Title: Scarf
Chapter's genre: Hurt/comfort
Summary: Fíli is torn between helping the lakesmen and following his kin to find out their fate.

Chapter 2

When the time to leave the remains of Lake-town and its citizen was upon the leftovers of Thorin's Company, Fíli felt his heart grow heavy. He believed he was just as guilty for the devastation the lakesmen faced as were the dwarves who had awakened the fire breathing beast. The only consolation on his guilty conscience was that he had managed to keep Bard's daughters and his three companions safe with the aid of Tauriel. Watching the fiery haired elf take charge had stung his dwarven pride, but he had let his grudge against elves take a backseat and concentrate on rowing and getting out of the burning town alive.

He had failed to save one of Bard's children, however. The bowman's only son, Bain, had jumped off the boat after spotting his father up in a burning tower shooting arrows at the dragon's impenetrable hide. Fíli had tried to grab the lanky boy's arm and pull him back to safety, but the lad was nimbler than his appearance suggested.

"Come back! Wait!" he called after him, panic evident in his voice. Bain didn't take heed of him and continued his mad dash across the wooden walkways. Little Tilda cried after her brother and clung to Sigrid.

Fíli had been ready to stand up and chase after the reckless boy, but was stopped by Tauriel's stern tone. "Leave him. We cannot go back." It was the last he saw of Bard's son.

As he watched the drenched men crawl to the shores of Long Lake and listened to the hysterical cries of women and children, he felt obligated to stay and help. He knew what it was like to live on the road and to be a stranger in his own home. The Blue Mountains were his home, but it was not where he belonged.

However he had sworn loyalty to his uncle and kin. Their fate weighted heavily on his mind and he knew he had to leave and see with his own eyes what had become of the nine dwarves and a hobbit. Voicing his concerns to Bofur and Óin, the two began to gather whatever small provisions they had and packed them on the boat. He could see Kíli's attention was completely elsewhere and decided to let his younger brother have a chance to thank the unusual elf for her generous help.

He was about to help the two elder dwarves push the boat back to the water when he caught a glimpse of something familiar in the sea of injured and freezing men; brown mop of tangled hair, now darkened by water and ash, coming loose from a messy braid.

"Fíli!" he winced when her shrill shout rose above the screams and cries. Sigrid was frantically turning her head, scouring the landscape for his blonde locks and short stature. He wouldn't be able to leave her in such a state. Sighing, he turned to the two dwarves. "Just a moment", he said and strode to the distressed lass, mindful of the bodies that littered the shore. Little Tilda clutched her sister's hand and joined in shouting his name. In the back of his mind he couldn't help but wonder how long they could keep that up before their voices turned hoarse from overuse.

"Sigrid, Tilda. I'm here", he called as he got closer. Sigrid instantly turned like a predator that had spotted its prey and ran to him in record time. Tilda couldn't keep up, so she let go of her sister's hand and followed at her on pace. Fíli hardly had time to say more as Sigrid collapsed to her knees and fiercely hugged him.

It wasn't anything like he had ever experienced before. Not to say Fíli hadn't had his share of hugs. On the contrary he took every chance he got to show his affection to his younger brother and to greet his mother by enveloping her in a gentle embrace. He was known to give friendly side hugs and pats on the back to even mere acquaintances. But the desperate vice-like-grip her skinny arms held him in was nothing like the comfortable hugs he shared with his friends and family.

Frowning, he contemplated whether to pry her arms off him before he suffocated or pat her affectionately on the head. Such thoughts fled his mind when he felt her body tremble against his uncontrollably. Maybe the cold had finally gotten to her. Silly lass was only wearing a thin coat over her usual garments – as was little Tilda who watched them teary-eyed from a short distance. That couldn't be it, he mused, for she was still as warm as ever underneath his arms. When had his arms wrapped around her slim frame? It didn't matter, he decided, as it seemed to help her calm down enough to loosen her grip and pull back to look him in the eye.

"I can't find Da or Bain", she whispered. "I was afraid you would leave us." She buried her nose in his damp locks, not voicing the obvious fear of being left alone with her sister. Fíli sighed and brushed his dry lips to her warm brow.

"Not yet", his voice was a low rumble as he stroked Sigrid's back. It was almost improper as his hand felt the unnaturally sharp bones of her shoulder blades and spine through her coat. Men and their lack of proper clothing, he huffed, but allowed himself to indulge in this strange sensation. She didn't seem to mind in the slightest, in fact, she appeared almost soothed by it. Once her trembling had completely subsided, he dared to continue to say the unavoidable. "But we are leaving very soon for Erebor. We have to see if anyone is still alive."

Her breath tickled the right side of his face as she nodded in understanding. Carefully pulling apart, he took her small hands in his and willed what he hoped to be a reassuring smile on his face. Her chapped lips trembled and her nostrils flared as she attempted to keep calm. Her kind grey eyes shone with unshed tears that reminded Fíli of an heirloom of Durin's House; a precious ring made of mithril. He had seen it briefly on the finger of his grandfather Thráin before the dwarves had marched to retake Khazad-dûm. Fíli had been only a small boy back then, Kíli even smaller, sleeping in a cradle while Fíli witnessed their parents embrace for the last time.

"You are strong, you and your people. You will make it through", he assured and steadily held her gaze. He was pleased to note that she managed to keep the tears from falling. She had to be strong, for her family.

"Take care of Kíli", she said quietly, voice thick with emotion.

"And you of Tilda." He didn't have the heart to include Bain or Bard and give the poor lass false hope. She had had enough dreams crushed within the nychthemeron.

Sigrid managed a watery smile as he lifted his hand to tug a wayward strand of hair behind her small ear. "This is not a farewell", she said firmly, lifting her chin in determination and ready to challenge him if he dared to disagree.

"No", agreed the fair haired prince and gently head-butted her. "We will meet again", he promised. Sigrid gave his cool hand a final squeeze before standing up and joining Tilda to search for their father and brother. The sudden absence of warmth in his hands left him slightly chilled.

Fíli found himself fingering the scarf she had knitted for him the day before. It was rough and warm like her work-worn hands. He cast a final glance in her direction before walking back to the two waiting dwarves. He noted Kíli had yet to return from the elf's side, but he suspected he wouldn't take much longer to bid farewell to her.

Perhaps these strange interracial attachments did indeed run in the family, looking back to how fond the two brothers and their uncle had grown of their hobbit companion. Or mayhap he and Kíli had merely inherited their mother's big heart and compassion that overlooked minor details such as race.

The prince discarded his musings and turned to push the boat along with Óin and Bofur. It seemed to be stuck on the bank as if taunting him to change his mind and turn back. Huffing in irritation, he turned to glance back at his brother who seemed to be rooted on spot not unlike the trees his elf-companion lived amongst.

"Kíli! Come on, we're leaving."