Seven months ago, before Kíli left, Fíli had loved his brother.
He still loves Kíli now, of course, but things are very different. They speak almost ever day, and the soul-link between them is still strong and sure, a concrete proof of their love. But Fíli is not sure he knows who Kíli is anymore.
Before he left, Kíli was the little brother who doted on him. Since the time he could walk, Kíli had followed Fíli around adoringly, doing whatever Fíli proposed. They had been equal partners in mischief, making trouble wherever they could, but Fíli had been the leader. He was the older brother. It was his job to go first.
For seven months, now, Kíli has been going first.
He sends Fíli everything - every wonderful new sight and sound and taste and smell, every feeling of excitement or wild terror, every face and voice he meets along the way. Kíli wants him to share it all as if he is there, and Fíli knows he would be doing the same in Kíli's place. His dreams at night are all Kíli's experiences, and sometimes he does not taste his own food properly for the strength of what Kíli shares with him from the road.
It is driving him mad.
Fíli's life at home is tragically dull in comparison. Mama tries her best to keep him busy with lessons at the forge, but Fíli is a danger to himself when his concentration is with his brother. He pushes Kíli away a bit, then, shoving some of his frustration and envy back through the link, and Kíli steps back a little. Balin wraps him in layer after layer of stifling responsibility, piling him high with duties and tiny diplomatic missions within their own community. He never gets to go anywhere or do anything exciting, but he is expected to learn and practice his responsibilities continually. Kíli sends him fresh air and unfamiliar vistas, and all Fíli has to send back is the local gossip and family news. Kíli gets further and further away, out of his reach now, and he is not the little brother who has followed him, all admiration. Fíli must sit in his shadow and try not to let the hurt show.
It is almost a relief when Kíli starts to draw away, to hold back some of his experiences. They talk every evening, and then every other evening, and in between, Fíli can just be Fíli He finds a place for himself where he is only himself, with no brilliant, dark shadow, and there is satisfaction in that. The Dwarves of their community begin to look up to him in Thorin's absence, to come to him for advice or decisions on matters of difficulty between themselves. Fíli grows an inch, and then another, and his mother's fond looks of pride grow more frequent than her silent, sad spells of staring out the window after her other son.
When the company reaches the Iron Hills, six months since leaving home, Fíli is relieved. Now that they are underground, among Dwarven-kind, there will not be so much for Kíli to exult over, or new sights to share. But Kíli realises this, and tries to make up for it by including Fíli in every conversation, pushing names and faces at him at the oddest times. Fíli has to suffer through forced introductions to all of the worthies of Dain's court, and to listen to their polite conversation and small talk, and then to the interminable hours of political discourse. Thorin wants Dain with him on some great quest in a time to come, and Dain is clearly keen to avoid entangling alliances. Fíli must translate all of it into words for Balin, and then send Balin's advice back to Kíli, who passes it along to Thorin, and the whole cycle starts again.
Sometimes Fíli falls asleep from the tedium of it, and Balin shakes him by the shoulder, or Kíli sends a laughing pulse of light and energy along the link, startling him awake.
He catches glimpses of Kíli through his own eyes, sometimes, when his brother walks in front of a polished surface, and Fíli is always startled. Kíli hasn't grown as he has, but there is a strength and wildness about him now that was not there before in the sometimes-shy little brother he has looked after. Kíli does not need his protection anymore, it seems. He is dressed well, almost like a member of the court, but in Thorin's colours, and Fíli knows that he stands in their eyes as Thorin's substitute when his uncle is busy.
They are so very impressed with his little brother, these fine Dwarves, and it sticks in Fíli's throat like dry bread. They are not impressed by his cleverness, or the sly brilliance of his jokes, or the kindness of his heart. They are fascinated by the fact that Thorin has brought such a young kinsman over such distances - and, Fíli works out quickly enough, they are bewildered and astounded by the soul-link.
"Not that they don't have them here," Kíli tells him lazily one night. It's not the same as talking quietly from their beds; Kíli's has sat cold and empty for six months, and Fíli is still not used to the silence of the room. "But their soul-links don't seem as strong. They fade with age much faster than ours, and are useless over distances."
"Dwalin must love that," Fíli muses, amused by the picture Kíli immediately sends of Dwalin's face, oddly smug in a remembered moment.
Kíli yawns, and Fíli can feel the tiredness flowing off him in waves. They keep them busy running about, there in the Iron Hills - busy, and useful, and watched with admiration. Kíli has everything Fíli has ever wanted - and the worst of it is, he knows Kíli doesn't want it. There is a hurt core of homesickness in every feeling he sends, an overtone of lonely melancholy on every visual and sound. Kíli wants to be home. He didn't want to leave in the first place. Fíli feels even worse for being so jealous, but he cannot seem to stem that tide.
The worst bit about the soul-link, he thinks sadly, is that it is so hard to hide anything from his brother.
They seem to stay in Dain's halls for months, though Fíli knows it has been but a few weeks, and the Dwarves there grow more familiar with their company all the time. As they finally prepare to leave, Dain throws a great banquet for them - rich and splendid, but Fíli knows it will not be enough to stem Thorin's anger at the way Dain has maneuvered himself out of making any commitments to his cause. Kíli is fairly pulsing with nervous excitement, and Fíli is tired of catching glimpses of his brother's finery every time he blinks. He is locked in a virtual dungeon of dusty papers, or so it feels. Balin has set him to studying ancient texts that he cannot even pretend interest in, and Kíli's nerves serve as a vivid distraction.
"It's time!" Kíli tells him nervously, pushing images and feelings at him far too fast, and Fíli rocks back a little. He knows Kíli will send everything at him, whether he has work to do or not, and he tries to send some assurance back. He doesn't feel it, though; his heartbeat is a little too fast, agitated by his own frustration with the situation.
The festivities begin, and Fíli instinctively tries to cover his ears at the riot of sound and light that are suddenly upon him. They conflict with what his own sense are telling him - dusty and dry and cool and dull - and he tries to shake a bit loose, to step away from the immediacy of the soul-link the way Kíli can.
"Look!" Kíli says, all bright, terrified excitement in his head. "Dain and his advisers!" Flashes of image come at him, and Fíli grits his teeth and sends back images and smells of his surroundings.
"Busy here," he tells Kíli coolly. "Some of us have work to do."
"Ahh, young fellow!" One of Dain's advisers greets Kíli warmly, and Fíli can almost feel the clap of a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Fine evening, isn't it?"
Kíli stutters agreement, and Fíli smirks a little. If there is one thing to be said for Balin's relentless push to make him ready to lead, it is that he has learnt self-assurance. He would know what to say to these Dwarves, where Kíli flounders.
"It has been a honour to spend time with you these past weeks," another Dwarf says, and Fíli is not certain whether it is Dain himself. "We have profited a great deal by your remarkable skills, young Dwarf."
Fíli's hand tightens on a pen until his knuckles are sore.
"Indeed!" A third finely-dressed Dwarf has joined them, and they are all beaming pride and approval at Kíli Fíli will never see such admiration from them, even if he should go to the Iron Hills tomorrow. He will always be second to his little brother, now. "We are all much relieved to see what strength and heart remains in the line of the King. Thorin need fear little with such an heir!"
An heir.
Kíli's nervous pride stutters a bit, and Fíli blocks it with a quick, furious blink. He can feel his face heating up, his eyes narrowing at the unseen papers in front of him.
Kíli has taken everything, whether he meant to or not. The journey itself, Thorin's regard, Fíli's opportunity to shine - and now even what little claim he has to the throne, buried beneath dragon-desolation though it may be. Now all of Dain's people know Kíli as the golden child, the special and talented and exciting young heir to Thorin himself, and Fíli is left to scratch away at ancient parchments in the dust of a forgotten storage room.
The rage boils up in his throat, bitterly hot and ice cold at once, and he doesn't hold back. A flash of all that anger slams across the link, and Fíli can hear Kíli react.
"What's wrong?" Kíli demands, suddenly panicked. He has no context for that flash of emotional pain, and Fíli's eyes narrow. Kíli does not even know what he has done, and Fíli is left to stew in his own anger. He growls a little, sweeping the books and papers from the table with a rough slam of his arm. It is not fair, and it is not right, and he cannot keep watching the party dance attendance on Kíli "Fíli?" Kíli demands - demands, demands, demands, seeking reassurance and explanation and everything that Fíli cannot give just now, not when he wants to pour all his rage across the soul-link onto his brother's head. That would be cruel.
"What's wrong, lad?" The words are Bofur's, across the distance, as he comes rushing to Kíli's side. They will come to Kíli's aid, and Fíli will still be forgotten.
The anger flares again, hot and cutting, and Fíli cannot control it. He will not listen to another moment of this.
He takes the anger like a sword, swinging it at the soul-link that has always connected them. Without a word, he severs the link, slamming the connection shut - and he is alone in his anger. The annoying hiss of distant music and flicker of impossible lights is gone. He feels the end of the link slip away, as though snapping back toward Kíli, and a vengeful part of him hopes that his brother will feel the break.
He will reconnect it in the morning, when he can breathe calmly again - when he can breathe without wanting to scream at his brother for being the unwilling agent of Fíli's destruction. He will apologise to Kíli then, if he can manage it, and they can find a way to begin again. They will leave early in the morning, and be on the road, in danger again, within hours, and then the link will have to be restored. Kíli will be coming home soon, and in half a year, they will be together again, and he will have to learn who his brother is now and whether they still love one another. He sits down in the dust, slowly beginning to gather up the papers he has scattered, to clean up the mess he has made.
And this would be the moment from which all others shatter.