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Brothers

Chapter 4: Broken

"I won't," Kili hiccoughed through his tears.

Dis closed her eyes, attempting to maintain her composure. "You haven't in over a day. You must."

"I won't," Kili repeated, louder. "I'll never eat again. Not so long as Fili can't."

"He wouldn't want you to starve."

"I won't eat," Kili repeated before smashing his face in the pillow.

Dis sighed and slammed the bowl of stew down onto the end table before rising and striding over to the window. Kili peeked out and saw her rigid form silhouetted by the light of sunset, and he felt a trickle of guilt over his childishness.

"Do you want to die?" she quietly asked him.

Kili bit his tongue, because more than half of him wanted to answer "yes."

"Do you want me to be alone in the world?" Dis asked, her voice quivering as she turned to look at him. "Don't you know I miss him, too, with every fiber of my being? He was my firstborn." She stepped closer to the bed. "My sunshine. He always had a smile and his eyes – remember the way they danced?"

Kili's hitching breaths calmed as he focused on his mother's words, even as they wrenched the blackness inside that was Fili's death, twisting it with cold pain.

"He was my world for five years." She clasped a hand over her mouth. "And then you were born, and I loved you just as much… but differently. As my youngest. And now you're all I have left."

Kili's dark eyes drifted away from his mother's blue, settling upon the blanket barricade on the side of his bed. He sniffled and wiped at his cheek with his good hand.

"And I can't imagine how terrible this is for you," Dis continued, approaching her son's bedside. "But I need you to try. For me. Because I couldn't bear to lose you, too."

She ran her fingers through his hair, but Kili still refused to look at her. He knew the grief in her face reflected his own, and his own was impossible to bear without adding hers.

"So will you please eat?"

The fingers in his hair moved for a few more seconds until it became clear that he wasn't going to respond. Her hand fell away, and with a quiet, exasperated gasp, she rose and her footsteps echoed as she strode from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Kili clenched his jaw, fresh tears pooling in his eyes and spilling hot onto his cheeks. He hated that he was hurting his mother, but he didn't have it in him to make a promise he knew he'd break. Food felt like ash in his belly, and every bite reminded him of that Fili's body didn't need food anymore. So why should he?

Squeezing his eyes, shut, Kili wept into the pillow that had been cold and moist all day. In-between his gasps for air, he could hear his mother and Thorin talking, and then a loud crash as it sounded like Dis threw something. Had he the strength, he'd throw something, too. But even sitting up was too great a challenge right now.

"No, don't," Dis gasped in the other room then the door to Kili's room was wrenched open as Thorin strode in, his footfalls resounding like thunder.

"Quiet," he growled, but the sight of his uncle looking so livid only made Kili cry harder. "Quiet yourself," Thorin snapped.

Now Kili really couldn't stop. And he couldn't breathe. Though he gasped, his lungs spasmed and choked out air before he could hold it in long enough to do any good. Before he knew what was happening, he gagged and threw up water and bile on the blanket's piled at his side.

"See what you've done?" Thorin hissed, though despite his harsh tone, he braced a hand behind his nephew's shoulder to make sure he didn't choke. Wadding up the soiled sheet, Thorin cast it to the floor while Kili did his best to breathe.

"I'm sorry," the young dwarf whispered between shaky hiccoughs.

Thorin sighed. "Of course you are. But sorry isn't enough, is it?"

"He's gone," Kili whimpered, trying to hide his face in his wet pillow once more. "I'll never see him again." His head thumped against the mattress, jarring his head when the pillow was suddenly yanked out from under him.

Kili looked up at his uncle with surprise and more than a little timidity.

"You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself," Thorin hissed. "We are all mourning Fili. But you are too ill to carry on like this. You have your mother at wit's end. And I…" Thorin looked away, his lower lip trembling as he tried to compose himself with little success. When he looked back to Kili, his eyes were shimmering. "I love you too much to see you give up," he whispered in a broken rush. "Please." Thorin shifted to kneel at his nephew's bedside, clasping his good hand with both of his, their eyes level. "Please. You must do this. For us. For Fili."

Kili's breathing evened out as he watched a solitary, crystalline tear slip down his uncle's chiseled cheek. He had rarely seen such raw emotion from the older dwarf, and it was enough to jar him out of the cycle of weeping that he'd been in for a day and a half.

"Please?" Thorin repeated, his voice so quiet that it was nearly inaudible.

Swallowing, Kili slowly nodded.

Thorin smiled, his eyes crinkling warmly in a way that only his kin knew.

"That's our lad," he said, his voice shaking. "That's our brave lad."

Rising, Thorin released Kili's hand and stuffed the pillow back behind him. Wordlessly, he grabbed the young dwarf's shoulders and hoisted him up until he was sitting. Kili winced as his arrow wound was jarred, but the physical pain was a welcome distraction to the torment of his thoughts.

Thorin yanked over a chair and grabbed the cold bowl of stew, then held a spoonful out to Kili's lips. Moving stiffly, Kili raised his good arm, taking the spoon. If he was going to get through this, then the only person he could rely on was himself. Thorin smiled as his nephew took the spoon and dutifully ate a bite.

After several more spoonfulls, Kili begrudgingly realized that the food was making him feel better. He noticed his mother watching from the doorway, a blanket around her shoulders. She offered her son a weak smile and mouthed the words "Thank you" before returning to the kitchen.

Thorin followed Kili's gaze and offered him more stew.

"You have a black eye that's a nasty shade of plum, dark circles under the other one, and are as white as the sheet. It's a fright just to look upon you, let alone to see you so… broken."

Kili stopped chewing and studied his uncle's haggard features. He couldn't help what he looked like, but Thorin was right. He was causing his family unnecessary pain. All the same, he swallowed before speaking. "But it's done now," he said quietly. "I'm already broken. There'll be no mending."

Thorin's eyes darkened as he witnessed the end of childhood. "No… I won't argue with that."


Fili stilled as the orcs on watch continued to chatter around him. Though he had no way of knowing if he was right, he had heard enough of their primitive language to be able to pick out words.

Kunol was rabbit, pik was roast, and he was referred to as snaga, which he was fairly certain meant prisoner, or worse. Yet there was one word they often said in conversation with each other that he could see no meaning for: Goth. The orcs didn't usually use words for abstract things. Their vocabulary was restricted to the physical and the present, as far as Fili could tell. But the word surfaced again and again.

Without a doubt, he knew they were taking him somewhere and keeping him alive for something. Though he'd lost track of time ever since learning of his brother's fate, it had to have been over a week since he and Kili were ambushed. By all reckoning of his kind, he should be dead by now.

In fact, other than a few beatings when he tried to escape after first being captured, and when he tore his bonds and killed the orc that had gloated the news of Kili's death, the orcs had essentially left him alone. No, he corrected himself. It was not Kili's death the orc had gloated about. It was Kili's murder.

Gritting his teeth, Fili ignored the throbbing in his skull from his head wound and dehydration, and focused on wriggling his wrists once more. Scabs had formed beneath his bonds, and if he could get them to break and bleed, he might be able to slip his hands free.

Unfortunately, his plan didn't go much further than killing every orc he could until he was brought down. And he had every certainty that he would be brought down. In fact, he relished the idea, for he knew he would see his brother again in the Halls of his ancestors.

With a frustrated cry, he gave up on his wrists. His head was pounding like a war drum, clouding his thoughts. It would be useless to try to attack even a lamb in this state.

His lips were dry and cracking and his throat was parched, but he knew better than to ask for water. It would mean revealing a weakness, and that was something he couldn't do right now. Not while several of the orcs skittered past him with fear whenever they were forced to cross his path.

No. He would not strike now, nor would he rashly. Closing his eyes in the midday sun, he leaned back against the boulder behind him. He owed it to his brother to bring down as many of his killers as possible.

Most of his captors were asleep, hiding in the shade from the rays. He ought to be sleeping himself, but the mantra of his heart had woken him up from a fitful rest as it had the past few days. For with every beat of the muscle, an ancient word resounded in his skull, but it wasn't one in the Black Speech. It was dreng, Dwarvish for slay.

Because if he didn't maintain a chorus of murder in his head, if he didn't study his captors for weaknesses at every waking hour, then his thoughts would wander to his baby brother, and he could have none of that.


"Kili… Kili… Kili!"

Kili jolted awake, sweat chilling his chest and back. Glancing around, he saw that he was alone in his room, in the dark. Taking a deep breath, he told himself that it had just been a dream. It hadn't been his brother's voice. It couldn't have been.

Because his uncle had told him Fili was dead. He knew as much because he saw the orc that…

Kili let out a surprised gasp. He remembered.


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