Written for This Prompt: The company ends up split into two groups. Thorin is obviously calm and logical. The other half, however, is thrown off by not having their king with them. They argue over which path to take and how to find their friends. Fíli, at first hesitant, gets annoyed and takes charge. Turns out, he's a natural. He works out where his uncle would have gone and leads his half of the company there. Reunited and gleeful at seeing his family safe, he returns to his quieter self. Thorin is told of how he acted and is damn proud.

TRIAL OF LEADERSHIP

by Swiss Army Knife

For as long as he lived, Fíli would never forget the vaults of Mirkwood.

It was a thousand hostile sounds nestled in the curl of his ears; the creaking of boughs and the clicking of insects. His boots sunk into a carpet of decaying leaves, lending greater danger to a place where a turned ankle or unlucky fall could mean catastrophe. Overhead, the trees pressed down with their branches like arms, their hearts like maws, and their smell like death. The hated forest path, which they had abandoned days ago, was now lost, and they could not find their way back. Despair crept in as hunger bore into lean bellies, and those who had entered the forest as proud dwarves began to quiver as paranoia seeped in around the real threats.

The menace was bad enough during the day, when through the green murk one could at least tell friend from foe. Yet at night an absolute darkness shrouded them, so black and terrible that no one could rest. When the company did attempt to sleep, Fíli and Kíli wedged themselves side by side, each grasping a weapon.

Distracted by the otherworldly eyes that flickered all around them, Fíli wasn't aware that his brother was awake until he felt the brush of stubble against his ear. "We should never have left the road. He doesn't know where we're going."

Kíli spoke of the endless pattern of circles they seemed to be making. When Bofur had found his own tobacco pouch, they knew they were retracing their steps. During that time, Fíli had looked to Thorin, just as they all had. He was chilled even now, remembering his uncle's ashen complexion as the group dissolved into shoving and panicky cries. Thank Mahal for Bilbo. Their halfling friend seemed not so affected as the rest of them. He had climbed a tree, and when he descended, speaking of breezes and butterflies, the mood had calmed. Still, the memory of Thorin's bewilderment was terrible, and Fíli didn't wonder that Kíli was haunted by it.

Unwilling to speak ill of their uncle, yet understanding the need for reassurance, Fíli turned onto his side, facing his brother. "Do you remember the time we were lost in the foothills of Ered Luin?"

Though it remained unseen, Fíli imagined the twitch of remembrance that had surely found its way onto Kíli's face. "Balin told us Thorin was frantic. They couldn't find us, but you never panicked."

"Neither did you."

"I knew that you would lead us home," Kíli said soberly.

His brow notched, Fíli remembered that first encounter with the full weight of responsibility he would carry; the knowledge that the fate of someone other than himself would be decided by where he lead. Yet, although that childhood forest had seemed so vast – as vast as Mirkwood to his inexperienced eyes – Fíli had been anchored by Kíli's fist knotted in his tunic, by the snot running down that chubby face and the blood oozing from his scrapped knees.

Fíli continued his recounting. "Four days we wandered. Four days chewing on dandelions and trying to find a star we knew – and cursing. You would not stop swearing, Kíli, do you remember? I thought Thorin was going to skin you alive during that phase, all while he was damning the Westerners for their influence. And then, when we were finally so weary we could barely walk, we found that village."

Kíli's teeth set with an audible grind. "I'll never forget that village."

Fíli nodded, knowing the movement would be telegraphed. He swallowed past that memory. "Yes, but Thorin found us, didn't he? Didn't stop for a bite to eat or a moment's rest." This he knew from Balin's stories, related to them in safety, when they were finally returned home. A true smile found its way onto his lips. "And that in spite of his reputation for having no sense of direction."

Kíli stifled a sound that might have been something as undignified as a chortle, had it been allowed full expression. "Dwalin despairs of him, you know. The heir of Durin, wandering bemused under a few trees, in full view of the sun."

The brothers, who had been reared as much in the wilds as in halls of stone, shared an incredulity that such a thing was possible. "Better that our ancestors dwelt underground, I suppose."

"But we aren't underground now," Kíli said, all levity gone.

Fíli exhaled, a puff of breath not unlike the caress of the huge black moths that whispered past. He knew that his brother did not mean to be rebellious, but his natural temperament was as turbulent as their uncle's. Kíli did not trust easily, and regrettably that skepticism extended even as far as Thorin sometimes. Fíli himself refused to be anything but certain. His own faith was a carefully cultivated thing, and he allowed no vein of doubt to weaken it. They would be free of this forest. They would reach Erebor. Thorin would never relent until it happened. Groping first to find it, he squeezed his brother's hand. "He'll get us out of here, Kíli."

The pressure of Kíli's answering grip put his heart at rest. The situation might seem dire, but it would take more than a comfortless forest full of fierce black squirrels and a poisonous stream to undermine the confidence they had in one other. Comforted now by the breathing of his comrades, by Kíli's warm shoulder, by the familiar squeak of a glove around the leather hilt of his weapon, Fíli allowed his eyes to drift closed.

In the small hours of the night, when the shadows themselves were cloaked by deeper shadow, Fíli awoke to a whisper like a cat's paws padding over flagstone. He raised his head though he could see nothing, not even the ridge of his own nose before his face. His body, wearied by the near-constant hallucinations, longed to lie back, but some restlessness was plucking at him. The hair on his arms and neck lifted, and his heart began drumming. Straining, he listened to the pitch black, but all was silence, silence...

It was then that he realized; it was the silence that disturbed him. Where had the threatening calls and creaks gone? Fíli's fingers curled around his weapon, fully alert. He opened his mouth to speak a warning, but before he could, the narrow, dark leaves exploded, and in their wake, great beasts broke in upon the company. Fíli had the brief impression of jaws and of gleaming dagger-like points affixed to many, many legs, and then a heavy body pinned him with its abdomen, shrieking in his face even as he raised his arm to parry the greedy, rasping mouth. He cried out when it dodged his clumsy defense and buried its teeth into his forearm. He struck out, aiming for the eyes, and it released him, but the burning pain remained, along with a light-headedness that almost prevented him from staggering to join his companions, who were now locked in combat.

Their horrified cries joined the unnerving shrieks of the spiders – huge, monstrous spiders. Moved by instinct, Fíli barely dodged the singing, deadly arch of Bofur's mattock, and he heard Ori's baleful wail of fear and rage as he fought, no doubt with little but his hands since his catapult would be useless in this murk and confusion. Dwalin's roar and Glóin's furious bellow rang out, but Thorin he did not hear, and even in the midst of battle, his mind turned to those whose backs he could not put against his own. He thought of Bilbo. Was someone with him? Was Kíli?

The spiders were fearsome opponents, and they had the advantage of terrain. They swarmed from the trees, which were coated with their loathsome webs. Some strands caught at Fíli's wounded arm, and he shouted as he yanked free. A hissing enemy hemmed him on one side, then another, moving so fast that even with their glowing eyes he could barely follow their movements. He swung blindly, trying to drive them back, but they were immune to fear. They were too ravenous, too fell, too ferocious.

At that very moment, Fíli heard his brother's cry. Desperate, he turned in that direction, but a spider's leg swept his knee and hobbled him. Then he was down, pressed suffocatingly into the underbrush. A penetrating, deep pain pierced his side, and he screamed. Then, while his arms and legs twitched, the darkness filled with bulbous yellow eyes. His companions fearful voices faded, and he knew no more.

The world was a sober grey twilight without shape or form. Fíli drifted like a cork on the sea, bobbing at first upon and then under its turbulent waves, at times aware of himself – Fíli, sister-son of Thorin, brother of Kíli – at others only a dim, flickering being, swollen with dark waters. There was no air but the faintest, most infrequent breath, and that breath was like a dagger of pain which he swallowed greedily before the waves bore him down again, into deep coma.

Then suddenly the pain poured in, and Fíli was seized by oxygen. He was no longer in the ocean, but in a tree: hanging, poisoned prey. There was a burning feeling in his chest as small hands tugged at the cords binding him. When his mouth finally cleared, he gasped a deep lungful of air while blistering faerie lights spotted his eyes, his limbs jerking feebly to free themselves.

Bilbo pressed insistently against his chest, hissing against his ear, "Stop squirming, Fíli," and Fíli caught sight of Bilbo's flashing blade.

It required all his willpower to remain still while Bilbo sawed, and even more to keep from disgracing himself while being hauled onto the branch. Bilbo rubbed circles into his back in a soothing but urgent rhythm while he fought nausea, the pain of the spider bites making him tremble all over. He pawed feebly at his eyebrows and nose, but the sticky mess would not come free, and meanwhile Bilbo was speaking, coaxing, pressing one of his own knives into his hand.

Understanding came, and he moved like an old man down the branch to the next captive. By now his wits were returning. They had been attacked by spiders. One of these bundles was his brother, the others his kin and companions. With fumbling hands, he hurried to haul another up with Bilbo, cutting the web until Bofur's red face was revealed, his thin moustaches caked and white. The older dwarf coughed and struggled, but Fíli held him down on the branch until his rolling eyes steadied.

On down the line, the others slowly emerged. Most were barely capable of movement; Dori could do little but dribble bile down his chin, and Bombur fell to the ground below, rolling onto his back and moaning. Fíli felt himself growing panicked. Finally, finally, he found dark hairs tangled in the web. Only when Kíli's face became visible, his lips almost blue but his eyes already blinking, did Fíli breathe again. He gripped his stupid, heavy little brother against his shoulder and panted with relief.

"I'll get the last," Bilbo said, leaving Fíli to finish freeing Kíli, who was rapidly regaining consciousness.

"Don't move," Fíli commanded, busy using his knife, his fingers.

Kíli stopped straining and sagged against his brother. A short cough made it out of his throat in place of a laugh. "Knew you'd get me out."

Fíli was forced to rasp through gritted teeth. "You knew no such thing. We'd all be dead if it weren't for Bilbo. We might still be dead. The spiders are distracted, but they'll be back."

"I can't feel my fingers," Kíli muttered, flexing them. "Numb all over."

Fíli gave him a push, hoisting them both to their knees so they could begin their unsteady climb to the forest floor where the others were gathering. "As long as your toes are working. We have to get out of here."

Kíli giggled. "Bifur only has seven, you know."

"What?"

"Toes."

Only filial benevolence kept Fíli from shoving his brother off the branch and watching him knock his idiot head on the way down. As it was, Kíli lost his footing at the final approach and, grasping Fíli's jacket, sent them both plunging the last few lengths. Dwalin snatched Kíli up by the collar and put him on his feet, thrusting a rock into his hands. Fíli saw his old mentor's face in the eerie phosphorus light put off by the webs, grim but aware.

The unnatural cries of the spiders reached them, echoing against the trunks as they came closer. Fíli took new grip on his knife, but Bilbo chose just that moment to appear. He shoved them, shouting at their backs. "Run. I'll do the stinging. I said run, you fools!"

So they ran, headlong through a corridor of darkness that bent under their poisoned legs and lashed about their swimming heads. Soon the spiders swarmed, darting in to bite and strike with their legs. Fíli retaliated, guarding what he thought was their flank. He knew that at one point a blazing blue sword joined them, snapping about and driving their foes back for a moment, but there were always, always more.

Their flight seemed to last forever, and the forest seized their minds again, twisting everything into an ever growing circle. Fíli's lungs heaved. "Kíli," he cried in a wavering voice, wanting to hear his brother say his name. He reached out his hand, his vision tilting crazily, but though the shadows warped around him like the figures of his friends, his fingers went through them like a mist. Finally, he dropped to one knee, and every light went out.

When Fíli woke, he was still in the thrall of Mirkwood. The dense branches overhead gave the impression of a cavern, only instead of stone there were great trees, and instead of warm torch light, there was only this eternal viridian gloom. Turning heavily onto his side, Fíli stifled a groan. Burning lines cut across his face, and when he blinked his vision was bleary. He struggled to reorient. How far had they traveled from the nest of spiders? Where were the others?

A sound came from nearby, and Fíli's hands went automatically to his bracers. Of course, his weapons were gone, even the little knife that Bilbo had given him. He thought he remembered plunging it through tough chitin and feeling it lodge there. Everything else had been picked from them like bones under a flaying knife by the spiders' delicate claws. The memory was awful, but Fíli closed his throat, refusing to be mastered by it. The hoarse sound came again, this time clearly recognizable as someone vomiting. Fíli pushed himself onto wobbling legs.

He found Ori with his arms curled around his belly. They hadn't eaten properly in days and nothing much was coming up, but the poor fellow still heaved with his whole body. Dropping beside him, Fíli rolled him onto his knees so he wouldn't choke. "It's alright, Ori," he whispered encouragement. "Nothing left in there. Push your stomach muscles out slowly. Can you swallow?"

The convulsions began to ease, and Ori went limp against his side. The drunken sprawl made Fíli think of his brother, as Kíli had been known to swoon all over him when he wasn't feeling well. A bittersweet grin touched his lips as he thought of those times, and it prompted him to rub the back of Ori's neck. Unfortunately, there wasn't time to wait for him to fully recover. They were alone here, in hostile territory. It was imperative that they find the others.

Fíli helped the younger dwarf to his feet. Ori made a wavering attempt to support his own weight, but his legs wouldn't hold. Anxious to be moving, Fíli finally offered his back. "Come on, then, Ori. Up you go."

As Ori tucked his arms around Fíli's neck and buried his nose in the matted hair, he muttered, "I don't feel well, Dori."

Fíli flinched. On a night long ago before a hearth fire, Balin had spoken about the dwarves who dwelt in the Blue Mountains, some of whom were distant relations. From those confidences, he knew that Dori had all but raised his brother, and being mistaken for him made Fíli uncomfortable. Nonetheless, he would have wanted Kíli allowed at least so small a comfort had their places been reversed. He hitched Ori more securely against his back. "I've got you, Ori. Just rest now."

They hadn't been traveling long before they found Bifur. He came staggering through the tree trunks, grunting in Khuzdul, his beard streaked a ghostly white. Profoundly relieved to see another of the company, Fíli seized the older dwarf by the arm without thinking. "Bifur!"

He got bashed across the face for his trouble. Ori fell with a squeak of protest, and for a moment all Fíli saw were flecks of black light. When he came to, Bifur was squinting at him. He gave Fíli's face a stiff, awkward pat, directly over the throbbing spot where his blow had connected. Fíli grimaced but accepted when Bifur offered to pull him up. Offended pride might have prevented Thorin from taking his hand, but Fíli couldn't blame someone for defending themselves in this wretched gloom.

Instead, he clasped Bifur's shoulder reassuringly. "Therek ikhlit, Udmai."

Bifur nodded. He gestured toward a woozy Ori, who looked as though at least some of his senses had returned. He was rubbing his stiff ginger hair mournfully. "We're lost, aren't we? Have you heard anyone else?"

Fíli, who hadn't even allowed himself to think of his own brother except in passing, refused to offer false assurances. "Can you walk?"

Ori could, but he was unsteady and ended up clinging to a fistful of Fíli's jacket. On his other side, Bifur gazed at him as though expecting him to lead the way. Fíli wondered at their unspoken confidence. His head was vibrating like a hammer that had struck an anvil. His forearm and side ached fiercely, and he felt hot and cold in intervals. Yet here were these two, waiting.

As they made their way, Fíli took in the lines of the forest, which had grown less dense. He recognized the trees and knew they were a good sign. Soon, a discernable wash of pale light seemed to penetrate the canopy. Fíli could see much further in the distance, and so it was by sight that he spotted more of their scattered party. He put his hand on Ori's shoulder. "Look."

"Nori!" The younger dwarf exclaimed as he ran toward his kin, who opened his arms just in time to avoid being barreled over. Bofur, who stood beside him, barked out a surprised laugh, pounding the younger dwarf on the shoulder while Ori went on and on about how afraid he'd been that Nori had been slain, and had he seen Dori, and where had he been, and –

As he came closer, Fíli could see that Nori's posture was strangely bowed. The densely woven plaits in his hair had become tangled with the spider webs, effectively blinding him. Knowing how impossible those strands were to remove, Fíli was moved by sympathy and reached to grip the older dwarf by the shoulder. He was only a little startled when Nori's hand darted up, grasping his in return.

Bofur cleared his throat. He had lost his hat somewhere in their wild flight, and his twin braids drooped forlornly down his neck. However, his grey eyes had grown bright as they joined company. "You're a sight for sore eyes. We've been searching for hours now, and I was starting to think Nori and I were the only ones in these parts."

Grunting, Nori glared more or less in the general direction of his younger brother. "He was fretting, wasn't he? Gets it from Dori, that nagging mother hen."

Ori bristled. "Maybe if you stayed out of trouble, we wouldn't worry so much."

Any further conversation was cut off as a new figure emerged from further beyond. Bedraggled though he was, Dwalin was nonetheless easily recognizable as he strode towards them, eyes smoldering. "Keep it down. You'll get us all killed."

Nori glared through his veil of hair and cobweb, but Fíli felt a coil unwinding inside him. "Mister Dwalin," he said, offering his arm. "Have you seen Thorin?"

Dwalin wagged his head gravely. "Afraid not. I've been wandering for ages, but you're the first I've found." He eyed the others – scrawny Ori in his soiled knit work, the blinded Nori, Bofur with his half grin, and the oblivious, damaged Bifur. A line drew down his brow.

Fíli was disappointed there was no news. Nonetheless, his heart was still easier. He had tremendous respect for Dwalin, and having him here made this situation seem less untenable. "The good news is that the trees have changed. We can't be very far from the end of Mirkwood."

Ori piped up. "How do you figure that?"

With an effort, Fíli didn't smile at his wondering tone, knowing that Ori was more a scholar than a woodsman. Indeed, woodsman was hardly a word commonly used to describe any dwarf. Yet Fíli had lived as much of his life in the forests as the mountains. Since they were children, Kíli had dragged him off on all kinds of expeditions, ranging over hill and dell, camping out under the stars, and harassing the hunters and rangers they encountered to glean from their knowledge and experience. Kíli loved to learn about every growth of moss, every edible root, every distinctly shaped leaf, and Fíli had learned alongside him. He knew the bark and branches by their color and shape, knew where they grew. He'd never been so glad to have a brother who was an eccentric.

"These are black alders. They're more likely found at a forest's edge. If we keep to them, we should find other signs to lead us out of here."

Ori was nodding, full of confidence. Bifur made a movement, forearm thumped against a fist, ready to proceed. Nori stood frowning, braced against his younger brother, while Bofur merely waited for direction. Only Dwalin made no word or movement. He stood rigidly, and in his broad shoulders Fíli read doubt. Finally, he lifted his bare head and looked at the canopy far overhead, at the strange, tall shadows cast by the trees. "I don't know if you're right," he said. "But we cannot just sit here. Lead on."

Using the trees as a guide, the reduced company traveled for miles. Always, they kept their heads up, tense for any threat or the sight of another dwarf (or hobbit), but they saw no one. In time, the light grew stronger and less green, until eventually they were blinking as tiny patches of sky became visible for the first time in weeks. With the sun, they were able to find east, and it was to the east that they traveled. Soon the ground grew less knobby with root and more spongy. The trees changed again, and in a blinding, sudden moment, the forest ended. Stretched out before them was the River Running and the lands east of Mirkwood. Lands Fíli had never seen.

Ori's chin dropped, too amazed to speak until his brother grunted, "What d'ya see?"

Fíli had been looking into the far distance, squinting to discern Erebor or some other landmark he might know. Now he looked less beyond and more before them. A thick stench hung in the air, and after a short stretch of dark soil extending down the incline, the ground became wet. From where they stood, he could see a labyrinth of twining water passages, like a green snake knotted around and over itself a thousand times.

Quietly, Ori admitted, "Marshes. I see marshes. I don't remember this on any map."

"I've heard of the Long Marshes," said Bofur, scratching his head woefully. "But I didn't know they extended so far south."

"The land has changed," Dwalin admitted, shaking his head slowly. He looked almost as bewildered as Ori. "I cannae believe it. There was no bog here."

Fíli inhaled the unmistakable odor of stagnant water and peat. Already, small insects were beginning to bother him; he slapped at his hand and looked down to see a prick of blood. "It's been one hundred and seventy years since the dwarves of Erebor passed this way. Although, that even Gandalf didn't know to tell us –" Dismayed, he shook his head. "Maybe it's like the forest. The Greenwood going to spiders, and ill airs, and poisoned water. Maybe something dark is coming into the world, and it's changing nature itself."

Dwalin snorted. "No matter how it got there, at least it's not this stinking forest. They'll be food and water. Then we can decide how best to get back to Thorin."

He spoke truth; they were all desperately hungry and thirsty, though their tight bellies had by this time forgotten what it meant to have regular meals. And while none he knew had been so vast, Fíli was comfortable with bottomland. There would be conies and snakes, wading birds and edible plants. Yes – he raised his chin – this was a good development. Here, they could regroup and gain strength and make a plan to find his uncle and brother again.

A hand thumped on his shoulder, and he looked behind to see Bifur staring at the marshes. Fíli smiled at the strange old veteran. "Onward, eh?"

In a rare moment of certain connection, Bifur looked directly at Fíli and nodded.

Author's Note: It's probably already obvious that I enjoy integrating canon when it suits the story, so expect a great deal of preferential splicing: a bit of the pugnacious, Jacksonesque characterization of the dwarvish characters mixed with details of J.R.R. Tolkien's original tale. Unfortunately, Fíli had little opportunity for development in either, but Dean O'Gorman's impression of quiet dignity was sufficient for me. As for the other members of Fíli's company, I wrestled a lot before casting them. Bofur was a very late edition; however, in the end he was far too lively a companion to leave behind.

Next Chapter Summary: The company struggles to be free of the entanglements of Mirkwood, and arguments start almost immediately.

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