The fire was burning to embers, much like the life-spirit of the old King. His voice was low and quiet, but his sister-sons heard and came immediately. The elder sat on the edge of the bed and took the King's right hand. His brother did the same on the King's left. They waited in silence, attentive, respectful, yet dreading what they knew must be his last words to them. So many years, and now the oak was falling. They could only hope the seeds sown in them would give rise to the same strength.
Thorin looked at his nephews, a smile in the blue eyes that age had never dimmed. Fili's golden hair and beard were liberally laced with silver now, and age had thickened him, as it did to most Dwarves. But his uncle saw the daring and reckless youth, lithe and strong, quick with a smile and deadly with any weapon that came to hand. Kili's beard has finally come in fully some years after the retaking of Erebor, and now he looked every inch the proper Dwarf. His face was solemn, the usual twinkle gone from the hazel eyes, and his uncle mourned being the cause of his sorrow. He gripped the two hands in his, fighting for a moment to find the right words.
"You have been the sons of my heart, and no father could have asked for better. So I shall tell yours when I see him. I shall tell him tales of the Lion of Durin and his strong Right Hand, who reclaimed our home and rebuilt it. I shall tell him stories of hard-fought war and hard-won peace, and the two Dwarves who stood side by side through it all. Light and dark, sun and moon, each a reflection of the other."
His hands came up and joined those of his nephews together. "Learn from my example – do not repeat my mistakes … "
"Hush, Uncle, there will be no talk of that," Fili protested, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "You have been a wise King and have guided our people back to greatness. I hope only that I can carry on as you have begun. Any mistakes have long since been forgotten and forgiven."
The brilliant eyes clouded over for a moment, and it tore the younger Dwarves' hearts to see it. "By others, perhaps – not by me. I have regrets, so many of them." Thorin was silent for a moment, then mustered up a smile and clasped the joined hands between his own. "But there are no regrets about this. I leave this kingdom in the best of hands. Remain true to each other, as you have always been, and Erebor will continue to prosper. That is the last command of your King, and the last wish of your uncle."
"We will, Thorin," Kili whispered, glancing at his brother to find the same tears shining in his eyes, the same smile fighting to stay in place. How he wanted to beg his uncle to stay, to cry that he still needed him, that he was not ready to let go … But in his heart he knew Thorin was weary and he had fought long enough. It was time. "Sleep now, and wake to a new day."
Thorin smiled one last time, the eyelids closed, and the big hands slipped away. The brothers held onto each other for a moment, then each stood and pressed a kiss on the forehead already growing cold.
"Tak natu yenet, thanu men,"* Fili whispered. Kili silently breathed a prayer that Mahal would welcome His son with open arms. The kingdom would mourn, then life would go on. The Lion of Durin and his Right Hand would see it done, for all of them.
* Tak natu yenet, thanu men – Until we meet again, My King.