A/N: University has almost eaten me alive, thank you for asking, but yes- I am still here! (Although I would love to know whose bright idea it was to make the due dates our first archi studio project, first archi history exam, and first physics exam of the semester all within five days of one another…)
As I reported to you all earlier my laptop died and I could not access my files, including my story. I took the troublesome thing to IT services here at school and they gave it a look-see; sadly, they could not repair it because it is an unusual/old model and they cannot get their hands on the necessary part. For now my plan is to take my laptop home over spring break and try to get it repaired there. However, IT services was able to save everything that was on my computer and put it onto an external hard drive… including the chapter I was working on. Thank heavens for that!
Once again, a thousand thank-you's to my wonderful reviewers: VictoireAgathon, Cockapoo, chestry007, BM originally, Purestrongpoem, kataz, booklover526, imafanoftoomanythings, Neocolai, Kermitty, ForeverInAbyss, Gladoo89, sph9swc, Yippie, Eagle of the South, maplewind, Kim2000,obviously-not, Mia, tmmdeathwishraven, a lovely guest reader, LiLPriNCeSs Me, Horserida, ScarletLeon, maplewind, and rollwithbutter. Also, I offer my sincerest gratitude to those silent folks out there who have continued to follow along.
This is NOT the original Chapter IV. This was a piece completely unplanned. Chapter IV was going to be ENTIRELY different, but while working on it this evening I changed my mind about the transition from the previous chapter. This was going to be a small piece added at the beginning of the next part, but it kept growing in size so rapidly that I eventually decided just to make it its own chapter! And, rather than keep you all waiting any longer, I thought I would reward you all for your patience and post this fairly quickly. I literally just finished writing it (this was one of those "I'm-not-going-to-bed-until-it's-finished" projects), so pardon any mistakes I haven't caught yet! Please enjoy.
Chapter IV
"Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?"
- Edgar Allan Poe, "A Dream Within A Dream"
He flashes a sunny smile at me before removing his arm from where it'd been looped through mine; he grasps the handle and turns it, opening the door and pushes his way inside and out of the cold. I follow him with the slightest sense of reluctance, unable to ignore the odd sensation of imprisonment as the door slams behind me with imagined finality.
"Don't you dare take another step!" our mother calls from somewhere nearby. "Wipe your feet, please! All this mud and sand and snow, constantly trailed through the house…"
Her words soon jumble into an unintelligible string of mutterings as she hurries into the tiny back hallway from which we entered. She stands there with her hands on her hips and watches us sternly as we meekly do as she asks.
"Dinner is ready," she tells us, her face gentling as we finish our task and hang up our cloaks. "Fíli, help me set the table, please."
As my brother trots off to the kitchen with our mother I make my own way out to the dining hall. I tarry by the hearth, the gusts of heat radiating from within feeling welcome to my numbed muscles and chilled bones. I breathe in the scents of the burning logs and inch closer, stepping as close to the crackling entity as I possibly can without my garments catching aflame; even so there is a sudden tug at my tunic that causes me to stumble slightly backwards and away.
"Don't walk into the fire, you silly goose," Fíli chides me lightly as he walks on by, bowls and utensils in hand.
"I wasn't going to," I pout slightly, my voice sounding gruff though I feel no true ill will toward my brother. I glance over my shoulder at him, watching him set out the crockery, and with the smallest of grins I surreptitiously take a step closer to the hearth and resume my original proximity.
Soon Mother arrives with a potful of aromatic stew. "Sit down, lads – Kíli? – and come eat. This'll warm you up right and good."
As we delve into our steaming bowls Fíli pauses, a quizzical expression on his face as he looks around. "Where's Uncle?" he asks.
"Oh, somewhere out and about. He said he might be later in returning from the forge today. Things to do, I suppose."
I sigh quietly, sadly relieved that Thorin will not be present. Some of the tension that had built up in my shoulders eases and disappears. Fíli notices this and frowns slightly, but says nothing, choosing instead to take another spoonful of stew. He does not notice Uncle Thorin's disdain for my very presence as I do.
Our uncle does not return until we have long finished eating. Fíli and I are quietly playing jacks in the great room, warming ourselves by the hearth there while our Mother is busy cleaning in the kitchen. It is then that we hear the main door thrown open and the frigid wind outside rushing in with whistling tones. We both look up at our uncle's familiar voice raised in a call of greeting, Mother answering with genial words, and their voices mingle together in easy tones. We return our attention to our game – I, uneasily so – when we are startled by our mum's sudden cries:
"Don't wipe your boots on the stool!" she shrieks imperiously. "By Mahal, use the mat! Egad! Mud on the floors, mud on the carpets, next thing—mud on the furniture? Oh, no; that's where I draw the line, Brother," she continues grumbling, nigh drowning out Uncle Thorin's incomprehensible murmurs of apology. "It's like having three children running around the place instead of two, and sometimes you are the worst of all. Good gracious, some example you are. Oh, just you wait; if my boys start picking up your bad habits I can assure you there shall be some real fire and brimstone, oh yes…"
Fíli looks over at me and covers his mouth to stifle the laughter threatening to bubble up. I offer him a mild smile as I toy with the ball, watching as my grinning brother returns his attention to the scene that is yet out of our line of vision. He listens for a while longer until we hear our uncle's approach, and then he ducks his head down and feigns interest in our game. I, too, assume rapt attention to our idle pastime in an effort to avoid making eye contact with our guardian as he enters the room. Stepping around us as we play, hunched over and seemingly oblivious to our surroundings, he reaches over to the mantelpiece and takes up his pipe and tobacco. He pauses to strike a match and he stares down at us quietly. Of course, I do not see his gaze but I can feel it as acutely as though he had pointedly laid a hand on our shoulders.
"Good evening, boys," he greets us mildly, his voice traced with unguarded amusement at our forced show of concentration. "Enjoying your game?"
Fíli raises his head and smiles with delight as if he had just now noticed Thorin's arrival. "Oh! Hello, Uncle! Yes, we are indeed," he says sweetly before hastily adding, "I'm winning," as though it would give strength to the appearance of our enthusiasm for the game.
I snort at that, almost laughing at Fíli's poor front. "You are not."
He makes a face at me as Thorin chuckles quietly and retreats from the impending battle, sinking into his customary sofa chair before the fire. He is covered in soot and grime from the forge but nonetheless seems content to remain in this state as he settles back and puffs on his pipe slowly. Almost immediately his eyebrows furrow thoughtfully as he stares into the fire, his mind evidently drifting off to serious matters.
Mother blusters into the room and gasps indignantly.
"Aren't you even going to wash up?" she demands of him.
Uncle Thorin continues to stare into the fire, unblinking. At first, we wonder if he had heard his little sister's commanding voice but he eventually replies. "Nope," he mutters out of the side of his mouth, pipe still firmly clenched between his teeth. "Not at the moment."
This surprises all three of us, for Uncle never breaks his evening routine in such a manner. He is not one to go about unbathed after a long day's work.
"Well!" Mother splutters, "So you shall just sit there until it suits you to clean up, then?"
Thorin delays his response long enough to blow a smoke ring. "Aye, more or less," he says absent-mindedly.
Mother turns about with a huff and disappears from whence she came, muttering to herself none-too-quietly about errant brothers and a woman's never-ending work. Fíli and I, in the meantime, do our best to curb our curious glances and instead continue to play. Silence reigns for a long time, Thorin's smoke rings filling the air with their thick, heavy scent.
Though the quiet is customary I grow more and more uncomfortable with it, while Fíli seems to feel at perfect ease. Eventually I tire of my pretended interest in our game and I rise stiffly to my feet, yawning a bit. "I think I'm gonna go read for a while, Fíli," I announce wearily, playfully kicking some of the little jacks into his hand.
He sighs and stretches from his place on the floor, raising his arms high over his head. "Not a bad idea. I think I may just stay here and work on my carving for a while."
I skirt around the large sofa chair where Uncle is seated, successfully avoiding his gaze as he turns his head towards me. I am just breathing a sigh of relief in celebration of the impending success of my swift getaway when I am halted by a single word.
"Kíli."
Something in Thorin's quiet tone makes me very uncomfortable. I cannot detect anything that would suggest that I am in trouble, but Thorin can be very guarded with his intentions and emotional state when he so chooses, and my chest knots up with nervousness. I stand rooted to the spot, realizing that I am holding my breath.
"Come here," he quietly dictates.
Slowly, I turn around towards the fire once more and do his bidding, returning to the side of the armchair; wondering what I will find in his penetrating gaze, I look up at him hesitantly, eventually meeting his grey-blue eyes. Expecting to find an expression of displeasure I am completely nonplussed to find his countenance rather affable, though shadowed with some concern. Thorin seems to contemplate my appearance as he studies my face with soft intensity, pipe forgotten in his hand.
"I want to talk to you," he finally says, "In a little while, after I have cleansed myself and eaten. Will you be in your room?"
My blood just about freezes in my veins, so frightened am I by this unexpected announcement. I'm so flummoxed that I almost forget to answer to the affirmative.
He nods. "Good. Wait for me, then."
I twist my hands behind my back, a little nervous habit that I've had since I was a young child, something I do whenever I am unsure about something. At this moment I am very unsure; in fact, I am downright terrified. 'Talks' with Thorin did not often lead to good things. It usually meant a scathing lecture or discipline, or both. I summon the courage to speak.
"What is it that you wish to speak with me about, Uncle?" I ask in a much smaller voice than I had intended to let slip. I anxiously entwine and twist my fingers round and round.
He offers me a small, rather kind smile, and pats me gently on my arm in a vaguely reassuring manner. "Later, Kíli," is all he will say. He jerks his head slightly in the direction of my and Fíli's room. "Just go and tend to yourself, now."
My heartbeat slows to a more normal rate and my initial terror eases considerably, though my confusion is no less fierce. As I circle the chair once again and patter off into the growing darkness, hundreds of questions arise where others are answered; it seems that he is not angry with me, so I need not fear punishment, but if he is not angry with me, for what purpose does he wish to confront me? What could it mean? I hasten into my and my brother's bedroom, almost running, and shut the door behind me, shutting my eyes and leaning against the door heavily.
I have not the faintest clue to the driving force behind this turn of events… and it worries me.
I stoke the tiny fireplace in our room before climbing into my bed and sitting there with the oil lamp turned up; my legs are pulled up, a book propped up on my knees, and I am trying to focus on the words of a story that normally engrosses me but I cannot concentrate. My mind is consumed with apprehension and my chest slowly tightens more and more with anxiety, so much so that in a while the pain of it makes me groan aloud. The voice inside me continues to whisper all sorts of disquiet thoughts until I finally discard the book and sit despondently, staring into space.
Suddenly, it hits me like a ton of bricks: Thorin has discovered something.
As my heart begins pounding anew, I am struck with another puzzling thought: I had imagined that Uncle would have been furious if he had discovered what was going on, or even if he had an inkling of it. Though his previous reactions to my actions have been based on a false impression of a carefully disguised problem, it still serves as some indicator of what I had imagined would happen if things became known prematurely.
Another crushing thought hits me: maybe I was wrong about the consequences of my problem. Maybe Thorin wouldn't behave or feel as I thought he would.
I had assumed he would have been wrought with fury, and worse, bitter disappointment. It had never even occurred to me that he could instead be simply. . . ashamed. I reflect back on his gentle expression and actions earlier, his strange behavior upon returning home this night. The puzzle pieces connect and I now know instinctually that there can be no other reason for this little talk: Uncle has found out, or at least found out enough.
That is it, the voice hisses with renewed power. He has found out and your failure has brought him shame.
My throat constricts with horror. I haven't just disappointed him. I have hurt him. I have filled his heart with shame.
Shame, the voice sings gleefully. Shame. Shame.
Hot tears spring into my eyes so fast that I barely have time to register them. I exhale in a shuddering breath.
Shame.
One tear drops onto the cream-colored blanket, staining it dark gold. Then two. Then three. The dark stain grows larger as I stare dumbly into nothingness with eyes narrowed in disbelieving grief.
Shame.
A strangled sob escapes my throat. How can I face my uncle, knowing that he possesses the full knowledge of the disgrace I have brought upon him? How can I look into the face of such a battle-scared, world-weary man of honor and acknowledge the devastating truth that he does, indeed, have such a pathetic weakling for a nephew?— a useless dolt who is not worthy of the royal blood that runs through his veins?
These questions are racing through my mind at break-neck speed when all suddenly shatters into terrible silence: I can hear Thorin's approaching footsteps.
I panic. I cannot face him now, not now; not after all I have done to hide this terrible, embarrassing thing. Not when I still have nothing to show for it, nothing to redeem myself, nothing to prove my worth.
With a few short, nimble movements, I douse the lamplight low as though it had burned so on its own, and then scramble under the blankets and into my customary sleeping position, curled onto my side. I take several deep breaths to calm my pounding heart and I shut my eyes, mimicking the slow breathing of sleep as carefully as I possibly can. In a final afterthought, I grab the book and hold it as though I had dozed off while reading in bed. I just get it into the correct position when I hear the doorknob turn; fighting away the rush of adrenaline, I shut my eyes and force myself to breath easily and calmly.
The door squeaks open. Silence.
"Kíli?" Uncle finally calls, his voice sounding puzzled.
My heart pounds so fast in my chest that I am half certain it will pop right out through my ribs and clatter onto the floor. I focus on breathing.
There is the sound of a creaking floorboard, then the scuffing of Thorin's soft house shoe against the foot of my bed.
"Kíli?" he says again, more softly this time.
I breathe just a teensy bit louder, feigning a deep, dream-filled sleep.
More silence. Then the book is pulled gently out of my loose grip and I am almost startled into opening my eyes. I hear the leather cover of the book thud softly on the bedside table as my uncle places it there. Presently his large, calloused hands are tugging at the blankets and pulling them more firmly about my shoulders, and I feel his warm breath against my face as he leans forward and smooths my hair behind my ear. This rare sense of gentleness from my guardian almost causes me to forgo my ruse and open my eyes, throw myself into his arms, and let the whole story come tumbling out… but even as I revel in his soothing touch, the little voice whispers in rebuke:
You have made him ashamed.
For this reason I remain still even as I hear Uncle Thorin sigh rather dispiritedly, his hands returning to his sides as he straightens up, floorboards creaking once more. I listen intently as his heavy footsteps tread away from my bed, past Fíli's, and finally to the doorway. I hear the door squeak open… and at long last, I hear it click shut.
I gasp silently, a shaky, voiceless sob escaping me.
Shame. Shame. Shame.
To be continued. . .
A/N: Tonight I've come to the conclusion that this story will be somewhat longer than I had previously anticipated. I had expected a maximum of five chapters, but it seems it will take at least six to complete satisfactorily. Yes, you may cheer now. The Blue Canary is singing for frantic joy, himself; the inactivity he has suffered until now has been nearly unbearable! Please reassure him with a review and some snacks, why don't you?
Also, I want to note a discovery I made today: when searching 'The Hobbit' genre on this site for Fíli/Kíli stories by order of those with the most reviews AND most followers, "A Private Little War" appears on page #1 in both instances; of stories with the most "favorites" by readers, it's on page #2. Wow! I am so blown away! (At this point, the only thing that could surprise me would be if this was added to a story community. Then I would die.) Once (twice) again, thank you all for continuing to read and review. Words wouldn't do my feelings of gratitude justice. To all of you lovely people out there, please enjoy a nice, warm, freshly-baked, Kíli-themed cupcake.
More coming soon!
(Boring Disclaimer: I do not own any of Tolkien's lovely characters, nor am I receiving monetary profit from their existence in my writing.)
P. S. I know some of you cannot post a review to this chapter because you already did so on my earlier note (about my computer) I'd uploaded as a "chapter" last week (and subsequently deleted hours before uploading/posting this chapter, which apparently didn't help. Oh well.). Don't worry about it! Instead, just drop me a PM or review as a "guest" and tell me who you are! :-)
(UPDATE 03/04/2013 - I've had a couple messages from readers asking when I plan on updating. I promise, no matter how long the update takes in coming, I have absolutely NO intention of abandoning this story. It's just that I am in architecture studio (which entails drawing/modeling/intense projects) more than I am in my own dorm or anywhere else. I get little sleep (think 4 hours), little time to do homework, eat, sleep, even shower. Recently I've been swamped and haven't had time to write... but I PROMISE updates will not cease! Just bear with me!)