A.N:: Thought I should probably get this one up after I re-read the first one and it seems a bit.. eh. I started this way back in January, and my writing has improved since then wow ;_; so yes.
Also, Farin's name was a leftover 'draft-name' and I forgot to change it /flings self into the sun/ he's now Valí. Because that sounds cooler.
And as per the norm, any Khuzdul is translated at the bottom of the chapter.
Days fell into weeks and those weeks quickly stretched into a month.
A month passes slowly, Fíli found, when food is scarce and water mostly frozen in culverts that sliced through cold, dry ground that used to be full of greenery and all manner of creatures. A month passes slowly when you only have a word as your destination, and limited survival skills to fall back upon.
Fíli knew, of course, that they'd need shelter when the weather got bad and that was when they'd sleep. Food could be rationed, and ice could be melted by a fire, which could be made with the right kindling and stones. Direction could be followed by the path the sun hewed through the sky.
But rationing food with a little, hungry brother was not easy, and ice was painful to break with booted feet and bare fingers, and a fire was not always easily made, nor the sun easily followed if the weather turned its back on you.
In the end, it wasn't enough.
Fíli could feel himself wasting away. He'd given most of his food and water to Kíli, afraid that his brother wouldn't survive the journey, and now the harsh winter had begun to set in.
Although he tried to tell himself that Kili needed it more than he did, Fíli was starting to regret giving that little extra piece of rabbit away. Those few berries every so often, and the odd nut here and there.
Fíli pushed on nonetheless, telling himself he'd reach the hillocks residing on the edge of this particular plain and then he'd rest for a little while. He'd reach that little scrub in the distance, and then he'd rest for a shorter while. He'd reach that small rocky outcrop, and then he'd rest for a few minutes. But the markers kept creeping further and further away from Fíli, and rests became precious seconds in which Fíli would slump forward, his chin resting atop Kíli's head, and close his eyes until he saw Valí's pale, gaunt face staring at him from a sea of black, urging him to run. And Fíli would go.
On one cold day in what Fíli assumed was early December, they'd barely stopped. Fíli had found a firmer sense of direction, following the sun that started to fall from its midday peak to the East – the direction of Moria, from what little Fíli could remember from maps that Thorin had shown them.
They'd made it through most of the lands unscathed, and all that stood between them and Moria now was plains; simple and flat land that the horse would fare much better on.
It was only when Kíli had very nearly slipped from Fíli's grip into a spot of craggy, unforgiving ground below that Fíli thought it might be wise to stop and at least regain some of his own strength so that he could keep Kíli safe. If he couldn't do that, then what kind of brother would he be?
Fíli found them shelter under a great oak tree whose trunk curved at just the right angle to provide a comfortable resting place for the brothers. Helping Kíli down from the horse, he told him to stay by this oak until he came back with food and water. Kíli didn't even reply as he crawled over to settle between the protruding roots, and Fíli limped off, disheartened.
At some point along their journey, Fíli had managed to twist his ankle after falling from the horse. He couldn't remember when it had been, exactly – days just blurred and fell into each other with each hour that Fíli pulled them through. Nonetheless, putting any weight on his ankle had caused a fire to spread up his leg which brought him crashing to the ground again, but the pain had receded slightly in the last few hours. Leastways, Fíli could walk if he needed to.
What wasn't so promising, however, was the dark, angry bruise that had flared up his side one day after a particularly nasty fall, its purple claws crawling over his bony shoulder. It tormented Fíli constantly, pulling him from the darkest depths of sleep or hindering his step, making him clumsy when he was trying to trap a hare and leaving the brothers hungry.
Most of the time, Fíli would push it to the back of his mind and he just kept on dragging himself and Kíli through the hours and the days, simply because he had no other choice.
Stumbling upon a cluster of berry bushes, Fíli could hardly believe his luck. At any rate, the berries looked red and juicy and perfectly safe, Fíli thought as he began to gather some, using his tunic as a makeshift carrier. It wouldn't sustain them for long, Fíli knew that, but what could he do? Sit and wait for help? Help was out of their reach now, and it had been since he left the burning mountains.
Scampering back to the oak, he deposited the berries nearby a sleeping Kíli, his shirt now stained red with the juice. Kneeling down, Fíli gently shook and nudged his sleeping brother awake, pointing wordlessly to the hoard he'd gathered. Kíli seemed to perk up almost immediately, making his way to the berries, eager to satisfy the painful, gnawing hunger festering in his belly. Fíli managed to smile for the first time in a little while, although the motion made his face (and now seldom used muscles) ache.
Satisfied that his brother would eat, Fíli limped over to Alsviðr and took out a smooth wooden bowl from the nearly-empty saddlebag. He began to follow the refreshing sound of a brook babbling nearby, hurrying off into the trees. Along the way, Fíli stopped and picked up a small stone, using it to mark the trunks that he passed. He wasn't going that far, but all the same, he'd rather be safe and certain that he was going the right way. He couldn't risk anything happening, not now.
Fíli returned with a bowlful of clear, fresh water. Sitting beside Kíli, he let his brother take the first drink as he always did. When he was content that his brother was fed and watered for the moment, Fíli sat back against the trunk of the oak, glad of the rest. He'd earned it.
Minutes stretched into hours again, and before Fíli knew it, the sun was beginning to set. The warmth at his side told him that Kíli had fallen asleep again at some point, and had tried to get as close to Fíli as possible without actually climbing onto him. Although, Kíli's arm was wrapped firmly around Fíli's middle, so he hadn't been entirely successful. Fíli couldn't help but grin lazily, glad to see Kíli at peace for once.
And oak trees, for some reason, Fíli had always found to be very… familiar.
Fíli allowed time to slip by, until Kíli roused from sleep and promptly whacked him in the face with a poorly aimed stretch. Grumbling, Fíli shoved Kíli's arm off, the quiet laughter from the younger resounding through the empty forest.
"C'mon, Kee. You been 'sleep for ages." Fíli pulled himself up, ignoring his sore muscles that were beginning to cry out in fatigue already. He helped Kíli up quickly, finishing off the rest of the water, and they were soon back upon a well-rested horse, Kíli munching on some berries he'd picked up that looked a bit dubious, Fíli thought, but he wasn't going to deny his starving brother.
Letting out a huff of breath, he saw it turn to misty vapour in the cold air before digging his heels into the horse's side with a shiver. Fíli just hoped that they would outrun the cold before it claimed them both.
It was well into the night and barely a few hours from the crack of dawn when Fíli began to feel Kíli slipping out of his grip again, but he'd suddenly grown incredibly heavy and loose and every time that Fíli grabbed onto him, it seemed to make it harder to keep Kíli upright - Fíli felt like it was trying to catch smoke for all the good it was doing.
Looking down, Fíli felt a rush of cold fear as Kíli's head lolled dangerously, falling back onto his own shoulder. His heart almost froze in his chest when he saw the dark red liquid creeping from the corner of Kíli's mouth.
Any rational thought he still had left was now completely gone, and he cried out hoarsely, feeling completely alone in the suddenly vast wilderness.
So when the grey stone of Moria came into view, Fíli was grateful for the surge of adrenalin that gave him the strength to urge his horse into a gallop once more, holding tightly onto Kíli.
"Brother, look. Moria." He didn't even try to stop the weak tears spilling from weary eyes when Kíli did not reply.
The horse, who'd carried them for so far and so long, slowed as he neared the gates with fatigue weighing upon his heavy bones too. Fíli gently pulled the animal to a halt, and that was the last of his strength utterly spent. Fíli's arms were now like lead, and they fell to his sides, reins slipping from his grip. Head swimming, he couldn't see – black edges began to creep in, softening the harsh sun glare. Fili just wanted to sleep.
ooOOOoo
The horns of Moria had been quiet for some time, so when they sounded on this Durin's Day, Thorin was surprised and a little more than confused.
Rising from his seat in Durin's Watchtower, Thorin followed his assembled council out to the bridge that stretched between the two hastily-built front outposts over the West Gate. He found the sons of Fundin were already on the bridge, eyes squinted against the harsh glare of the pale sun as its weak rays struggled to break through the thick, winter cloud.
"Balin, what is it?" Thorin slipped to Balin's side as his council dissipated into the throng that had gathered below.
"I cannae' see, lad-"
"A mount with young riders." Dwalin answered for his brother, looking from Balin to Thorin with no small amount of concern.
This was certainly odd. Moria was considered dangerous in the eyes of most of Middle-Earth; no-one would willingly ride here without a cause, let alone children. Nor could they accidentally stumble upon it, it was too far out of the way of any major passages through Middle-Earth, which only served to make the matter even more baffling.
Frowning, Thorin turned to carve a way through the gathering crowd, down the stone steps and out towards the arrivals. Dwalin and Balin followed along with a personal guard that Thorin detested, but couldn't really dismiss unless he wanted Balin to deliver a long and difficult lecture with points that had been so well thought out that it was pointless even thinking about arguing.
The group drew nearer to the horse and its riders, and Thorin's eyes caught a flash of steel blue eyes that regarded him with something akin to hostility, but it was hard to tell.
Feeling the hairs standing on the back of his neck at the unexpected look, Thorin averted his gaze, instead noting the features of this boy as he scanned him thoroughly. Dirty, matted hair that had once been golden, judging by the few strands that gleamed in the sun. A young face underneath was hidden underneath all that dirt, Thorin was sure, and those bright blue eyes boring into his own left him feeling oddly nostalgic. They reminded him of someone, and Thorin swore he caught a flash of recognition in the blue.
Then it hit him, like icy water flooding over his shoulders and spurring his grey mind into life.
"Fíli." Thorin breathed, stopping so suddenly that Dwalin had to swerve to avoid crashing into the back of him. Thorin looked down to the figure in front, and sure enough, Fíli's shadow was there, but he was fading fast. The crimson dripping from dry, scarred lips, the bruises, the scrapes – this wasn't right.
Thorin balked, a quiet fear festering beneath his skin and slowing him down. He couldn't think straight. Thoughts ricocheted and ran rampant through the empty caverns of a weary mind, and Thorin could barely string the next two syllables together.
"Kíli!" Thorin called out, expecting some sort of reaction, knowing that he would get none.
"Fíli, what-" the would-be King stepped forward, hand falling from the hilt of his sword, reaching for the broken reins that Fili clutched onto like a lifeline with shaking fingers. With the other hand, Thorin pushed Kili's hair out of his face, careful to avoid the tender looking scrapes. Some kind of pathetic anger burned in his gut; he'd have the man who'd let any harm come to his nephews impaled on a rusty spear and left for dead, but Thorin didn't know who to blame, and that only made it worse.
Alone and exhausted and probably scared out of their wits - what were they doing here, of all places? Thorin had left Ered Luin little more than month before, the laughter of the boys following him and his patrol out of the gates.
oOo
Somewhere in the distance, Fili heard a familiar voice, questioning and murmuring and being far too loud for his liking, and that was the last thing he heard before he fell from the horse and into darkness.
oOo
Dwalin had never seen Thorin move so fast before in his life. Flinging himself forward with lightning reflexes, Thorin stood in a wider stance to brace the sudden added weight and then strong arms were quickly cradling Fíli, Thorin emanating a fierce protectiveness that Dwalin didn't want to test for fear that he'd end up with his head on a plate.
"Dwalin, get Kíli." Thorin's words were harsh; knife-edged and desperate.
Seeing his personal guard scatter at Balin's quiet orders, he looked to Balin, eyes blazing with quiet fury.
"Burn marks," Balin pointed out, gently smoothing the blackened hem of Fíli's cloak, worried lines crinkling around his eyes as he frowned. "I've sent out scouts to Ered Luin."
"Kili- ill." Thorin almost dropped Fíli as he started forward, the voice he'd heard barely more than a whisper. Looking down at Fíli, he saw the boy, eyes clenching tight, as though even whispering was a struggle. "He's ill."
Glancing behind, he saw Kíli securely wrapped in Dwalin's huge arms, a sickly hue to his skin.
The healers can manage that, Thorin thought hopefully.
"Fíli, listen, Fíli-" Thorin met Fíli's empty gaze again as he gave him a gentle nudge, willing him to stay awake, "What happened?"
Fíli winced as he turned his head to the side, muscles freezing up and locking into place. Slowly, Fíli began to turn his head the other way. No.
"'No'… what?" Thorin gently coaxed, trying to keep Fíli as still as possible. He didn't know the extent of Fíli's injuries yet, and the last thing he wanted to do was make them worse.
"A-arrâs." Fíli breathed after a moment, his head falling against Thorin's chest again. Fires. That would explain the burn marks.
Thorin didn't want to think on it, but he couldn't help all the possible scenarios flashing through his mind. Dís. Valí. What of them? What fate had been bestowed upon his people in Ered Luin now? Anger, icy and bitter, clawed up through his bones and grew into a fiery haze that clouded his thoughts, and Thorin didn't ask anything else.
*: Khuzdul: (for most of these words, they loosely translate - I had no Khuzdul boffin on hand, only a dictionary!)
arrâs - fires
