So. Here it is, all dramatic and angsty and sad.
But it will get better, I promise—it will be a HEA.
A huge HUGE thank you to the reader who caught and pointed out the error in uploading the first draft. Super appreciated!
"We were set upon. They came from nowhere, and we were over run."
Dwalin steps back, his expression full of regret, unable to look Thorin in the eye as he recounts the attack that came from nowhere and cost them more than they'd ever imagined when they'd stepped out to hunt in the early morning light in the woods surrounding Erebor. Dwalin reassumes his place with the rest of the company, his gaze set on the stone floor.
Though the arkenstone glitters over his head, though they have reclaimed everything they set out to find, Thorin looks stricken and pale at Dwalin's pronouncement of what has happened in the woods. Had he not been held up with the meetings with the ambassadors of the Iron Hills, he would have been with them-may have been able to stop this. The question of whythere were orcs in the woods bordering their lands lies silent, uncomfortable, over the vast room. The guilt is palpable on his face, edging into the mask he has worn as king since they reclaimed these lands. Kili can see it, and it brings him little comfort.
The throne room is eerily quiet, like a storm gathering on the horizon about to break, as the youngest prince steps forward.
His wrists are red and bloodied, rubbed raw from struggling against the bonds they were forced to use to bring him back here. His sanity hangs by threads.
Thorin can see it from the throne as Kili kneels before him, the ritual of coming before his king the only thing keeping the edges of his horror down, scrapped knees throbbing against the cold stone. Thorin's chest aches for his young, wild nephew, his eyes coal black and glistening with unshed tears as he looks to the throne. Kili can see his pity, can feel himself breaking, feel those tiny threads of sanity slipping away.
When he speaks, his voice is hoarse with desperation barely kept in check.
"Please. He is still alive. We must go back."
There are disbelieving mutterings from the other dwarves, gathered just behind him, looking exhausted, bruised and bloodied.
Kili rounds on them with a fury that startles even Thorin, shaking with rage,
"There was NO body. That means he is not dead."
"If he was taken...well, he'd wish he was dead. The things an orc pack would do with him...and the heir of Durin...I wouldn't go back out there."
"And if they don't eat him..."
He cannot breathe. His chest constricts, the thought of his brother, his strong, beautiful older brother in pain ripping through him. And they won't shut up, won't allow him even a single moment to collect himself, to re-string those delicate stitches that have barely held his bleeding heart in place since he lost sight of Fili sometime during the battle (and how did that even happen? They are connected, like one, his bow balancing out Fili's twin blades, Fili's strength the counterweight to his grace). Blackness edges his vision, and Kili sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, the rush of air not quite enough to stop the words that come next.
"Sometimes orcs like to...play with their food."
And Kili is screaming, screaming to wake the dead, and once he starts, he cannot stop.
It is unclear who has spoken, but Thorin rises and barely catches Kili by the back of the shirt as he lunges for the dwarves gathered behind him, sword half drawn though he has never been as skilled at using it as his brother. He does not really want to kill these dwarves who have raised him, taught him everything he knows, challenged and strengthened him, but if it means stopping the barrage of images of Fili's pain, he will. His allegiance lies with his brother. Always. Kili is breathing heavily against his chest, but gives easily as Thorin gathers him in his arms, guided by the memory of another time.
He cannot stop shaking.
There is guilt, ever present, for the things he's never told Fili, for those dark, dark secrets he keeps hidden in his chest. A secret love, that makes him feel bubbly and effervescent on those rare days when Fili's smile lights up his world, and deep and black on others, when his desire overtakes him, sometimes making him physically ill. He bears it silently, says nothing to his brother, because it is his burden to bear, and he has not been able to change it, even over all the years they've spent together. He feels as though all the light in the world has been extinguished, as though he will never find his way back from this.
Looking into Thorin's eyes as he looks down at him, Kili thinks maybe it is true.
"Bring me something to calm him!"
Kili draws comfort from the fact that his uncle's voice is steady, his fear held in check by years of practice, only edged with the mania Kili cannot quite control. Oin hurries forward, offering a small vial carved with the symbols of Rivendell.
It is a sign of his fear that Thorin makes no comment on the Elvish origins of the medication before placing it to Kili's chapped lips. His lower lip is split and swollen, and Thorin winces as the liquid spills into the cut. Kili doesn't seem to notice, numbed by loss and desperation and the thought of spending the rest of his life without his older brother.
The effects are nearly immediate. Kili swallows, looking suddenly too young, too innocent, helpless and lost, and immediately collapses into a sleep that does not look quite restful in Thorin's arms.
"I will go. I will find your brother."
Thorin assures him, quiet, definitive. His eyes raise to the rest of the company, daring any of them to challenge him,
"And you will all come with me."
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