The infant was small – smaller than he had any business being really – but the nurse assured me he was sturdy enough. He had entered the world as all great dwarves were expected to, with a hearty battle cry that foretold of great victories to come, and had not caused his mother or nurse unnecessary alarm. And it was a boy, thankfully, though there had never really been much doubt. Women are born so rarely to our race that, were it not for my need for a succession, a girl might have been more welcome.

I studied the little face, delicate features soft in sleep and found myself wondering absently what colour eyes lay behind his lids. It was of little consequence of course but still…

"Well, Brother?"

I turned to the other inhabitants of the room, turning my back on my new heir – for he was, I had no doubt of it. If he proved suitable this child would succeed me as leader of my people, I was quite resolved that I was unsuited for marriage and all dwarf-maidens I met appeared to concur. Strange…my heir.

My sister, thankfully redressed since her ordeal, sat wearily in her bed, her hair and beard hanging loose. Beside her sat my heir's father, both of them anxiously awaiting my judgment.

"It is too soon to tell," I told them, glancing back at the sleeping babe. "Is he strong?" I asked, wandering to where refreshments had been laid upon a sideboard and pouring light wine into silver goblets.

"Very," Fitalí assured me quickly, nervously, his hand on my sister's shoulder. "He clasped my finger so tightly I thought I should have to leave it with him!"

I pursed my lips at his feeble attempt at a joke. Where matters of succession were concerned, neither he nor his humour were particularly welcome to me. "Dís?"

My sister hesitated, glancing at her husband's crestfallen face. "He is strong, Thorin, very strong." She assured me, though her eyebrows were knit disapprovingly.

I glanced into the cot once more, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest and wondering how anything so small could hold even the slightest strength. "Very strong, are you?" I asked quietly, barely resisting the urge to test his father's claims with my own hand. "That is well."

Retreating, I handed wine to both of his parents and took up my own. "He'll do," I announced, raising my cup to my sister. They both seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. My sister nodded at me once, beaming proudly and dashing tears from her face. Wordlessly I offered her my handkerchief but it was Fitalí who took it from me.

"He'll more than do, my love," he murmured, kissing her forehead and wiping her tears. I resisted telling him that it was only by his blood that there had ever been any doubt; the child seemed healthy enough and Dís seemed pleased, I would not have ruined her most important of days by quarrelling with her husband. I refilled my cup.

"What shall you name him?"

They both looked slightly stunned, as though they had expected me to take that honour from them. I could not fathom why; he was their son, and would remain so regardless of any reservations I had so why should I name him? My only hope was that they named him something sensible and not so extravagant as his father's name, what Fitalí's parents had been thinking I could not guess. Two syllables was plenty for a woman, and just right for a man. Whoever heard of giving a child a name so long as Fitalí? It was unheard of in any dwarf – Firebeard or Blacklock – that I had ever encountered, in a Longbeard it would be downright obscene.

"We…had thought of Fíli," Dís told me slowly, though there was a shadow of her usual defiance in her voice as though she dared me to object.

I raised my brows in surprise. I had been certain I would have to defend the poor mite from his father's ridiculous names but apparently the fellow had shown some sense. That, or my sister had beaten him down.

"Fíli?" I repeated thoughtfully. Fíli, son of Fitalí. He would never be known as such, of course, not when he could instead be known as Fíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thrain, but it seemed necessary to at least test the name. If he proved wanting somehow, or if his father ever had occasion to distinguish himself as a warrior, then he may yet return to the name.

"It is… dignified, in its way, don't you think?" My brother-in-law's hesitancy both pleased and annoyed me.

I watched them both, anxiety written across their faces once more before gazing down appraisingly at the child. "Fíli…" I repeated again, letting the name fill my mind as I looked at him. "It is," I admitted eventually, picturing the relief upon their faces, "I rather like it." I blinked wondering what had possessed me to say such a thing and what I could say to recover from such a slip, "Well, it is as good a name as any other. It will suit him well."

When I turned, my sister's lips were turned up in a smirk as she looked at me, while her husband grinned proudly. I wished I could begrudge him it – Mahal knew I begrudged him a good deal of other things – but I could not. "I shall inform our kin," I told them, suddenly feeling woefully out of place here with them and their newborn son. Their smiles faltered and my sister grasped my hand as I passed the bed, pulling me down beside her. "He is a fine child, Sister," I assured her, allowing myself to run one hand across her unkempt head, "You should be very proud…I am very pleased with him."

She released me, her eyes shining and I stood once more. Making for the door, I nodded once at Fitalí who returned it, still looking mildly concerned. Once outside, I stood for a moment, closing my eyes and allowing images of my new successor to flood my mind. He looked far more like his father than his mother, which was unfortunate but could not be helped and I hoped for his sake he would grow into his nose though his father still had not managed it. His hair was golden, what little he had of it, which again made him more his father's son than anyone else's but then our brother had always had defiantly yellow hair as well; all the same if he were going to take after his father in looks, I thought he might at least have taken after us in colouring.

"Thorin?"

I opened my eyes, startled and annoyed that anyone should be down here when it was well known my sister was laid in.

"You are pale, laddie."

I scowled fiercely at my cousin's words.

"Is Lady Dís quite well? Is the child?"

Though I did not say so, I was touched at his obvious concern. Sighing, I lead Balin away from my sister's chamber so as not to disturb them. "My sister is well," I told him, not bothering to hide the relief I felt at those words, "and the child is sleeping soundly."

"And will he do?"

"Yes," I could feel a grin tugging at my lips, "Yes, he will do very well. Very well indeed."

"And his father?" Balin inquired knowingly.

"Fitalí too," I agreed reluctantly. For the sake of my heir, I would have to put aside my reservations regarding his father; we would never be rid of him now. Not that my sister would have been parted from him anyway.

"His name?"

"Fíli."

Balin nodded slowly, no doubt already thinking of his scrolls and history tomes. "I have not heard of it before," he began, "but then all great names must come from someone. Shall I send word to Dain?"

I wondered whether my cousin would be relieved or disappointed to be superseded as my heir. I imagined he would likely be relieved for he was happy, I knew, settled as he was in the Iron Hills. What cared he for our fallen kingdom or for its kingship? I felt a swell of bitterness as I thought of the celebrations and glad tidings in my Grandfather's halls had we still been in Erebor – the new prince, a sign from Mahal that Durin's line would never fail and that the crown of my forefathers would ever be passed from generation to generation unbroken and unchallenged. Instead, we would send a few pitiful envoys to bear the news to Dain in the East and drink the child's health from beautifully carved but worthless cups. He would be swaddled in cloth and be bedded in hot woollen blankets not the soft, lavish satins into which his mother had been born. No songs would be sung by our kin over the mountains for this new heir of Durin, born above ground as if he were no better than the lost wretches of men who ventured forth from ruined Tharbad to trade with us.

The pride I had taken in him, the relief that our line continued seemed foolish now. I had thought to take to my halls this evening, to drink his health with our people but…far better we drink my cousin's swift demise and my assuming his place as Lord of the Iron Hills. Dain's land held no appeal for me – why should it when my rightful place was in Erebor? – but his life was charmed, his halls plentiful. My sister's child would grow stronger and taller in Dain's territory than here, scratching a living from long-abandoned mines and trading at a loss with the ruthless Dunlendings or our so-called kin from across the River Luin.

I did not wish death upon Dain, like my sister and myself, he had lost much in his life and when his father – Nain, my own father's cousin – had fallen at the gates of Moria, summoned thither by his loyalty to Thror, there came a divide between us that could not be mended. He would not swear his allegiance to me nor to my descendants though he would honour them as his kin and we were, until today, each other's heirs (I, having played no part in raising his kingdom would lay no claims to his seat ere his death). Yet he and Nain had accepted with grace those who had fled to them from Erebor; as his kin, we would be welcomed there as Lords of Durin's line but ever be inferior to the Lords of the Iron Hills who had kept their kingdom where we had not. I could not allow those who had loyally followed Grandfather to the West to fall so far as to go to Dain as beggars at his door; I was certain that my sister, truly her father's daughter, would never lower herself to do so either.

Far better Dain's reign end and his lands pass to me that we might finally gain back our honour as descendants of the greatest of the Seven Fathers. Alas, Dain had ever proven himself both as enduring and as solid as the mountain under which he had been born, I feared he would not relinquish his dominion until he had heirs of his own and I had long since joined our ancestors in Aulë's Halls.

"Thorin?" Balin's voice, slightly impatient, once more interrupted my thoughts, "Shall I send word to Dain?"

"Of course."

As if there had ever been any doubt that Dain would need to be informed of this new arrival. Beside me, Balin paused a moment before clapping me on the shoulder and departing. Slowly, I followed him out, stopping at my own chambers to don what splendored clothing I could. Thus having made my presentable, I made for our meeting halls where I knew several of our closest neighbours were awaiting news of my sister and her child. Even so, on entering the room I was surprised to see so many of our people gathered. Perhaps it was because my sister was who she was and so well loved, or perhaps it was because one family had so recently lost a child but every one of them looked up anxiously as I entered.

Despite my darker thoughts, I felt pride and not a small amount of happiness swelling within me as I prepared to announce the birth of my heir. I took up my place – for my father's people had not been so wandering and uncivilised that we had not been able to construct a throne room, even if it did more often serve as a market hall – and drew myself up to my fullest height. A hush fell over the room and it was not arrogance that led me to believe I saw awe on several faces.

"I HAVE A SON!"

Like the rest of my people, I turned outraged eyes upon the newcomer. With unseemly excitement, my brother-in-law threw himself into the throng of his kinfolks, clapping shoulders and embracing them, completely oblivious to the unseemliness of his display not to mention the outright insult he was causing both my esteemed kin and me. I waited, summoning all the restraint of my forbearers to keep myself from throttling him. Over the heads of my sister's in-laws, I shared dark looks with several of my counsellors, gritting my teeth as Dwalin rubbed his hand across his jaw attempting to disguise his grin.

Traitor.

He was usually the first to condemn Fitalí's behaviour, particularly where my sister was concerned – Fitalí was not courtly enough, did not show sufficient prowess with weaponry, cared too little for lore and metal craft and too much for artistry and ill thought out feats of courage. To be frank, I never saw Dwalin so happy as when my hapless brother-in-law unintentionally (for he wouldst ne'er dare to do so deliberately) undermined me – in trivial matters of course – he found it entirely too amusing to see this…vagabond flout my authority. I cleared my throat. Loudly.

The effect was instantaneous. From amidst the sea of red and yellow heads, my sister's husband turned to me, clearly attempting to regain some control over his emotions. Seeing me standing ready to address my court his face paled. He glanced around the room, no doubt taking in the assembled dignitaries and the furious expressions on their faces – even Dwalin had managed his usual scowl – before turning back to me, dark eyes widening.

"Forgive me, Thorin," he muttered, an intense blush creeping up his face as he disentangled himself from his friends. "I did not think."

A constant failing in him.

I inclined my head slightly, accepting his apology even if he had still addressed me by name rather than title, as he ought to have done. He stood awkwardly to one side as I took up my place once more and announced my heir. He would be presented to the court before long but for now he and his mother slept. I spoke of how the arrival of the next heir heralded a change of fortunes for us all, foretold a life of prosperity and happiness and marked this glorious day as the first of many. They listened with rapt attention, the struggling remnants of a proud race who now clung on to what false reassurances they were given. It would be many years before our township here would truly resemble a kingdom of old but as I spoke, I found myself half believing it.

Erebor was our home, it was my rightful place; but why should we not prosper here as Fitalí's ancestors had done in the first age? The time would come to reclaim Erebor as we had reclaimed this place but I felt in my heart that it would not be me who sat upon its throne, if I were even present at its taking. As my father had before me, so to would I lay the foundations of a great nation here in the north of Ered Luin and build a life for my people and for my sister's descendants. Let Dain keep his iron and from it forge crude weaponry with which to defend his people from the Easterlings who dwelt across the mountains; here we would craft objects of such beauty as was only ever seen in Erebor. We would travel far to the kingdoms of men to sell our wares and bring back great collections of treasure. Here would we build a new realm upon the ruins of Nogrod and Belegost; our kin that fled to Dain would leave him now to join us here, in Thorin's Halls where ruled the eldest son of the eldest sons – Durin's true line.

I paused, for I had spoken much of my thoughts aloud, feeling a familiar but long-forgotten pride swell in me such as I had not felt since fleeing Erebor so many years ago. I sought my cousins' eyes across the room and knew they felt it too – a new heir, the dawning of a new era. I briefly sought Fitalí but it seemed he had, at some point, slipped away, presumably back to his wife and child. No matter. He was Úri's folk – a merchant – he had never seen Thror's hall nor gazed in wonder upon the Arkenstone; promises of a return to Erebor and of Durin's line were of little consequence to him. Erebor was lost – those among us that could recall it at all would likely never see its halls again. But, our people were not the first to be forced from their home by war or famine, we made new homes where we could and we endured.

From deep within my family's halls and echoing up the passages, the newborn's cries rent the air. Hale and hearty and full of a life that had been all but missing from my sister and our kin since the deaths of so many at Azanulbizar. With this new heir, my people had hope once more.

This new heir, my sister's child, would see in the centuries that I would not and under his leadership, our people would endure.

I paused outside her door, hearing the murmuring voices of my sister and her husband. In the hall, both our peoples drank deeply, some already composing short verses that narrated my sister-son's birth. When my sister was strong enough to leave her chambers there would be feasting; already I knew hunting parties and merchants were on their way to Tharbad to gather what they could for supplies.

For now, I brought wine and food to sustain her until morning. I wondered whether or not I should knock, whether my doing so would disturb the infant, which I was loathe to do after my sister's ordeal. In the end I did knock very gently, disturbing their quiet conversation. Swift footfalls signalled my brother-in-law's presence at the door before it was opened very slightly to reveal him looking almost shocked to see me. Who else he imagined would dare to disturb Dís' rest was quite beyond me.

"Thorin," he greeted breathlessly, swinging the door open to allow me entry, "My friend, we had not expected to see you."

I did not reply, entering and placing my tray upon the sideboard once more. I poured wine for them once more, darker and more potent this time, and handed both cups to my brother-in-law as he edged past me back to his wife. Upon the bed sat my sister, still beautifully dishevelled but now cradling the child to her bared breast. Raising her eyes to mine, she smiled wearily.

"We had not expected to see you, Brother," she informed me, echoing her husband's words, "We thought for certain that we would all be banished from your sights forever."

"And why, may I ask, would you think that?"

She smiled wider, craning her head to see her husband. Fitalí blushed fiercely at her beleaguering, staring determinedly at his infant son's face.

"I daresay we shall overcome the humiliation…given time," I informed her wryly, fighting my own grin. Retying her nightgown, Dís handed the child to his father before reaching out one hand to me. I took it, settling against the post at the foot of her bed and watching her intently.

"I am well, Brother," she murmured, answering my unasked question.

"And you have a son," I commented, squeezing her hand gently.

From his father's arms, the child gave a slight whine and squirmed a little before settling once more. I turned my eyes back to my sister, hearing her soft laughter – I had hardly realised I had looked away.

"And you a nephew."

I felt a sudden warmth flood my chest at her words. This time, I was quite certain the pride I took in that thought had little to nothing to do with successions or kingdoms.

"What colour are his eyes?"

I cursed my own lack of restraint – surely, I could have thought of a more intelligent response? Still, the question had been somewhat on my mind since I had first laid eyes upon him sleeping in his cot.

"Here," Fitalí said, barely even attempting to hide his smirk, "See for yourself."

I barely had time to protest before the tiny bundle of blankets and squirming limbs was thrust into my arms. I confess, I froze. Ridiculous response, I had held many children before – in our days of wandering there had always been someone's child burden to be carried or my sister to be shared between my brother and I – but this felt so very different, so unlike those times and not simply because this child was so much smaller than those others had been. His parents exchanged amused glances, my sister leaning forwards to adjust my hold with an exasperated, "Thorin…"

I looked down.

Blue. From within my tiny companion's face I saw my sister's eyes – my late brother's eyes – staring back at me.

I glanced back at his parents, feeling the slightest of smiles tugging at my lips. Dís had shifted to lie against her husband's chest, eyes closed and breathing steadily. As I watched, Fitalí leant down and pressed a kiss into her hair, a look of such complete adoration that I was almost angry with myself for disapproving of their union. It was nigh on scandalous to display such open affection before his lady's family – particularly given our differing ranks – but it was difficult to feel anything other than happiness for my younger sister on such a day as this. Looking up, he caught my gaze and coloured once more – for one whose ancestors were brave to the point of foolishness, he displayed a shocking, if rather amusing, tendency towards embarrassment where I was concerned.

"She is exhausted," he commented quietly, clearly uncomfortable with our silence. I was hardly faring any better; it was rare that we were forced to spend time together without my sister's calming presence.

"She is."

"Perhaps I ought to…" he began vaguely, gesturing at my happily gurgling nephew. Extricating himself from my sister, he lifted the infant from my arms and turned towards the cot. Relieved of such a fragile burden, I allowed myself to relax a little against the bedpost once more. As Fitalí lifted the child, it began to whine as though sensing he was about to be set down away from us.

"None of that," Fitalí chided softly, hushing him, "Your Mama is sleeping." As if understanding his words, the child quieted almost immediately. I wondered whether this obedience would last for it certainly had not in his mother. "Let us hope he remains so biddable." Fitalí returned to the bed, resuming his seat and hesitantly turning to me. "Join me?" He asked mildly, offering me my sister's untouched wine.

I took it, sipping absently. "What shall we drink to?"

"To Fíli, of course," he smiled, though there was something tight about it as he added, "To your heir."

We knocked our goblets together, very quietly, neither of us looking at the other. I had known since Erebor fell – certainly since Thrain's death - that I would not marry and therefore any heir I had would be of my sister and her husband's line but I do not think it had struck me until that point how very harsh that must have felt to Fitalí. Fitalí who was not of Durin's line, whose blood was considered by so many – myself included – so inferior to my own and whose son would lead my people when I was gone, never having been known as his father's son.

It was improper – I ought to have accepted his tribute and taken my leave – but whether by the wine's influence or simply by my sister's having beaten me down after all this time, I suddenly felt uncommonly warm towards him, fool though he was. He was young – younger even than Dís though only slightly – and still filled with the sort of childish self-possession and disregard for our heritage that my brother had always shown. Let him be bookish and foolishly kind-hearted instead of battle-scarred and proud, what cared I so long as he treated Dís and my heir well? He would drink to my heir as though he himself had no claim to him simply out of love and respect for my sister and myself.

"Fitalí," I murmured, watching him closely. He turned troubled dark eyes to me that widened as I charged my cup once more, gesturing for him to do the same. "To your son…Brother."

A/N: Look! I wrote a story that wasn't sad! Wasn't exactly happy either...but the important thing is no one died or got lost or hurt or anything really. Savouring the moment...

Thoughts would be much appreciated, as always. By the way, I do intend to flesh out their father a bit later, he won't always be such a wet blanket I swear.