A/N : Hello laddies, here I am again! I am sorry that this is not the next chapter of the King of Carven Stone - somehow I am struggling with that one (and to be honest it is sometimes hard to not find myself very foolish for still writing about seemingly-not-so-trendy-anymore-Thorin... sometimes it just feels like I'm posting in the void, but then Norma and Guest come and everything feels right again). The chapter is however on the way, I promise. And I also promise I'll answer all the lovely comments you left, Norma - as for Guest, as usual, your review about Thrain was spot on and wonderful.
This fic here has taken shape these past days, and I didn't really expect it. But as some of you know, my characters are not nice ones that agree to fit into the plots I try to shape for them, but strong-willed plagues that scream to be heard. This time, after Thrain and Thror, it has been little Fili. And so here you have it, a little Christmas-fic of three chapters to be published roughly every seven days before Christmas.
In this fic, Fili's father just died. The River Lune has flooded again - because the Ered Luin are still in the middle of Thorin's vast reinforcement program, and because our lovely, wonderful Thorin is running himself ragged to try to reinforce the mines, build a dam able to master the floods, paying the debts he still owes to the Dwarven tribes who have agreed to go to war, and to make reluctant Broadbeams and Firebeards agree to that visionary, but ambitious and hard-working plan. Of course little Fili has no clue of all this, and is actually not close at all to Thorin, who is away and busy most of the time. Thorin has actually just returned from a journey where he has tried to come to an agreement with Men concerning the cutting of enough trees to try and begin their work - and finds his sister's small family distraught and very much in need of him.
This spoilers being written (allowing me to write Fili freely and... to never finish the King of Carven Stone - just a joke :p), may the story begin!
And of course, may you enjoy Christmas time and please, please, please take care of yourselves. Much love, Meysun.
The Stars, the Oliphant and the Warrior
(Triptych)
Chapter 1.
T.A. 2863, autumn.
It is cold and wisps of straw are biting his legs and back. Fíli's stomach hurts – he is hungry, but it is not just that. There is a big, painful knot, deep inside, a stone with sharp edges, and it won't go away, Fíli knows it.
It won't get better.
It is all wrong, and Fíli will never come down, never ever, not to eat, not to go to sleep, and least of all to wash. He does not care for the cold, the hunger or the filth.
He wants 'adad. He wants 'adad, wants him to come and scoop him up in his big arms, laughing quietly in his ear.
« Hungry, butternut ? », 'adad would whisper.
Fíli kicks the straw and watches the wisps fly.
The wooden ladder leading to the barn's attic creaks, and Fíli withdraws further in the straw, his heart beating so fast he can feel it hammer in his chest. He has yelled at 'amad, shrieking and writhing in her arms, until she let go and gave up – he has roared, picking up handfuls of earth and throwing them, at her and at master Balin, to prevent them from chasing him up here.
He has been there all afternoon, and the sun is setting. He has waited for them to come, and hit him, to scold him and force him down. But no one has come, and Fíli thinks this is worse than anything. They don't care. Only 'adad cares, and 'adad is gone.
Fíli's throat tightens when he recognises the shape that just climbed up. He thought it would be Balin. Maybe even Dwalin – they get on well, usually. He's strong, and they are friends, sort of – because Dwalin does not treat him like a baby, but answers his questions and fights against him.
But the one who has climbed up to fetch him is Thorin, and Fíli's stomach clenches.
'Amad sent Thorin, and this means she does not have anything to say to him. Because Thorin does not talk, not really, Thorin is quiet and somewhat frightening, and his voice when heard is much deeper than 'adad's – he's taller, too, just like 'amad, and his chest and arms are hard as a rock. Fíli remembers it from when he was small, and used to sit on his lap.
That was before he decided he did not like him. Because he was never there, always away, and had even missed his birthday, returning days and days afterwards. Thorin had brought a set of beautifully coloured marbles with him, but Fíli had not touched them, furious and hurt. And he had told Thorin he liked uncle Glóin better, that from now on he would just have one uncle in the world, and that he could keep his marbles and play all alone.
That was the one and only time 'adad had hit him, and scolded him so hard Fíli had begun to cry. He had been forced to apologize, and Thorin had nodded – had said it was all right. But it was not, Fíli had seen it in Thorin's eyes, in the way they never quite met his afterwards, and much later he had noticed 'amad wrapping her arm around his shoulders and touching foreheads. It had made him feel bad, but he did not know what to say to him, and still does not.
Thorin is not cheerful, he has no stories and jokes to tell – he's stern and quiet and Fíli knows he has come to scold him. He's the one deciding now, and Fíli hates him for it.
When Thorin sits down on the ground, Fíli frowns. He's not wearing chainmail and weapons, he's just in tunic and jerkin, and that is unusual. It makes him look a bit less intimidating, but as Fíli scans Thorin's face he can see that the rings under his eyes have not vanished, but are darker and deeper than ever.
He watches as his uncle picks up some wisps, and begins to intertwine and bend them. Thorin does not say a word. He just fiddles with the straw, slowly, his head slightly bowed so that his dark hair shields his face, and Fíli frowns.
When Thorin puts down his work, Fíli squints, twists and bends to try and see what it is, and ends up sending some wisps to the ground. He stills, in awe – but his uncle just picks up more straw.
It goes on for some time. Thorin is folding wisps, putting something down, picking up straw and beginning anew, but as much as Fíli struggles he cannot make out what it is he's making, and it puzzles him. Unnerves him enough to leave the straw at last, as the setting sun is throwing red light on the ground, and on his uncle's tunic.
"What are you making?", Fíli asks, his voice cracked and raw, and then his stomach rumbles so loudly he presses a hand against it.
Thorin does not comment, nor does he lift his head, but as his fingers work on, his deep voice utters one word, softly.
"Stars.
- Why?", Fíli asks, somewhat angrily – because stars do not fit his mighty warrior-uncle, and because what Fíli wants now is to pick up a fight, only he cannot.
You do not fight with someone who's turning wisps of straw into stars. Seven-pointed stars, what's more - Fíli has never seen their likeness.
"Because they are the only ones I remember. He taught me more, but I… forgot."
His uncle's voice is raw. It is full of a pain Fíli has never witnessed – and stirs something in him. Thorin still does not look up, he just goes on with his work, and it makes Fíli bold enough to ask.
"Who?"
Thorin's hands still for a second, and then resume their moves.
"Your uncle.
- Glóin?", Fíli says, somewhat incredulously. "Glóin knows how to make them?
- Not Glóin", Thorin answers, very quietly, and this time he looks up.
His eyes are like 'amad's. The same blue. But Thorin's are sadder. Darker. They used to be. Now, 'amad's look exactly like that, and Fíli cannot bear it.
"I don't have other uncles", Fíli says, defiantly. "Just Glóin and you."
Thorin's eyes cloud and leave Fíli's face. He picks up another wisp, and begins his next star – there are at least nine before him, and Fíli could count them, only he's mulling Thorin's words, trying to understand.
When he does, his throat feels even tighter. Because it is the first time he has ever heard Thorin allude to him. 'Amad and 'adad used to, sometimes. They explained to Fíli that he had died in a big battle, long ago, when he was still very young, and they honour his memory together every Zulu 'Azughâl. But they also told Fíli not to ask Thorin any questions about him, because Thorin had been in that battle too, and had been the one who had found him.
It is a sad story. But Fíli had also thought, privately, that there was not much he wanted to tell Thorin anyway. It had been easy not to say his name aloud.
But now Fíli does.
"And… uncle Frerin", he whispers, haltingly, scanning Thorin's face.
His uncle closes his eyes for some seconds.
"Aye", he lets out, and there is a world of pain in the sound. "He would have made more than stars. Animals. Shapes. A small world of straw and beauty."
Fíli swallows. It hurts. His eyes spill and he does not see the stars anymore, they blur and he sniffs and wipes his cheeks, and when his uncle extends his arm, he lets out a sob that feels like he's coughing up fire. And another, and then another. He weeps, head buried in Thorin's neck and in his hair, he cries until he has no air left, his fingers knotted around Thorin's tunic, and all this time he presses his body close to his uncle's chest, because he knows, somehow, that Thorin has felt just like that, is probably feeling just like that – and that, for the first time in Fíli's life, he is the one who understands.
Thorin's body is hard as a rock. But it's also warm. And alive. He can feel Thorin breathe, senses his hands against his back, anchoring him. Linking him to him. Telling him he's not alone.
Fíli sobs, and hiccups, and every one and then he lets out a long, pain-filled wail – and Thorin never tells him to stop, Thorin simply holds him, and moves with him, rocking him slowly with each new assault of pain, fingers trailing through his hair.
Fíli is so spent when it finally stops that he cannot keep himself upright. He's slumped against his uncle, letting out shuddering, uneven breaths, and this time Thorin shushes him, brushing his back with gentle, soothing moves.
His arms are circling Thorin's neck, and he's sitting on his lap. That is why he's aware that Thorin is shaking, despite his calm strokes and his even breaths. So Fíli presses himself even closer, determined to warm him up, even though he's not sure Thorin's actually cold.
His stomach suddenly gives another low rumble, and Thorin's hand trails up, stroking Fíli's hair.
"Someone here is very hungry", his uncle says – his voice ringing through Fíli's chest.
"I'm not", Fíli croaks, even though he is.
Because it's a way to say no, that he does not want anything of this, that it is an outrage and that it should not be.
"I guess I am, then...", Thorin says, and it sounds like a question, causing Fíli to pull back slightly so as to take a look at his face.
He really looks a lot like 'amad. Their hair is just the same, their eyes and nose as well. Thorin's beard is different, though. It's thicker, but it's also shorter – 'amad has braids and beads in hers, while Thorin's is cut close to the skin. So close that Fíli notices a thin, blood-crusted cut, just below his jaw, half hidden by Thorin's long braids.
He puts his finger on it, shyly. It is weird, but he'd never have thought Thorin could bleed. Or shiver, or breathe like someone trying not to weep. He'd never have thought Thorin could smell of home, of something known and familiar – and that he could be so warm. It's very silly, but he has probably thought, all this time, that Thorin was somehow made of stone.
That's what a lot of people say.
But now it strikes Fíli that, actually, Thorin must have felt very, very lonely. Because, save for 'amad, and 'adad who's gone now, and Dwalin and Balin, there's barely anyone Thorin sits with and talks to. No one to tell him he has cut his cheek.
"Does it hurt?", he asks, and he feels Thorin swallow, turning his face from Fíli as he shakes his head.
But Fíli still sees the tear rolling down his cheek, soon followed by another. It is all so quiet, the way his uncle cries. He looks away, he does not make a noise, does not say a word – and that's when Fíli realises he must have hurt his uncle very, very much.
"I'm sorry", he lets out, his voice tiny, and Thorin turns to stare at him, despite his shining eyes.
"What for, bunnel?", he asks, and he truly sounds aghast.
"B-because I said you were not a good uncle, before you left. B-because I said I liked uncle Glóin more. It's n-not true. And b-because I threw earth on 'amad and – and – and master Balin and w-was shouting and m-made 'amad sad and angry… and you…
- I am not angry at you", Thorin says, and his gaze is so earnest Fíli knows he tells the truth.
"But you are sad", he sniffs, and Thorin's warm hands find his back again.
"Yes", Thorin whispers, his voice hoarse. "I am. But it is not because of you. It is never because of you, bunnel."
The fond word makes Fíli blink. No one calls him like that, no one but Thorin, and it stirs something in his chest, like a long-forgotten memory. He circles Thorin's neck again, nestles against his chest, and then he speaks, shakily.
"I… did not want to get into the water. I don't want… to get into the water."
That's why he struggled, and screamed, and fought. The mere thought to have water circling his body again makes Fíli want to throw up, and it doesn't matter he's filthy and smelly, that it has been four days, he does not want to even enter the small bucket in which he usually bathes.
Water swallowed 'adad, just like that, and Fíli hates it.
Thorin's arms tighten their embrace around him, and it feels good, and warm, and safe. And as he speaks, softly, Fíli feels the knot in his stomach begin to unravel.
"You do not have to, bunnel. Everybody understands.
- No. No one does. No one. They just think I'm a coward."
He has spoken fiercely, desperately, and this time Thorin bends and kisses his filthy, straw-knotted hair, holding him tightly.
"You are anything but a coward, bunnel. Some warriors have very silly-looking fears, because they have seen and lived through terrible things, and yet they are among the bravest Dwarves I know. It's… like a scar. One you cannot see.
- Do they heal?", Fíli asks, face buried deep into Thorin's shoulder, but this time his uncle does not answer, he just sits with Fíli on his lap, in the attic that has now grown very dark.
"What will 'amad say? About the bath? She'll want me to wash.
- Injured warriors do not take baths. Their bodies are cleaned with a wet sponge, until they heal."
Thorin's voice is earnest, very determined, and Fíli loves him for it, because he knows his uncle is not making fun of him, and that he means what he says.
"And the hair?", he asks, and this time Thorin almost smiles.
"Injured warriors get their hair washed sitting on a chair and holding very still."
Somehow it seems to Fíli his uncle must have done that, for someone, long ago. Maybe Dwalin, when he still had some hair, even though the idea of it seems strange. Or perhaps…
"Will you wash my hair?", Fíli asks before he really thinks about it, but once the words are out he's pleased, because his uncle's face softens and suddenly looks even more like 'amad's.
"Yes, bunnel. I will. Now hold tight, will you? Let us climb down.
- Don't forget the stars", Fíli mumbles – he's tired, exhausted actually, and he shivers as Thorin moves, hoisting him up on his hip, holding him there with one arm only.
He picks up the straw-stars with his left hand and hands them to Fíli. And Fíli presses them against his chest as they climb down – it is very dark outside, so dark he hides his face against Thorin's neck. It is cold as well, but his uncle spreads his palm against Fíli's back and rubs it gently, until Fíli's shivers still.
He has to blink when Thorin leads them both inside. 'Amad has made a fire, and lit the lamps – it is warm and lighted inside, it feels like home and yet Fíli is scared to leave Thorin's chest, scared to look 'amad in the face and see the hurt carved there because of him.
Thorin brings them both close to the fire, and Fíli shivers again. His uncle's hand strokes his back, and then he says, very softly:
"Tell 'amad what you have found, in the straw. Show her what you have brought back. There are enough for all the rooms, are they not, Fíli?"
Slowly, ever so slowly, Fíli's face leaves Thorin's neck. He does not turn, he just stares at his uncle – because this is such a gentle thing to do, to pretend Fíli has found the stars when it has been Thorin doing them all along, just to be able to give his 'amad something to make up for his behaviour and his words…
It does not feel fair for Thorin. But his uncle's eyes are as soft as his voice, now, and then Thorin does something he has not done in a very, very long time – he bends, and nudges Fíli's forehead with his. It's all right, he seems to say, and Fíli does as he is told, this time.
"Stars", he croaks, and it feels like he's going to cry, his lip is trembling as he turns to face his 'amad at last, barely daring to look up. "The straw's full of stars, and they are all… all for you."
'Amad is the most beautiful Dwarrowdam these Mountains have ever witnessed. That's what 'adad used to say. She is tall, her hair is Raven-black and so long it reaches her waist, her eyes are blue as the purest of sapphires, and she's as strong as Thorin, as strong as Dwalin even, because she knows how to fight with both hands, just like them.
But what makes 'amad so beautiful is the way her face softens, whenever she looks at those she loves, whenever she finds something worthy and touching in this world. 'Amad does not seem to be made of stone at all, 'amad is all fire and light and love – and even with her face all pale and her eyes all red, and the way the light she carries seems dulled, something still manages to shine in her features, as she takes them in, Thorin, Fíli and the stars, and reaches out for them.
She extends her arms, and for a second Fíli thinks Thorin is simply going to make his weight shift from his hip to 'amad's, and withdraw, as always. But 'amad does not let him, she circles both Fíli's waist and Thorin's shoulders, and draws them both against her – and for a few seconds Fíli is shielded between uncle and 'amad, and it feels almost right.
"Maikhmini", 'amad whispers, and Fíli knows she's not fooled, and has guessed where the stars come from, but chooses to play along nonetheless.
Sometimes it is just easier this way.
She takes him in her arms then, cradles him against her, and Fíli entwines his legs around her waist and circles her neck with his arms – he is crying, a little bit, and so is 'amad, but then his stomach gives a loud rumble, and 'amad has a small, somewhat shaky laugh.
She kisses his cheek and tells him she'll warm up dinner, and Fíli nods and slides down – he has seen Thorin fetch a small basin, a sponge and some soap, as well as towels. His uncle is rolling up his sleeves, quietly, and as usual Fíli's heart skips a beat when his eyes fall on the criss-crossed pattern of scars barring his left forearm – they look so mighty and terrible, like a strange tattoo he cannot help but find beautiful, because it is familiar.
His uncle looks at him, and Fíli wonders why he has always thought Thorin frightening, stern and cold. There are a thousand words in his uncle's eyes – it's just that he does not know how to speak them. He's better with looks, and with touches, just like Fíli is better with fists and roars right now.
And so Fíli joins him, and sits down on the rug to remove his boots and socks, and when it's done Thorin kneels down next to him and unbuckles his belt, before pulling both tunic and shirt from Fíli, in a single move, just like 'adad.
"You have to separate them", he tells his uncle patiently, but Thorin just huffs.
"They are no more than filthy rags", he growls – but there is a sparkle in his eyes as he helps Fíli to step out of his trousers, and it makes Fíli smile.
"They are no rags...", he says, and his uncle gives another huff.
"I'm throwing them straight into the fire, that's what I'm going to do..."
And then Thorin makes a quick move towards the fireplace and Fíli squeaks, and then Thorin's shoulders are shaking, because he's laughing, very quietly – because he has kept Fíli's clothes balled in his hand, and was pretending all along.
Fíli throws himself against his uncle's chest, and Thorin's hands run against his bare back as he restrains him in their small wrestle – they are warm, he's so warm, and Fíli loves to see him smile.
"Come now, little warrior", his uncle whispers. "The water will grow cold."
Thorin's hands are big, but they are deft and able. It takes him about a minute to have Fíli stripped down and shivering before him, and about five minutes to clean his whole body with a sponge he is dipping into warm water. He scrubs his skin carefully, but it doesn't hurt – it is just warm and soothing, and Fíli relishes the way the sponge rinses the filth away, the way Thorin manages to make him feel clean and almost whole, without having to drench him.
He loves the way his uncle handles him, and so Fíli allows himself to be a bit of a baby, and to let Thorin dress him in his nightclothes, before placing him on a chair. By that time Fíli's eyelids droop, and he doesn't really know if he feels more tired or hungry.
His uncle tells him to bend his head back, just a little, and Fíli obeys. Thorin's hand comes resting against his forehead, and then, very gently, his uncle begins to drench his hair until it is all wet. The water never meets Fíli's face, and he relaxes completely when Thorin begins scrubbing his head. He doesn't really remember what happens afterwards – his hair is all clean and damp and Fíli's sitting on 'amad's lap and ladling his soup, and through the haze of sleep that is invading his small body, Fíli cannot even begin to decide what feels best.
The food in his stomach, warming him up, or the way his body isn't cold and itchy anymore, but soft and just yearning for sleep, or the fact that he has 'amad's arms around him and can pretend that 'adad is just outside and coming home soon…
Or that Thorin is currently sewing the straw-stars on a thin string, promising to pin them above Fíli's bed so that they'll be the first things he sees tomorrow when he wakes.
Fíli is too tired to ask. His eyes are falling shut and he lets himself drift off to sleep in 'amad's arms, before he can mouth the words. Maybe he's afraid for Thorin's answer to be no, or maybe Fíli is already sure today means yes.
But he really, really hopes that now, Thorin is going to stay.
