Hello again, my ducks! I'm having far too much fun with this story, you must know, and I'm glad to hear some of you are excited about it! Thank you so very much for reading, and I hope not to disappoint!

This is section 2 of 10.

Two

Given three days to prepare himself for departure, Fili is packed and ready within an hour of Thorin's announcement, and the boy follows him like a lost puppy every hour after that. He pesters Thorin with questions, asks to be taught more than the basic combat skills he already possesses, and pores over the sketchy old maps Thorin has prepared for their journey, as though he is already gazing upon the sights of those far-off lands. Dwalin threatens to skin him alive if he does not stop asking questions, and Fíli only laughs at that, ducking under his giant fists to pull a knife from his belt and brandish it proudly. The lad has no fear.

Kíli is with him, of course. There is no surprise to that. Since Kíli first learnt to toddle along on fat, unsteady legs, Fíli has taken his little brother everywhere with him - a dark little shadow to his golden brightness. Kíli watches them quietly, all wide-eyes and tempered suspicion, and Thorin knows he has displeased his youngest nephew. It cannot be helped.

"Your turn will come, lad," he tells Kíli quietly as Fíli spars with shadows and tries to invent his own form of martial arts against the wooden beams of the smithy. "The next time we travel to the sea, you can accompany us."

"The safe journey, you mean," he says evenly, and Thorin winces a bit. He remembers the resentment that comes with being a young Dwarf lad - eager to prove his worth, but not trusted by the adults to keep himself safe. He groans a bit, and drops a hand on Kíli's shoulder to bring him close, other hand reaching out to cup the back of his dark head.

"Do not ask me to suffer your mother's wrath by dragging you into danger," he pleads, and watches as Kíli struggles not to crack a smile. He loses the fight, though, and Thorin softens into a smile of his own. "You will be ready to travel and fight with us in good time, I promise. Nothing will be gained by pushing ahead before your time." He has seen what happens to Dwarves who fight too young. There is still an empty space in his heart and head that speaks to the consequences of rashness.

Kíli shrugs, easy and free, and Thorin breathes a sigh of relief. "Fíli would rather go, at any rate. He would never forgive me if I went and he did not!"

Thorin nods acknowledgment of that truth. Fíli is trying to teach himself to mount a horse that a local farmer has brought to have shod, and he is likely to kill himself in the attempt, but the lad looks proud of his efforts. Thorin throws him out by his ear, and Kíli tags along after him, turning to offer Thorin a small, solemn wave as he leaves.

He puts up with Fíli's pestering the next day, gritting his teeth and praying that his Maker will grant him the patience of stone and steel, the strength of mithril and diamond. He gives up before dinner.

"We leave tomorrow at mid-day," he tells the boy, teeth firmly clenched on the words. "I do not wish to see you before that time. Prepare yourself, make your farewells, sleep until the last moment - whatever you choose to do will be well enough, so long as you leave me in peace to make my own preparations."

"But Uncle!" Fíli protests, nearly quivering with poorly-repressed excitement. "I have so much to learn from you!"

"You have a great deal to learn indeed if you think such behaviour will make you a welcome traveling companion," Dwalin growls. Had he not already been bald, Thorin is certain Fíli's antics over the past days would have left him so, all his hair torn out in silent frustration.

Thorin nods once, agreeing with Dwalin's pronouncement. "If you cannot heed direction before we have even left home, how can I trust you to follow my lead when we are in the wild? If the responsibility of the task is too much for you, nephew, you will be left behind."

Fíli is out the door in a shot, nearly tripping over his feet in his anxious attempt to ingratiate himself with them again. Thorin chuckles, and Dwalin shakes his head.

"It'll end in tears, mark my word."

"The journey will do him good," Thorin says mildly. "We were no better at his age."

Dwalin gives a wordless grunt of agreement, and they say no more on the topic.

Fíli is nowhere to be seen the next morning as the company gathers their things, beginning to check their inventory. Thorin is used to wandering with little more than the clothes on his back and a sword by his side, so he wanders through the growing muddle of Dwarves and equipment, clapping shoulders and testing the edges of blades that have seen little use in some time. They have grown used to peace in recent years, and it sticks in his throat like the stench of dragonsmoke. Peace will make them soft and unready, as they were before. Peace will do nothing to prepare them to retake their homeland. The meeting in the Iron Hills must serve to awaken their hearts for battle again, if he would not see himself the throneless king of a mob of tinkers and toymakers, scraping a living from the generosity of Men, such as it is.

They are nearly prepared to leave as the sun approaches the height of the sky, and Thorin looks around, beginning to grow concerned. He had not truly believed Fíli could keep himself away so long.

"This lad of yours - is he coming or not?" Bofur asks, tipping his hat back a bit on his head to peer up at the sun. "We've a fair way to go before nightfall, you know."

"He'll be here," Thorin says, and squints down the road. "Look, here he comes."

A small figure is racing toward them, kicking up a cloud of dust that half-obscures him from view, and Thorin nods satisfaction, turning to shoulder his gear. His nephew has done well to follow his instructions and return just in time - though it is odd to see one of the lads and not the other. He had expected Kíli to come along to say farewell.

"Uncle!" He spins around at the shout, muscles going tense. It is Kíli's voice, not Fíli's "Uncle Thorin!"

Kíli reaches him in seconds, breathing hard, and Thorin reaches out to steady him. "What is the matter, Kíli?"

"It's Fíli! He's injured!" His heart speeds up, mouth going dry in an instant at the thought of harm befalling his nephew. "We were climbing the trees by the river, because Fíli said he needed to practice in case you wanted him to look ahead from the heights, and he fell!"

"Is he alive?" Dwalin asks quickly. He is Thorin's voice in silence, now.

Kíli nods furiously, eyes going wide at the very idea that his brother might have died. "Yes! I fetched Oin, and he says Fíli's leg is broken, but it will heal in time." He is still breathing heavily, and Thorin shares a long look with Dwalin. Dwalin nods, slow and heavy, and Thorin inclines his head in agreement.

"Very well," Thorin says heavily. "Come with me, lad. Keep them moving, Dwalin. We need to move out as soon as I return."

"But Fíli won't be able to travel this way!" Kíli protests as they set off towards home, moving at the briskest pace Kíli's shorter legs can keep up with. "Oin gave him medicine for the pain, but he's still feeling it."

"Can you feel it through him, through the link?" Thorin asks, intrigued. Kíli's eyes go distant and soft for a long moment, and Thorin hears the quiet hum of an old, old song - and then Kíli shakes his head.

"No. Should I?"

"It isn't common, but sometimes you see it in extreme situations," Thorin says grimly. He will speak no more of it. "Just keep him awake until we get there, if you can."

Kíli nods sharply, face tense and set, and Thorin travels on with no more speech. Kíli is only half with him, now, the other part of him entwined with his brother - heart to heart, mind to mind, soul to soul. They are too young to understand the fullness of the soul-link. Perhaps it cannot be understood until it is lost, severed by time or distance or irreversible loss. Kíli walks with him, absent, and Thorin listens to the hum and thinks fast.

He must go to the Iron Hills, and it must be right away. There is no time to wait for Fíli to heal, and he cannot risk being away for so many months without contact with the Dwarves who remain behind. For many years, Dwalin and Balin had kept their soul-link active to serve for just such needs - but it was gone, now, weakened with age and ever-more-distant lives. There are no other Dwarves he knows with soul-links strong enough to bear the distance of the trip.

They reach the humble home of his sister in record time, and Kíli darts inside without hesitation. Thorin goes to follow him, and is met by Dis, arms folded and face fierce. She blocks the door.

"You cannot."

"I must," he says gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I swear to you we will keep him safe."

"You cannot promise that! Bad enough to take Fíli - but at least he can defend himself! Kíli is not strong enough."

"We will defend him, if it comes to that. Do you doubt that any Dwarf in our company would lay down their life for one of your sons?"

"You mean for your nephews," she says bitterly, and turns away. "Fíli will never forgive you."

"I cannot help that." He ducks his head in a slow half-bow in respect to her grief, and goes through to the room his nephews have shared for long years. They are silent, but he knows that means nothing. Kíli is as close to his brother as he can get, hands wrapped around Fíli's arm - but Fíli is only half-conscious, and Oin's drugs are potent.

"Fíli?" Thorin pauses on the threshold of the door. "How are you?"

Fíli blinks up at him, blearily, and waves a hand through the air. "Be on my feet in no time, Uncle."

"I'm sure you will," Thorin says uneasily. He steps further into the room, gently moving Kíli aside to take his place. "But you know we cannot wait. The company must leave within the hour, or all our plans fall apart."

"I'll do it!" Fíli sits up quickly, and nearly falls out of his bed. "Have them cut me a walking stick and I will come! I will hop the entire way if I must!"

Thorin shakes his head. "You know as well as I that you are not suited for the journey now. I will not risk an injured Dwarf on a journey of this length."

"But you said you must have him!" Kíli protests, pushing his way back to Fíli's side and looking at Thorin fiercely. "How will you make the journey without a soul-link? There must be a way he can go! Is there a pony he could use?"

"There is not," Thorin says. He truly does regret the necessity, especially as Fíli's face begins to fall, the truth setting in with the reality of his injury. "And you are right. I must have the soul-link."

"No." Fíli is frightened now, but not entirely for himself. He clutches at Kíli's sleeve. "You can't, Uncle! He's nowhere near prepared!"

"We usually aren't," Thorin agrees, lifting an eyebrow. "But Kíli must come with me, and we must leave right away."

Fíli's face shutters closed, and Kíli winces in pain, shying away from his brother just a bit. Jealousy and hurt, Thorin is certain, and Fíli is too tired and medicated to control the link well. "But I am the elder! It was my trip!"

"Fíli," Kíli says, a note of pleading in his voice. He reaches out to his brother, but Fíli yanks his arm away, face darkening in rage and disappointment. "Fíli, you said nothing would change! That's still true, isn't it? I can show you everything, the way you would have shown me!"

Fíli throws himself back against the pillows, flinging his rough blanket up over his face. "Go," he says roughly. Kíli reaches toward him again, but Thorin shakes his head and stands, regret filling every part of his heart. He hates to leave his older nephew in such a state, and he is deeply wary of bringing Kíli along on such a journey, when he knows the lad is far from ready. A heavy weight of premonition settles on his heart as he looks at his nephews, and he knows something has already changed. They will not be the same when Kíli returns, no matter how close their soul-link.

"Time to go," he tells Kíli quietly. Kíli is shocked, wide-eyed and silent, and Thorin pushes him gently from the room with a glance out the window. They have no time to waste.

There is no time for a proper farewell. Dis hugs her son quickly, and he shoulders Fíli's pack anxiously as they step out the door. It is too large for him, by far, and Thorin knows they will have to repack it along the road to suit it better to Kíli's narrower shoulders - but that is a problem for later.

Kíli walks by his side, shooting him nervous glances now and again, and Thorin tries to school his features into something less severe. He glances down at Kíli and offers a quick, encouraging smile. Kíli does not return it.

"He won't forgive me," he says, a note of melancholy suffusing the words. "I've asked and asked, and he's just pretending to sleep."

"Give him time, lad," Thorin advises. "Balin will speak with him later, I am sure, and your mother will make him see sense. He knows it was not my intention."

Kíli nods, but his shoulders slump a bit, and he is somewhat vacant as they travel. He will have to stop apologising to his brother somewhere along the way. Thorin suppresses a sigh as he glances at the young Dwarf again. He is young and untested, with a clear lack of desire to be on this journey, and Thorin knows Kíli is fully aware that he was only the emergency option. If only Fíli had had the sense to steer clear of heights!

"Save us from the follies of youth," he murmurs aloud to whatever power may hear him. Kíli hums an old song in silent apology, and Thorin squares his shoulders. It could be a long trip.