A/N: Hello everyone! Well. Here it is. All 9,600+ words of it. This was by far the hardest chapter I have ever had to write due to the story following the movies and books so closely, and trying to find a good way of doing it was ridiculous. I knew what I wanted but writing it... phew, a whole different ball game. I can't say much about it only that you may need tissues! I felt myself tearing up at the end as I was writing the damn thing so hopefully you'll be in the same or at the least a similar boat to me.
Anyway, I look forward to hearing what you have to say about this :D I'll now be making a start on my dragons AU which I've had planned out since August, as well as a prompt I was given on Tumblr for some major Fili whump which I'm really looking forward to starting. Hopefully I'll be able to post it here, the ratings may screw things up but I'll keep you posted.
Hanging out on Tumblr with the username: FiliKiliThorinForever
A special shout out to the new followers and fovouriters: firefoxxe, lucy62, dopeydee, Aranel Mereneth and ravewingedyokai, as well as all the current followers/favouriters and everyone who has commented, you guys are awesome!
**WARNING! Mention's of injury. Nothing overly graphic just giving you a heads up!**
As much as it breaks my heart I do not own the writings or the characters of The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings, they are the wonderful and exclusive workings of J.R.R Tolkien
Chapter 4: At The End Of All Things Your Journey Doesn't End Here, So Plant Your Trees And Watch Them Grow
"There is only one disappointment in this company, Thorin, and it is not me."
…
"Many die in war, life is cheap"
…
"You sicken me Thorin"
…
"All you have ever done is fail me"
…
"Here you stand, a lesser king than you have ever been"
…
"You are not worthy of being my heir"
…
"Would do anything to protect the ones he loves"
…
"I am ashamed to call you my sister-son"
…
"You disappoint me."
"Bilbo was right; you cannot see what you have become"
Waking up was one of the most painful things he had ever done.
As he slowly began to regain consciousness the first thought to cross his mind was why had he been spared death when waking brought with it a pain like he had never felt before? He was trapped in a war-torn body unable to move; even the slightest twitch of a finger had his nerves bursting into flame and the shift of a limb made every bone feel like it had been shattered.
He was desperate to escape this prison his body had become, to be able to flee the darkness that surrounded him on either side. Snatches of conversation drifted through his mind, but what was memory and what was real was too hard to tell when the inky blackness of a void was around him trying to swallow him whole.
Many die in war, life is cheap
"Ha- yo- -ound him ye-?"
You are not worthy of being my heir
No, ev-ne -at ca- be spar- is look- no-, but Bal-, we -ve no ide- -ere to -art searc-.
There is only one disappointment
Do -at yo- -an Do-, ask ever- -ou see. -ill no- -andon hi- -f he is inju-
As the pounding of blood in his ears faded slowly the noises surrounding him became clearer, the conversation between the two dwarves in the tent becoming understandable the more he focused.
"I shall tell the others to ask around. Surely someone saw him at some stage during the battle. Perhaps the elf that brought Kíli here might know where to look."
"Then find her. I care nothing for the squabbles between our two races right now, I just want him home. Keep me apprised Dori."
"Right you are."
As the tent flap settled back into place silence descended once again, save for the soft footsteps that scuffed the floor as someone moved. Knowing that he would get no answers to the outcome of the battle like this he turned his head in the direction of the soft murmurs that hung in the air only to let out a gasp as bolts of pain surged down his back.
His gasps quickly gained the attention of his companion and he cracked his eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the light in the tent. As his vision began to clear Balin's blurry face appeared, a smile tugging at the dwarf's lips as he saw his patient was indeed awakening.
"Dwalin!" Balin called quietly as he hurried to the tent flap. "Send for Oin, he has finally woken."
Dwalin stuck his head into the tent as Balin made his way back towards the cots and shot the prone dwarf a weary smile. "It is good to see you awake laddie, you had us worried there." He said gently before hurrying off in search of their healer.
For a battle that should still be going on it was oddly quiet, the soft clinking of jars and pots as Balin prepared an herbal tea to combat the pain and the muffled shouts and cries that echoed around the campsite were the only sounds that he could make out clearly; no screams of sudden pain, no clangs of swords on armour, clashes of blades or the roars as two foes met, just an eerie silence.
"What happened?" The words slipped from his lips in little more than a croak as Balin sat beside him, helping him sit up slightly and tipping the warm tea into his mouth in small portions to ensure it was all consumed.
"The battle is won and we have reclaimed the mountain. Peace exists between us, Dale and Mirkwood, at least for the time being whilst they tend to their wounded and dead. You were badly injured which is why seeing you awake does my heart good."
"How bad?"
"Well according to Oin and Gandalf you have four broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder; you took a sword to the side, had two arrows in your stomach and have plenty of scrapes, cuts and bruises. Now you need to lie down, you lost a lot of blood and you were lucky to be brought to us before you were beyond our help."
Balin helped him to lie back completely before a whine of pain drew his attention to the opposite side of the tent where, nestled amongst the blankets and swathed in bandages was Kíli.
"Kíli," he breathed in relief. "How is he?"
Balin followed his gaze to the youngest Durin and smiled sadly at the sight of the usually excitable brunet still as death whilst he recovered.
"Much the same as you, only with less severe injuries; a broken arm and wrist, a few deep gashes, it appears he took another arrow to the leg at some point, he has four broken ribs and a concussion that will give him a horrendous headache when he wakes, but he is healing well which is more than we could have asked for. Now sleep, you need to regain your strength."
A brief nod was followed by the closing of his weary eyes as he tried to find sleep once more. Yet frustratingly it did not come; instead blurs of colour, jumbled and overlapping voices and the memory of overwhelming smells filled his mind like a wind whipping into a frenzy.
And from the centre of the storm three words floated to his mind causing him to bolt upright and look at Balin panic.
You disappoint me
"FÍLI! Balin where is he?!"
"Peace Thorin, the battle was won not an hour before and it spread far. The company is out looking for him whilst they search for survivors and many of Dain's men search for him as well but no one knows where he was last seen."
A clash of metal
A cry
You will never hurt my family again
"Where did you find me?! He was there; Fíli was there when I fell."
"We were not the ones who found you. Beorn was the one who brought you to us, near death as you were."
"Then find him and ask him!" Thorin yelled in terror as he attempted to swing his legs over the side of the cot, swaying as his head spun suddenly.
"He left to continue the battle and chase down the surviving orcs. Thorin you must rest, you are in no shape to be doing anything except sleeping."
Just as Thorin opened his mouth to argue Oin bustled into the tent, dark circles beneath his eyes and the side of his head bandaged yet he still managed to give his king a smile.
Balin placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder and tried to push him down only to have Thorin swat it away with a growl.
"I need my nephew Balin, do not try to stop me!" His second attempt at standing had him falling back quickly, a hand cradling his head as he waited for the nausea to pass.
Balin huffed at his stubborn king, looking at Oin pointedly before turning back to the dwarf in front of him. "Well I am relieved to see the gold sickness is gone, the last we spoke you were still in its lingering hold. Fíli will be fine Thorin, he is of Durin's blood and he has proved time and again he can survive anything."
Oin pushed in at that moment and thrust a cup at the dizzy king assuring him it would rid him of the rising nausea.
Draining the cup Thorin handed it back. "How long until your tea works Oin?"
"As long as it takes for the sedative to kick in." The healer responded cheerfully as he bustled away.
"Sedative?!" Thorin roared, glaring at both dwarves before attempting to haul himself out of the bed once more.
"Yes Thorin, sedative. You need to sleep and recover or you will make your injuries worse. We will find Fíli and bring him to you. Now sleep!"
And Thorin, who despite being furious with the two dwarves as his mind was quickly numbed by the poppy milk Oin had mixed into his tea, did.
The next time he woke it was not to hushed voices or distant noises, instead it was angry words matched with placating tones. Thorin opened his eyes and took in the scene before him; Kíli was sitting up in his makeshift bed, yelling at Balin, Dwalin and Oin who all stood by him as they tried to calm the seething brunet yet it appeared their efforts were for naught.
"Kíli," Balin said gently, "you must rest. You took a blow to the head and the more you move the worse you will make your injuries."
Kíli hissed at his teacher, pulling away as he attempted to lay a hand on his shoulder. "You walk on thin ice Balin," he growled "I care little for my injuries and I will not ask again. Where is he?"
"What is going on?" Thorin's voice interrupted any reply his advisor had for his nephew and all four dwarves looked at him in surprise.
"Thorin!" Dwalin exclaimed in relief. "It is good to see you awake!"
"I will not ask again Dwalin," Thorin said firmly as he eyed the older dwarves. "What has happened that you have my youngest riled so?"
"They refuse to tell me where Fíli is uncle!" Kíli's angry voice cut off any reply the older dwarves were about to make. He glared at the three and Thorin couldn't help but glare at them also.
"As your king I order you to tell me. Where is he?"
His tone was calm but his eyes were not, a fire lurking in their depths that warned them not to lie.
Balin sighed, feeling every one of his years on his shoulders as he stepped towards his king, Thorin watching him approach warily and not liking the silence that had fallen in the tent. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kíli's brow furrow in worry only to have his attention drawn back to Balin when the dwarf stopped in front of him. It was as though everyone had stopped breathing, as though time had frozen as Balin pulled a closed fist from his pocket and opened his hand to show Thorin its contents.
There cradled in his palm were four silver beads, beads that were marked with the symbol for the line of Durin; beads that he had crafted himself,
Beads he had gifted to Fíli.
"No."
The single word was uttered in a whisper, Thorin refusing to take the beads for fear that what they implied would become real if he did.
"What is it?!" Kíli snapped terrified, unable to see his uncle or what Balin was holding but fearing he knew exactly what it was.
"This is a trick, you lie."
Balin closed his eyes in grief at Thorin's tear filled whisper. "I am so sorry Thorin, Kíli." Balin risked a glance at the brunet whose face was contorted in horror before turning back to his King, grasping his hand and depositing the beads in it gently.
"We only found him half an hour ago, Gloin and Dwalin managed to find Beorn who took them to where he had found you. Fíli was -" Balin inhaled sharply, pausing for a moment to collect himself when Dwalin took over.
"He was surrounded by Azog and Bolg. We found his swords buried in Bolg's chest, Azog's throat had been slit and one of Fíli's daggers was buried in that scums eye. They -" through his blurry vision Thorin could just see the tears running down Dwalin's face as he spoke. His shield-brother let out a shaky breath before pushing ahead, needing to get the truth out before he faltered completely.
"The scum gutted him Thorin; Azog's claw was buried in his chest when we found him but Fíli slit his throat and stabbed him in the eye before Azog could do anything else to him. And the only way Fíli could have gotten close enough to use his dagger was if he had already been impaled before being pulled in close enough to use it."
Anything more Dwalin wanted to say was drowned out by Kíli's screams for his brother, his cries echoing around the camp and striking a chord in the grieving hearts of the warriors as they learned of the fate of Thorin's missing heir.
Thorin sat there in silence, mind numb and gasping for breath as he tried to come to terms with what he had been told, his ears ringing with his nephews howls for his lost sibling.
"NO! NO YOU LIE, FÍLI WOULD NOT LEAVE ME! FÍLI! FÍLI PLEASE!"
You are not worthy of being my heir
All you have ever done is fail me.
I am ashamed to call you my sister-son
Words, such cruel words said from a heart and mind that was obsessed with gold. Words that he would never get the chance to take back, that would have followed Fíli into battle and accompanied him into death.
And that, Thorin knew, was to be his punishment. He had said things no King should utter to his heir, no uncle should say to his nephew and now Mahal had decided to take Fíli from him, as though he were punishing his heinous crime.
He had lost his only chance of forgiveness from his eldest and there was no way he could fix what he had so badly broken. He looked at Kíli, finding him to have his hands in his hair as tears streamed down his face, his shoulders trembling as he struggled for breath. He couldn't fix what he had done to Fíli but there was one thing he could do, the only thing that could make any difference and so he hauled himself out of his bed ignoring the other dwarves protests for him to stay put or his injuries as they screamed at him for being jostled and stumbled to Kíli's bed.
Energy spent despite the short walk he collapsed onto it and pulled his sobbing nephew to his chest and buried his face in the brunet locks as he cried, not caring for the presence of the other dwarves as the tears streamed down his face.
At first Kíli struggled against him, his injured fists pounding on his broken ribs painfully as the grief in his heart consumed everything inside him but despite his best efforts to pull from his uncle's grasp Thorin held him tightly until he collapsed against the sturdy chest, shoving his face into the bandages as he wept.
Oin stepped forward, misery clear on his face with a cup in his hand and Thorin glared at the healer, knowing exactly what lay within and he refused to drink it, refused to allow them to put him to sleep again. It seemed that Kíli knew exactly what was in Oin's hand also as the moment he was within reach he lashed out like a wounded and dangerous animal, knocking the cup from his hand and screaming at the healer to leave him be before turning back into Thorin's chest.
Both dwarves had their eyes closed against the pain that tore through their hearts so neither of them saw Oin move away and come back with a rag clenched in his hand or the identical one in Dwalin's. All they knew was one moment they were sharing in their grief together, and the next hands were separating them before clasping the cloths over their mouths and noses.
Roars of outrage rose from both dwarves, and no matter how hard they struggled neither could shake the iron-like grips that held them in place and little by little their bodies succumbed to the ether. As Thorin felt his grasp on consciousness slip he fell back against Dwalin's chest, and the warriors words murmured in his ear followed him into sleep.
"You'll be ok lad, you'll be ok."
Thorin didn't know how much time had passed since he had last been awake; all he knew was that he was back in his own bed, the sun filtering in from the partially opened tent flap meant it was just beginning to rise and the faint sobs from Kíli's cot that sounded too loud in the too small tent meant his youngest nephew was awake.
His only nephew, he corrected himself as he felt his heart seize painfully once again, the only one you have treated fairly, treated in a way that both should have been.
He sat up slowly, groaning as the wounds on his body protested his movement but he cared little; his injuries would heal soon, but Kíli's heart would not. He knew the pain of losing a brother all too well and he remembered how alone he had felt when Frerin had died, when people would only look to him for leadership, not out of sympathy or with a helping hand and he refused to allow history to repeat itself where Kíli was concerned.
The soft cries had fallen silent and Thorin looked over to see Kíli's watery brown eyes trained on him. His heart ached at the look of utter devastation on the young dwarf's normally cheerful face so he heaved himself out of bed, one arm wrapped around his torso as he made his way on wobbly legs to his nephew. Kíli moved over and made room for him which Thorin sank into gratefully before wrapping the young dwarf in his arms and pressing a kiss to his hair, whispering words of apologies and understanding that he knew would never even scratch the surface of his pain.
Curled up together was how Balin found them, Kíli trembling in his uncle's hold and Thorin holding his nephew as tight as both of their injuries would allow. The moment Balin entered the tent Kíli sat upright, fixing a watery yet piercing stare on the old dwarf as he spoke.
"I want to see him."
Balin sighed, already shaking his head as he had anticipated the question when Kíli snapped at his teacher, his voice wavering but no less determined.
"Do not deny me Balin. He is my brother and I have every right to see him."
"Kíli you are both in -"
"We are well aware that we are injured," Thorin interrupted with a glare as he struggled upright, "but we are neither unconscious nor at risk of dying the moment we move. For those reasons alone we have every right to see him and no one will stop us, however your assistance to get there would be much appreciated. Will you help us or must we make our way there ourselves?"
Balin looked between the two Durin's before sighing, knowing there was no point in arguing when both had so clearly made up their minds. He bowed his head in acknowledgement and told them to wait there, reappearing several minutes later with Dwalin, Bofur and Bilbo in tow.
"We will help you walk there, it is the least we can do."
And help them they did. Balin and Dwalin supported Thorin between them as they made their way slowly through the camp and Bilbo and Bofur were at Kíli's side directly behind. As they wove through the sprawling tents Kíli refused to meet the gaze of any of the dwarves who stopped and bowed as they passed; instead keeping his eyes on the back of Thorin's head as he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the tendrils of pain that snaked through his body with every step and the feeling of suffocation that built the further into the camp they journeyed.
He wasn't sure how he knew but there was one tent that stood out to him from all the others and he knew it was there that their journey would end; where he would find his worst nightmare come to life. It could have been the two guards outside the entrance, the way passing dwarves would keep their distance or how the tent seemed to be shrouded in a veil of black despite its burgundy fabric reflecting the rising sun. Every step closer had Kíli dragging his feet, as though an invisible weight attempted to drag him down and he struggled to breathe through the panic that was building in his chest.
He couldn't enter that tent, he wouldn't, for entering it would mean there was no turning back, that everything he had been told would be true.
He stopped walking and doubled over, hands on his knees as he fought for air and barely registered the soothing hand that Bofur rubbed up and down his back, nor the calming words Bilbo murmured in his ear.
"I cannot go in there," Kíli gasped out, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to get his breathing under control. "I can't do this."
"Breathe Kíli," Bilbo choked out in a whisper, tears welling at the sight of the youngest member of the company visibly struggling. "Just b-breathe. You need to d-do this; you n-need to say g-goodbye, or y-you will regret i-it forever."
"I can't," Kíli whined, fixing eyes that betrayed the hint of tears on the weeping hobbit. "Bilbo, I need him, I need my brother. Please, Bilbo please, tell me it is not true... please tell me he lives."
The last was said in such a desperate whisper that the tears spilled from the Hobbit's eyes and it was that from that sight that Kíli knew that his brother was never coming back.
He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to smother the storm of emotions that raged inside him long enough to get into the privacy of the tent before he lost his battle with his broken heart. When he felt he was calm enough to make the final few steps he pushed himself upright, ignoring everyone around him and fixing his gaze on Thorin who stood there watching him sadly. He gave Thorin a nod, a tiny jerk of his head that accompanied by his bottom lip quivering had his companions holding back their own tears at the sight of the brunet so broken.
Realising how close Kíli was to breaking down Thorin looked at Balin and the dwarf guided the small party to the tent that both Durin's had feared approaching the moment they saw it. They stopped opposite the opening and Balin looked at his king sorrowfully, moving away from the entryway for he could not handle seeing what lay inside once again. The white haired dwarf stood there looking between Thorin and Kíli, visibly struggling for words say; something to offer even the barest form of comfort for what they were about to see before choking out the only ones that came to mind.
"Take… take as much time as you need."
He bowed and hurried away, unable to stay there a moment longer and after touching both dwarves on the shoulder gently Dwalin, Bofur and Bilbo followed after him to give them some much needed privacy.
"Leave us," Thorin croaked out to the two guards, not wanting them to bear witness to their grief before turning to face the entrance to the tent, taking several shaky breaths before pushing it open and hobbling inside.
The moment the tent flap settled back into place behind the two dwarves silence descended, as though all the noise had disappeared from the world and the eerie silence that greeted them made Thorin's skin crawl.
As their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting they discovered that the tent itself was barren, save for four lanterns placed at each corner of the table that sat in the middle of the room, the candles creating a halo of soft light that spilled onto the white sheet that covered the form beneath it.
Kíli sucked in a breath through his teeth, the sound rasping loudly in the darkness. He felt rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on the table and the cloth that outlined the one dwarf who meant everything to him, the one who he had never known a world without.
The one who would never smile or laugh with him again.
A gentle pressure on his elbow had him stumbling forwards, his breath hitching in his throat the closer he got and the tears in his eyes held stubbornly back until he stood at the side of the table, his hands trembling so much he clenched them into fists, pressing them tightly against his thighs in an effort to lessen the shaking. His eyes darted around the tent, trying to find something, anything to focus on other than what was directly in front of him for it was a reality he was not yet ready to face.
His eyes landed on Thorin and he watched as the older dwarf rounded the table, each step dragging as though he was weighed down by the entire mountain. There they stood; silent, staring each other in the eye with grief lining their faces and denial heavy in their hearts.
He didn't know how long they stood there in the silence, the flames of the candle sending dancing shadows across Thorin's face and the covered dwarf in front of him. Or perhaps it was the tears in his eyes that made the shadows move? The tears that were slowly building up again because he knew exactly who lay in front of him, exactly whose face he was about to see and he wasn't ready; whether it was five seconds or five years before the sheet was removed he would never be ready.
Slowly, oh so slowly as though wading through a snowdrift meters high to reach home did Thorin's hands move upwards; his fingers twitching slightly as they curled around the top of the sheet and there they stayed, suspended, as though they refused to draw it down.
He looked at his uncle, the one who had kissed his hurts and told him stories as he grew up, and who had fallen to gold lust and madness not four days past. He watched as a single tear rolled down a flushed cheek, disappearing into the raven beard he associated with comfort when he was a dwarfling when movement out of the corner of his eye had him looking away from Thorin's face and towards his hands.
The sheet was slowly peeled away from the table and dragged downwards
And all coherent thought left him.
Kíli's inhale had echoed far too loud in the small tent and the noise had made him flinch, a movement that Kíli had not noticed, focused on the sight in front of him as he was.
He swallowed, only raising his eyes enough to gather a glimpse of the sheet covering the dwarf in the middle of the tent before they darted away, guilt and hate for what he'd done flooding through him and he knew that if Kíli decided to blame him for his brother's death he would not stop him from carrying out his revenge for it was no more than he deserved.
He had to see this through however; he had to see with his own eyes what his madness had done to his sister son, what his hatred for Azog had cost him. He placed a hand on Kíli's elbow and squeezed it gently which set his nephew into motion. Kíli stumbled forwards, and he watched as he reached the table, his frame trembling and he realised he had never seen his nephew look so small and scared and alone in his whole life.
He'd always had a blond presence at his side.
Forcing his legs to work he made his way over to the table before looking up and finding Kíli's red eyes on him, the tears that had yet to escape glistening in the candlelight. They stared at each other, young and old, and when the silence was beginning to become too much he raised his hand and reached to the top of the sheet.
He froze, his arm suspended in mid-air as he realised how familiar this was to the last time he had reached for his nephew; when they had been standing on the edge of the mountain and Fíli had turned away from him after hearing Thorin call out for the youngest instead of him. His fingers twitched in a mimicry on the mountain of wanting to reach for his blond sister-son, but unlike that day where he allowed his hand to fall away he pushed forward, determined not to fail Fíli like he had previously.
Fíli deserved more than a sheet for comfort before his funeral; he deserved his family.
He curled his fingers in the sheet and after a deep breath dragged the blanket downwards.
A sob tore from his lips as Fíli's face was revealed, his cry accompanied by a high pitched wail as Kíli threw himself onto his brothers chest, his fingers digging into the white sheet as he buried his face in his arms and wept. All he could do was stand there and stare at his nephew's peaceful face, tears streaming from his eyes and dripping onto the dirtied ashen cheeks. He cupped them with shaking hands, his thumbs slowly wiping away the tears that had left trails which, mixing with the dried blood created translucent red droplets that trickled onto the table below.
His legs gave way beneath him and he found himself in a similar position to Kíli; his cheek resting against Fíli's chin as he wept uncontrollably, one arm wrapping around the blonde's head gently whilst the other rested on Kíli's back, his hands grasping the leather jacket in some semblance of comfort as Kíli's howls for his brother rung out across the camp.
"Forgive me," he whispered into the crook of Fíli's neck, needing to beg forgiveness of Fíli's spirit before it left for the halls of their ancestors when he was buried. "Forgive me for the hurt and pain I caused you, for making you feel worthless when you are anything but. You are like my son and deserved better than me, than how I have treated you. If it were in my power I would do whatever it took to take it back, to have you return so I can tell you how much I love you."
Kíli had been trembling in his uncle's hold, his wails for his brother dying out as exhaustion quickly took hold of his body. The fading of his cries had given way to his uncle's pleas for forgiveness, ones whispered so quietly to his brothers lifeless body that he was certain he was never meant to hear them, but he had.
He was too tired to think about what his Uncle was really saying, how Thorin blamed himself for his brother's death and whether he was right or wrong Kíli didn't know. All he could focus on was the desire to crawl up next to his brother and wrap his arms around him in order to try and part some semblance of warmth to him, some comfort in a hopeless attempt to bring him back, and should that not work then he was willing to remain there, curled around him until the world was renewed and they could be together once again.
"Please," Kíli begged quietly into the sheet covered chest, "come back to me Fee, come back."
And for the first time in Kíli's short life, Fíli didn't answer.
Bilbo let out a sigh when he finally laid eyes on Thorin several hours after he had left him and Kíli to see their fallen kin. The king under the mountain was sitting up in his cot, his hands cupped together as he looked down at them sadly. He glanced over at the cot beside the conscious dwarf, not sure if disturbing Thorin was ideal when Kíli slept beside him.
"Bilbo," Thorin's quiet call of his name had the hobbit looking at him sheepishly, oddly embarrassed for being caught. He grabbed a stool and carried it to his bedside, offering his friend a sad smile.
"I was unsure if my presence would be welcome," he said quietly as he gazed into Thorin's red eyes. "After what happened with the Arkenstone… I had no idea if you would still welcome my being here."
Thorin responded with a weak smile of his own, his fingers closing over the objects in his hands before resting his fists in his lap. "I never got the chance to ask for your forgiveness Bilbo, if anyone should be apologising for their deeds it is me. I would take back my words and deeds at the gate; you did what only a true friend would do. Forgive me; I was too blind to see it. I am so sorry."
Bilbo took Thorin's hand and squeezed it gently in forgiveness, the pair sitting quietly as the Hobbit contemplated how to approach the reason for his visit. His attention was caught as Kíli shifted slightly in his sleep, and he couldn't stop the ache in his chest as he noticed the puffiness of the brunet's eyes nor the dark shadows beneath them.
"How is he?" It felt like such a ridiculous question given what they had lost, yet gazing at the young dwarf who had spent so much time with his brother in ensuring he felt welcome within their company he felt it was his duty to ask all the same.
"About the same as I was when I lost my own brother; suffering from a hole in his heart that will never truly be filled and not knowing how to carry on." Thorin answered quietly, his own sad gaze lingering on his nephew.
He nodded, understanding their pain all too well. Many years had passed since he lost his parents but the ache of losing them both had never truly healed, never truly left. He looked up when Thorin cleared his throat and found him watching him curiously.
"What brings you to my bedside master hobbit?"
Bilbo fidgeted slightly on his chair, his gaze shooting to the sleeping dwarf quickly before switching back to the king. "There is something I wish to tell you, only I do not know whether now is the time considering Kíli sleeps beside you. He needs the rest and I would hate to wake him."
"Oin has given him a sleeping draught, one he acquired from the elves that will allow him to sleep a dreamless sleep to help him heal. It will be some time before he wakes."
Bilbo nodded as his hand wandered to his inside pocket, his fingers grasping at the purpose for his visit as he looked Thorin in the eye. "I ah… that is to say Balin and I were informed that one of the healers would be closing Fíli's wounds before he was prepared for burial and we stopped by the tent, per Balin's insistence. He told me that when a member of royalty dies it was tradition for a member of the dwarf's family to be present when they prepare the body for burial and as he was the only one up for it at the time… Well they had removed his clothing for it to be properly repaired and I went through it to remove his weapons and…" despite the heaviness of the situation Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head at the memory of the number of knives he had removed from the layers of clothing. "Well I must admit I was surprised there was no kitchen sink hidden in his clothing anywhere -"
"It was likely removed by Thranduil's guards." Thorin interrupted quietly causing them to both laugh softly at the thought.
Anyway," Bilbo said sobering quickly, "I had almost finished my search when I came across… this."
He removed his hand from his pocket, withdrawing a piece of parchment and Thorin felt his breath catch in his throat as it was handed to him.
"It is addressed to you."
The soft words had Thorin looking at the hobbit with tears forming in his eyes, understanding the significance of such a letter for it meant that Fíli had written it either before the quest or before the battle believing he would die, and that was a thought he hated more than anything. Of all the members in the company Fíli and Kíli were meant to be the ones who believed themselves to be invincible, that they would complete the quest with no more than a handful of bruises and extravagant stories to tell. Yet here was a letter written by his nephew who believed he wouldn't survive.
His Fíli; ever the practical one.
Using his empty hand he grasped the letter with shaking fingers, the other still curled in his lap with Fíli's beads clutched tightly in his hold. He unfolded the parchment, taking a deep breath as he did so and began to read.
Every word felt like he had taken a knife to the heart, the beads tumbling into his lap as he clapped his hand over his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks as he read. How could he have failed his nephew so much that Fíli believed he was unloved? That Thorin had only ever had love for the brunet asleep next to him and not the blond in equal amounts?
He had failed Fíli in the worst possible way; letting him grow up believing that he was anything but loved.
He buried his face in his hands, the parchment slipping from his fingers to settle in his lap as he cried and his shoulders shook uncontrollably. How could he have been so blind as to fail in his role as an uncle? A role which should have always taken priority to that of his role as king where both his nephews were concerned.
"Thorin..." Bilbo's hesitant voice brought him back to the present and he peered at the Hobbit through tear filled eyes, the sad look on his face making a sob slip from his lips.
"I am so sorry Thorin," Bilbo whispered placing a hand on his shoulder, rubbing at it slightly hoping to bring him some form of comfort. "I know he loved you and Kíli, it was plain for all to see."
"And yet I failed to show him that his love was returned. He believed I wanted nothing more from him than loyalty and duty, when all I have ever wanted was for him to be himself and someone everyone would love when he became king."
He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, wiping away the tears before taking a shuddery breath.
"Thank you Bilbo, for bringing this to me."
Bilbo bobbed his head in acknowledgement, his eyes taking in the lost and tired expression of his friend. "What will you do now?" He asked quietly.
"Now..." Thorin let out a sigh before tucking the letter and Fíli's beads into the pocket on his light tunic.
"Now it is time to say goodbye."
Thorin pushed open the tent flap to find a healer standing at Fíli's side, a cloth in his hand frozen in mid-air as the healer looked at the king in surprise.
"My Lord," the young dwarf stuttered "I did not expect to see you here."
"I have come to prepare my nephews body for burial." Thorin murmured quietly, his eyes never leaving the still form on the table.
"Preparing bodies for burial is not a King's job sire." The healer said hesitantly.
"No but it is the job of an uncle," Thorin replied harshly before sighing. "My apologies, you did not deserve to be snapped at."
The healer ducked his head before resting the cloth on the edge of the bowl, bowing to Thorin before leaving Fíli's side. "And it was not my place to question you. You are correct, it is your right to tend to your sister-son, forgive me."
Thorin moved towards the table as the tent flap closed behind the healer and he stared down at his nephew, taking in the fully exposed body save for the sheet that had been folded over his hips to maintain his dignity as he was washed. He raised his hand, his thumb stroking the bloodied cheek before he picked up the cloth, dipping it into the warm lavender-scented water and began to clean away the blood and dirt from Fíli's body.
As he washed he talked to his nephew; recalling memories he had of Fíli when he was first born, how he had held the tiny bundle with golden fluff on his head for the first time and how Fíli had stared up at him, seemingly just as fascinated with the dwarf who was holding him as he was with the baby in his arms. He remembered how he had arrived back at his sister's home after a month away and when he moved to greet his nephew Fíli had thrown his arms up for a hug yelling "Thorn! Thorn!" excitedly in the first attempt at saying his name and bringing tears to the weary king's eyes.
The memory of the first time he had been handed Fíli to look after for a night was one he'd never forget for it was when one of the worst thunderstorms he had experienced in fifty years hit Ered Luin and Fíli, all of two years old and still learning to walk had come stumbling outside on shaky legs crying in fear for his Uncle when Thorin and Dwalin had been out there attempting to get the ponies into their stables. He had screamed with fright when lightning had struck the mountains behind them and the thunder had roared in answer. And it was there, huddled on the ground with his hands clapped over his ears and tears that were lost in the torrential rain on his face that Thorin had found him, scooping the tiny blond into his arms and racing inside with him, cradling the trembling child in his arms and whispering words of love and comfort as he rubbed his hand up and down his back. Thorin had taken him to the bathing chamber and they had both clambered into the hot water, splashing each other playfully as they warmed up before curling up in front of the fire where Dis had found them fast asleep the next morning.
Playing outdoors in the piles of leaves with Fíli and Kíli in autumn, teaching them how to make the perfect snowballs before helping them throw them at Dwalin as he left his home, telling them stories of Erebor and what awaited them when they reclaimed it, teaching Fíli how to fight with his sword, first one then two and how proud he was the first time he had defeated Dwalin, every memory that sprang to mind Thorin told Fíli, wanting his sister-son to know just how much he did love him, and how much joy he and his brother had brought to his life.
As the cloth wiped away the blood around the wounds on his chest Thorin saw for the first time just how badly Fíli had been injured, how his chest and stomach had been pierced by Azog's claw and bile rose in his throat as he thought of how much pain the blond would have been in as he continued to fight despite being impaled on the iron claws.
More recent memories, ones that he wasn't proud of allowing to happen fell from his lips next; how he watched Fíli pull away as he grew up, how he watched him struggle with all the pressure and expectations that a child of twenty should never have even known about let alone dealt with, how despite Fíli making him so proud he constantly gave him more pressures and expectations that should have been impossible to complete yet he surpassed them anyway.
Tears began to drip onto cleaned skin as he thought about the light that had meant mischief and a love for life had died in Fíli's eyes over time, how he had been near tears when he tripped on Kíli's boots all those years ago after they had returned from their travels and how he had yelled at his nephew, never stopping to check that he was ok only presuming he knew what had occurred.
"Oh my sweet Fíli," he sobbed quietly as he lay his forehead on the still chest. "It was all my fault; every single thing you have suffered for in your life has been because of me. I made you grow up early, I put pressure on your shoulders that you should never have had to deal with, I am the one who forced you to pull away and for that I am sorry my nephew."
His fingers came up and tangled in the blond hair, the once shining gold already leeched of its brightness which made him cry all the harder.
"I know you believed Kíli to hold more importance to me than you did but it could be no further from the truth. Whilst Kíli may have been my joy you have always been my light and my heart. It is you I have always turned to when I needed the strength to go on.
I wish we had never gone on this quest, it was not worth the price I have paid for it."
He pulled away before placing his lips to Fíli's forehead, his hands cradling the peaceful face between them as he whispered into the pale hair.
"Forgive me Fíli, I have failed you and it is something I can never take back, but I will do everything in my power to look after your brother, I will protect him until my last breath."
He withdrew and wiped the tears from his eyes before he smoothed the blond hair down, finishing the washing before redressing his nephew in the now repaired clothing. He picked up Fíli's twin swords from the pile of weapons that had been laid out on the floor and placed them in his hands, crossing his arms over his chest as he did so before tucking knives into every sheath he could find, and despite the grief in his heart he couldn't help but roll his eyes when he found himself with six daggers remaining and no clue where they were supposed to go.
Finally he picked up the brush, brushing gently through the recently washed strands before redoing his braids, something he had not had the privilege of doing in many years. When he had finished he pulled back and observed his work, picking up a circlet of gold from the table and crowning Fíli for the first and only time in the dwarf's too short life.
Knowing there was nothing else he could do he pressed one last kiss to Fíli's forehead, letting it linger for a moment before pulling away.
"Goodbye my son."
Whilst Thorin and Kíli had been grieving for their loss Balin and the other members of the company had been busy. Along with a group of dwarves assigned to them by Dain they had made their way into the mountain, the Tombs of the Forebears their end goal. Day and night they had worked, first setting out to find a marble tomb that had been untouched before preparing a pillar to place it on for their fallen prince, determined that all those who resided in Erebor henceforth knew of his sacrifice for his king, for his brother and for his people.
Two days after Thorin had prepared his nephew for burial the funeral was held. It was sunrise when they gathered, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon and bathe all those gathered in its warm light and easing the heaviness in many hearts. Most of the company stood on either side of the tents entrance, surrounded by the dwarves of the Iron Hills as well as the men of Dale led by Bard the Dragonslayer and his family and Thranduil and his people, his son and captain of the guard flanking him.
Thorin and Kíli stood facing one another closest to the entrance and watched as Balin, leading Dwalin, Gloin, Bofur and Bifur exited its confines, a stretcher bearing the fallen prince in their grasp. As soon as Bofur and Bifur had passed them Thorin and Kíli fell into step behind them, a lantern held tightly in their hands and one by one Dwarves, Men and Elf alike fell into line, following behind Balin who led them into the heart of Erebor.
The funeral had passed by in a blur for Kíli, the details becoming one big jumbled mess of pictures and noise, all of it wrapping around the anguish in his heart. There were only two parts that stood out to him with crystal clarity, two parts that he knew he would remember as long as he lived. He remembered standing before the marble coffin that had been set up and watching as his brother, his beloved golden brother was slowly lowered into its cold depths, taken and hidden from him forever until he himself left the world to re-join him in the halls of their forefathers.
The second was approaching the coffin with a dagger that he had carved many seasons ago clutched in his hand. He was grateful for the return of his weapons, especially his bow as it was the only one Fíli had ever made and he had gifted it to him on his name day. The moment the battle had been won Tauriel and a group of elves had been sent with haste back to their Kingdom to fetch healing supplies and whilst there she had retrieved the company's weapons, returning them as a sign of friendship.
The dagger that had been returned to him was the only one he could bear to part with; every other thing he possessed had been made or given to him by Fíli and he couldn't stand the thought of separating with anything that held even the slightest memory of his brother.
He stared down at his brother; shrouded by the shadows the marble cast across his waxen skin before leaning in and placing the dagger on his chest, tucking it beneath the layers of fabric to place it directly over his heart.
"Farewell my brother," he whispered, his hand straying to Fíli's face as he rested his palm against his cheek. "May your memory and your spirit protect us until the world is renewed, and may your love and laughter never die."
Blinking back tears he turned away, pausing as he did so to utter one final farewell.
"I love you Fee, don't ever forget me."
Standing there at the gates of Erebor with the sun beginning to set Kíli watched with a heavy heart as Bilbo said his goodbyes to the other members of the company. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised really, Bilbo would have wanted to return home eventually and the funeral had been hard for the once placid hobbit.
He had hoped that their burglar would have decided to stick around a little longer for he had lost his light and reason to laugh already, he wasn't ready to say goodbye to another so dear to his heart. He watched as Bilbo hugged Ori, the scribe sniffling with a smile on his face before Bilbo was nearly sent flying with a strong clap on the back by Dwalin before he turned to Thorin who stood beside him.
"Here we are then," Bilbo said quietly as he peered up at the King with a small smile on his face, "at the end of our adventure. And what an adventure it has been."
"Indeed it has master burglar," Thorin replied with a small smile playing on his lips "and it is an adventure that we would not have reached the end of had it not been for you, and I thank you for all you have done. Gandalf was right," he mused quietly "Hobbits truly are remarkable creatures."
Bilbo blushed, looking down at his feet before raising his eyes once more as he held out his hand.
"Farewell Thorin, King under the mountain… My friend."
Thorin clasped the hand before drawing Bilbo in for a hug, chuckling as Bilbo returned it gladly.
"Farewell Master Baggins, go back to your books, and your arm chair… plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place."
Bilbo pulled away, wiping tears from his eyes with a watery smile before turning to the youngest member of the company, his heart aching slightly for the missing blond that he had grown so used to seeing at Kíli's side.
"Farewell, dear Kíli," Bilbo said gently as he placed a hand on the brunets shoulder. "Dark may it look for many days to come, but the sun will rise in your world once more."
Kíli blinked away the tears, giving the hobbit a small smile as he did so. "I just wish I had the chance to say goodbye, to hear his voice one last time. He was my world Bilbo; I have no idea how to go on without him."
Kíli's broken admission had him placing his hand into his jacket pocket and withdrawing a piece of parchment, handing it to the confused looking brunet.
"There were two pieces of parchment I found on your brother. Whilst one was addressed the other was not so I read it and discovered it was meant for you. Forgive me for reading it Kíli, I thought it was best to find out when the appropriate time to give it to you would be, and even before the funeral I knew it would be now."
Kíli took the parchment from the hobbit before wrapping his arms around him, hugging him tightly. "Thank you Bilbo, for everything. I have grown very fond of you, just as I know Fíli had as well. Please never forget us."
"I could never forget you my dear Kíli," Bilbo murmured into the brunet locks. "I would have to have grown old and senile before I look at my chinaware and forget who it was who began throwing them about my home."
With a watery laugh Kíli released the hobbit before moving off to the side and sitting on a rock, unaware of all the eyes that were on him. He unfolded the parchment and the moment his brothers scrawl which could appear neat yet messy at the same time appeared he felt his eyes begin to water.
My dearest Kíli;
If you are reading this then this means that I failed you and someone has given it to you in my stead, and oh how I hope it never comes into your possession, that many years down the track we can look over this together and laugh at the silliness of it all.
But know that if I died I would have done everything in my power to protect you and Thorin, and despite recent events you, mother and Thorin are the most important people in my life; I am proud to have died protecting you.
I know it seems hard Kee, and I know that you will be lost and confused for I would feel the same if our roles were reversed, but please do not try and join me, I cannot bear the thought of you throwing your life away so recklessly to be beside me once more. After all our adventures, all our pranks, all our hardships on this journey one of us must live to tell our tales and make sure mother and Thorin never forget to laugh or smile.
And if you ever find yourself blaming Thorin or the quest for taking me from your side remember that an adventure was just waiting to happen, and I am glad to have had you by my side for our first one.
Yet as I think about has what led us here part of me knows that by rights we should not have even be here, but we are.
It's like in the great stories Kíli, the ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn't want to know the end; because how could the end be happy? How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad had happened?
But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass, a new day will come and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with me, that meant something, even if I was too small to understand why. But I think Kíli I do understand, I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn't. They kept going, because they were holding onto something. They were holding onto the fact that there's some good in this world Kee, and it's worth fighting for.
Stand tall, stand strong and stand proud my brother. I know the pain seems endless now, and maybe part of it will remain with you for the rest of your life, but go on living your life for the both of us.
We have had a life time of adventures together, enough to fill one of Ori's books, and in your book… well there's room for a little more.
I love you with all my heart,
Your Fíli
Notes:
So, when watching the Two Towers and listening to Sam's speech whilst looking for ideas for this story, I got it into my head that maybe it wasn't Sam; timid, straight-nosed and staying out of trouble Sam who came up with this, rather it was Bilbo who had told it to a baby Sam when he was upset or not sure about something.
But it wasn't Bilbo who thought it up for Bilbo had never been raised on the tales and promises of adventure, more like it was Fili's letter to Kili when he read it that (even though neither of them survive in the book I know I know) Bilbo got the words of wisdom from and never forgot.
It felt like some older sibling wisdom anyway :)
Thank you for joining me on yet another journey, I look forward to sharing many more with you xx