to hear what Kili wanted. He was on a roll and didn't want to lose his momentum.

Shuffling forward till he stood just beyond the doorway, he hesitantly rubbed the back of one leg with a foot and balled the hem of his shirt between both hands. "Fili, where's Da?" he asked.

Fili's back visibly stiffened, pencil freezing in mid-sentence to point upright. "He's gone," he answered tersely, voice choking as he got the words out, the unexpected question rendering him helpless against the surge of agony that came with it.

"Gone where?" Kili persisted, closing the gap between them even more as he pressed for a more definite answer. "I haven't seen him for a few days, where's he gone? And why didn't Da say good-bye?" His voice was petulant, like a child's, but the realization of what Fili's response meant was starting to dawn on him, and a memory tugged at the edges of his mind; one that he didn't want to remember.

"Because he's dead," Fili's shoulders trembled, a sob escaping his throat. "He's dead and we'll never see him again."

"No he's not!" Kili cried; childish hope leaving him stranded as the unimaginable broke on his conscious. "He wouldn't leave us!"

"Don't you get it!" Fili shouted, whirling around, fist pounding the back of his chair, anger and bitter sorrow contorting his face. "Don't you remember!? There was an accident," Fili's voice became hoarse as he sobbed convulsively. "We buried him several weeks ago." He shook his head, gaze becoming baleful as he glared at Kili. "You didn't even miss him," he accused.

"You're lying," Kili argued, stuttering over the words.

Shoving back his chair, Fili stalked towards Kili, his size suddenly menacing. "You, are nothing but a child," he spat, furious. "You can't remember anything!"

Hurt by Fili's words, Kili retaliated. "And you're wrong, Da can't be dead!" Too stubborn now to admit that Fili was right, that he had forgotten, Kili pushed the argument to the limit. "Da will come back, and you'll see that I was right!"

Realizing that he had gone too far, Kili braced himself as the sneer on Fili's face hardened and he stepped closer, knowing that Fili wouldn't let him get away without retribution for his reckless words.


Finished with putting the dishes away, Dis asked Thorin, "Are you certain you can stay for another week?" She flashed a grateful smile at him over her shoulder, "The boys and I have loved having you here to help us, especially since…" she bit back her words and changed what she'd been about to say. "And we'd love to have you stay longer, but I know it's hard for you to leave work, especially on such short notice." Taking a dishcloth, she wiped the counter down with confident, practiced strokes.

Thorin shook his head, cupping a mug of tea with his left hand, and propping his head up with his right, elbow braced on the table. "Dis, you worry too much," he commented fondly. "If I was needed back, they would let me know, but more importantly I need to be here for you and the boys."

A muffled shouting reached their ears, and Dis' expression became stricken, new lines of worry and sorrow becoming prominent around her hollowed eyes that had seen too many sleepless nights.

"They're fighting," she said hoarsely, dropping the hand towel and racing from the kitchen. Thorin followed swiftly behind her.

Reaching Fili's room, they found the door open and Fili and Kili fighting, each shouting incomprehensibly at the other. Pulling the boys apart, Dis gripped Kili by the arm, eyes scanning his face to place where the blood was coming from, while Thorin was forced to restrain Fili bodily.

"What do you think you are doing?!" Dis demanded, looking from one to the other.

Coming to his senses, Fili collapsed in Thorin's arms, his demeanor changing abruptly. Crying helplessly, almost choking on his words, he whispered, "Don't you get it Kili? Don't you get it?"

Biting his lip, Kili felt blood well up around his tongue from where he had bitten the inside of his cheek. Gulping, swallowing more blood than saliva, tears threatening to come, he gazed across the room at Fili, silently pleading for Fili to help him understand. His fight with Fili, the bruises he'd received, it was all becoming too real; he was finally realizing that Fili had told him the truth.

Terrified of how quickly the fight had gone out of Fili, Kili hoped to make up for it. Whimpering, he whispered, "Fili, I'm sorry! I do remember! It's just, I'm- I'm scared, I can't remember the last time I saw Da… I'm afraid that I'm forgetting Da," he mourned.

A low moan escaped Fili, but he made no answer.

Her glance pleading, Dis murmured to Thorin, "Can you look after him?"

Thorin nodded, his grip becoming embracing rather than restraining as he looked after his nephew.

Picking Kili up, Dis left the room. Flinging his arms around her neck, and burying his face against her shoulder, Kili let Dis carry him away, her comforting words brushing against his ear and vibrating into his body through hers.

Eyes closed tightly against the memories that insisted on coming, Kili couldn't help but remember; Thorin's words, that gray rainy day, and countless strangers gathered around. The scenes came vividly, more colorful then they'd been at the time: tolling bells; a loose shoelace; freshly overturned dirt; bouquets of flowers; and a yawning hole, gaping wide to receive the casket. There were other memories too, ones that he'd tried to block out: his mother crying on Thorin's shoulder; waking up in the middle of the night and listening to Fili and Dis talking, their voices broken from crying; and people telling him over and over again that his father would be so proud of how well he was coping. Though he'd been witness to it all, he hadn't come to terms with the truth; instead he had shrugged it off because he didn't understand.

Flinching back from the images, Kili felt truly wretched.

"Mother, is it true?" he begged. "Is Da really dead?"

Dis stroked his dark hair, sorrow brimming in her eyes. "Yes," she whispered.

Sniffling, Kili wiped his face with a hand then sat back to look her in the eyes. "I told Fili that he was wrong," he confessed. "I told him that Da would come back, I think I hurt Fili."

"Shh, hush little one," she soothed, but her heart ached for both of her sons, and she silently prayed for the right words to comfort them. "Thorin's with Fili, he'll help him," she reassured.

Hiding his face in her shoulder again, Kili mumbled, "I didn't mean to hurt him, I didn't mean to."

"I know, I know," Dis murmured.


Fili became inconsolable. The next few days, Fili moved through them as if he was a ghost, hardly eating, hardly doing anything, and never speaking a word. Whatever physical bruising Fili and Kili had sustained healed quickly, but whatever had snapped in Fili was still raw and hurting. And the more time that passed, the more apparent it was that Fili held Kili responsible for this new development; keeping it in, his feelings of hurt and betrayal festered, making it impossible for him to forgive Kili for his error.

Guilt gnawed at Kili, it was his fault, he had pushed Fili to this point, and now he didn't know how to make up for his blunder. With slow steps, his tiptoeing hushed on the carpet, Kili pressed his ear to Fili's door, checking to see if Fili was there. Assuming that he was, Kili quietly opened the door.

Fili was sprawled, as if in sleep, across his bed, his breathing deep and slow, but Kili could feel his brother's hostility like a physical presence.

"Fili," Kili asked softly.

Fili stirred, eyes partially opening before his head turned and his face was hidden.

"Uncle Thorin wants to see you," Kili informed him, quailing from saying anything more. No matter how many times he apologized, it didn't seem to make a difference.

There was a muffled, "hmm" but that was all the response he got.

Leaving the room, dejected, Kili returned to the kitchen where Dis and Thorin were talking. The adults turned to him expectantly as he entered. Sitting at opposite ends of the table, they appeared to have been having a discussion; Dis was wringing a wash towel between her hands, as was her habit when agitated, and Thorin looked solemn, but their expressions changed when Kili came in, becoming guarded.

Kili shrugged, rather apologetically. "Fili didn't say anything," he announced.

A look passed between them. Leaning across the table, Thorin placed a hand over both of Dis', his expression intent. "Let me take him, I think it'll be for the best." As an added thought, he finished, "For both of them."

Dis nodded in resignation. "All right."