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Snow

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The two young dwarves tiptoed down the hallway, being careful of the one creaky board in the center. The oldest - golden hair mussed and frizzy - led the younger by the hand, pulling his brother along. Then, they came to a closed door. Reaching up to pick at the latch, the taller boy flicked his fingers and the door swung in with nary a creak. Dwarves couldn't stand noisy hinges.

Exaggerating their movements in an attempt to be quieter, the pair slipped into the room. A bed was pushed into the far corner, with a desk on the opposite wall. The bed was coated in blankets, and moved slowly as the sleeping dwarf beneath breathed and snored. The two dwarflings crept up to the edge of the bed, and tried to shift onto the bed. The pair had learned long ago that startling their uncle from his sleep rarely ended well. It had only happened once, and Thorin had jackknifed up out of bed with a dagger in his hand. Their mother had taken the shaken brothers aside, and explained that their uncle REALLY didn't like being startled.

However, without the momentum gained by running and then jumping onto the bed, they couldn't quite reach the edge. Then, Fíli got an idea. He gestured to his brother, and leaned over, patting his own back. It took Kíli a moment to understand. Then, with a gap-toothed grin, he stumbled over and climbed atop Fíli's shoulders. The older dwarf made his precarious way over to the head of the bed, where he could just barely see Thorin, his forehead crinkled in sleep.

Kíli reached out and curled his hand around one of his uncle's braids, the small silver clasp resting in his small palm. A few quick tugs and Thorin dragged himself from sleep. One had to wake soon when the ones doing the waking were his two nephews, or your person risked being vandalized with ink, having a small army arranged right on the floor where you put your feet, and other such things. Thorin had learned this quickly.

The king-in-exile lifted his head, and blew stray strands of hair away from his face. Another tug pulled his head to where Kíli's brown eyes were peeking over the edge of his bed. A large hand moved to pat the young dwarf on the head and smooth brown hair away from the child's forehead.

"What is it, little one?"

Kíli only giggled, and disappeared past Thorin's sight. He heard the patter of small feet leaving his room, small giggles identifying both his nephews. Thorin sighed, and threw the blankets off. Following his nephews, he traced their whispers and shh we need to let him find us to the entryway of their home. Cloaks were hung on brass knobs, just behind the stout wooden door. He could see dwarfling feet just under a strange bulge in his personal cloak. Holding back a chuckle, Thorin moved quietly over to the hiding pair, slowly slipped his cloak free from the knob, and quickly wrapped his nephews in the sturdy material and swung them up into his arms.

The brothers yelped and started to giggle and hoot, squirming around in an attempt to escape the cloak. Thorin chuckled, and lowered the bundle to the floor. Kíli fell out first, rolling off of his brother to the wooden floor. Fíli was left sitting in the tangled cloth. The older dwarf kneeled down to face level with his nephews.

"What is it?"

In answer they both raced to another room, filled with a strange type of energy. Thorin grunted as he stood; it was the beginning of another snow-less winter, and the cold made his back and shoulders hurt. He followed the dwarflings to the other room, the kitchen, and found that they had dragged a chair over to the window. The two brothers were both standing on it, peering over the back of the chair to the outside where Thorin could see the stars.

Then, to his astonishment, a fat white flake of snow drifted past the window.

"It started snowing, uncle!"

Thorin looked down at his nephews, their brown eyes wide with wonder. The winters that the could remember were gentle, at least where snow was concerned. The air had still been cold, though. Cold enough that sickness had managed to flourish. It had claimed the boy's father the past year.

A tug on his sleeve pulled him back to the present. Fíli was looking at him, eyes sparkling. "Can we go outside and see it, Thorin?"

The dwarf smirked, a grin pulling up the edges of his mouth. "Wait here a moment."

Thorin walked back to his room, grabbing the thick blanket from the bed. Striding back to the waiting pair, he jerked his head toward the door. The two laughed and dashed for the handle; it took both of them to move it open. By the time Thorin got outside, they were both rolling in the snow. The king-in-exile just settled on the steps of the small porch. The house rested on small stilts, to help avoid flooding during the warm spring season when the snow melted.

Before long Fíli and Kíli were cold, the snow clinging to their knees and between their toes. Thorin gave a one-sided grin. "Come here, you two."

They dashed over to him, starting to shiver. They each came and sat on one of his knees, curling their toes against his shin. Thorin took the blanket and wrapped around all three of them, leaving their heads free to look at the land around them.

It was snowing slightly, the thick flakes sticking to white branches and the edge of their roof. It had been silently snowing for some time, apparently. The land around was white, the rolls and dips in the land were muted. The sky was gray, thick with bulging clouds. A good winter lay ahead, then. Such deep snow so early meant good water come spring, enough to water crops and push needed minerals down into the lakes and streams for forging.

It was also quiet. This wasn't the quiet before battle, when you shouldn't eat because your stomach would only push it back up. The silence after storms was crisp, and wet. This quiet was thick, covering the whole world and muting sound and movement.

It was . . . nice.

Before long both his nephews had warmed up and were small pockets of heat at Thorin's side. They had also fallen asleep, their heads resting against his chest, propped on each other's head. Thorin just cradled them closer, relishing the contact that he often denied himself. He didn't think of himself as a good uncle, and was hardly worthy to become the father that both these lads needed. He knew he was grumpy, prone to moods, and far to angry to be around dwarflings. He held most of his emotions inside, and they left in a violent way - usually. Mahal knew that Dís had put up with him far too many times to be possibly counted.

But, maybe, if he tried and gave it his all, he would be someone that these two came for when something went wrong. Even later, when they were both grown, and making their own choices and mistakes, he could be there for them. If he tried, then maybe everything would be alright.

For the rest of that night, Thorin held his sleeping nephews and watched snow fall. And for the first time in a long while, he was at peace.

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HAHA! UPDATE!

No, seriously, sorry readers. I feel like it has been a while since I worked with this, even though it's only been about a week. I just feel like with the chapters as short as they seem to be, I should be able to crank them out pretty quickly. But I have an excuse. School started again Monday (for me, at least) and with it came the apathy that seems to surround most anything concerning school.

So I have this headcannon that dwarves invented glass (and pianos, but that is for a later thing), so TADA! windows were born.

I live in a place where snow is a really good thing. Coming from a farming community, I can tell people that there are many different types of snow. The best is this thick, fat, fluffy stuff that sticks to everything. If the snow comes early, it can actually stick to leaves and break branches from trees. The least usefull type of snow is called 'skif,' at least where i come from. That is basically little round things of ice that don't stick to anything and end up being blown away.

Two more chapters to go, guys.

Originally Published: 2/2/2014

Edited: 7/30/2016