Chapter Seven
Two Nephews


At first, his two nephews were so much alike in voice and appearance that Thorin could barely tell them apart. Soon though, he could see the roundness that still clung to Kíli, while his brother – though much the same size – had the leaner build and more sophisticated movements of an older child. Which made Fíli the elder, a point of crucial importance.

They were unalike in more than just age and coloring, however. Kíli, Thorin soon learned, was a wild-heart. His disorderly hair was home to twigs and bits of grass, his brown eyes were sparks of heat and light. He was reckless, even a bit rude, and his manners were appalling, but such things could be taught. In the meantime, Thorin took great pleasure in watching the boy put away the mutton he'd brought with alarming vigor.

"So good," he mumbled through a mouthful, and grinned at Thorin with his teeth full of lamb.

"Kíli," Fíli said, and the little boy sighed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he went back to eating with somewhat more decorum.

As they ate, Thorin took the time to measure his other, unexpected nephew. Unlike his brother, Fíli was a puzzle. At first, Thorin had thought him timid, perhaps even simpleminded. His reaction to their first meeting had been troubling. Yet since then he'd learned that Fíli was neither shy nor slow. There was a natural reserve, of which Thorin approved. In that, Fíli reminded him of himself at that age. More admirable still was the way he took care of Kíli, who minded his older brother better than his mother, or so it seemed.

Nonetheless, Thorin couldn't shake the feeling that something was out of place. It was clear they had often been hungry and in need, but even that sobering fact didn't satisfy him. There was something more, as yet undiscovered, and he wanted the opportunity to learn it – to know both his nephews.

A suggestion came to him. "Dís, I'd like to spend some time with the lads today, let them show me around."

Dis looked uncertain. It was yet another thing Thorin didn't understand. The Dís he knew had been decisive and never slow to speak. Yet since he arrived they'd barely spoken, and she seemed uncomfortable with him handling the boys. She'd gone white as goat's milk the first time he put Fíli on his knee, and the lad had been almost as pale.

'I know that he's the eldest, and you've counted on him a great deal,' Thorin wanted to say, 'but he's still a child.'

A very young child, despite his demeanor. Thorin sensed he had already missed much of Fíli's formative years, and he was eager not to miss anything more. "What say you, boys? Are you willing to show your uncle all your secret places?"

Kíli's reaction was predictable. "I'll take you to the woods!" he said with enthusiasm. "You can see my rock and meet Vahla."

"Vahla is a starling," Fíli murmured.

Thorin felt his mouth twitching. "I'd love to see your rock. What about you, Fíli?"

Fíli pressed his lips together, considering. "The forge."

A fitting choice for a young dwarf. "Can you craft anything?"

"Nails," Fíli answered. "Shoes for horses and mules."

It was the typical kind of thing for such a village. Thorin himself had certainly done much of that kind of work, but it still depressed him that this was all Fíli knew of the forge.

"I can make a ring," Kíli pipped up. "Mama taught me."

He showed his hand, which had a thin, somewhat uneven band of copper around it. It was simple, but Thorin could still see evidence of his sister's tutelage. "Dís made beautiful jewelry once," he told them. "With gems that twinkled like the night sky."

"Now I make marriage bands out of trash metals and trinkets for barmaids," Dís hissed, and though her bitterness was a poison Thorin knew from his own heart, he was still troubled to hear it so close to the surface.

He elected to turn toward Fíli, leaning closer so he could speak in a confiding tone. "Perhaps," he offered, "I can show you how to forge something more satisfying than a hoe or horseshoe."

"Like what?" Kíli asked. He already sounded jealous.

But it would be important, Thorin knew, to share certain things with each of them. He kept his eyes on Fíli. "A sword," he decided. It was fitting, a princely weapon. He would teach Fíli more than just how to craft one.

"I want a knife," Kíli said, climbing Thorin until the older dwarf swung him around onto his lap.

"Never fear, little one," he said. "There will be time enough for all kinds of lessons, in their time."

Kíli huffed, but seemed to know that pushing would not help. Besides, they already had an adventure ahead. "Let's go see my rock!"


Kíli had not been kidding about the rock. The cottage abutted the edge of a wood, and it was under the rafters of this forest that Thorin was led. In the dappled sunlight, it seemed airy and open, but Thorin had lost his way in even less dense woods then these, and he felt a pang of concern as the world melted into an unbroken circle of trees.

"Don't worry, Uncle Thorin," Kíli reassured him. "We won't get lost."

"Oh, really?" Thorin directed the question to Fíli, who walked on his other side.

"Kíli never loses his way in here."

Thorin gave a little inward shake of the head that his nephews were more accustomed to field and dell than cavern and stone. Had they even been underground, really underground? If they were, would they be lost as easily as he was under the trees? Thorin grunted. Impossible. They were dwarves.

After a long march, they reached a clearing, and in its center was a large stone. It jutted up from the ground, smooth and dark with age. Kíli ran to it, climbed up, and sprawled out. "Come on, Uncle Thorin. It's warm."

Thorin laid his hand on the outcrop, which was indeed warm from the sun. Before he hefted himself up, however, he reached down and swung Fíli onto to the ledge. It was easy to do, he weighed so little, and Thorin caught himself frowning. A dwarf lad ought to have a little more heft to him.

"Whoa, Uncle Thorin," Kíli barked with delight. "Can you swing me, too?"

"Another time," Thorin answered. He settled between the two of them, and sighed to feel such firm contact with his element. "It's limestone," he told them. "A good conductor. Friendly and reliable."

"Really?" Kíli wondered. He pressed his cheek to it. "Hello?"

"Stone doesn't speak with words," Thorin told him. "A dwarf knows the sound in his heart. It's made of the same material, after all."

Kíli pulled open his tunic, pressing fingers to skin. "My heart is made of stone?"

"Yours is made of mud and sticks," Fíli teased, and it was possible to hear a calm, content note in his voice. It was like mellow gold, that note. Thorin wanted to hear it much more often.

"Mahal made dwarves from earth, stone-hard and stubborn. It's what makes us different from all other free peoples. Only we were made from the stuff of the ground."

"Fíli, too?"

"Of course," Thorin said.

Kíli looked over his uncle. "Hear that, Fee? You're made of stone."

Thorin turned to see what effect this proclamation might have, but Fíli wasn't looking at either of them. Moreover, his hands, which were folded over his stomach, had knotted. Thorin wasn't sure where the sudden change in mood came from; surely he was too old to believe in so literal a translation. Thorin laid his hand over the twisted fingers, just to be sure. "Fret not. Your heart is flesh, not true stone."

Whatever Fíli found in his words, it was not solace. His face crumpled.

Dismayed, Thorin came up on one elbow, already damning himself for the blunder. Clearly, he had no talent for children. However, before he could ask what was wrong, his peripheral vision was filled with glossy black wings. "Vahla!" Kíli shrieked. The bird alighted on a nearby branch, its beady eye fixed on them as it bobbed up and down.

"Well," Thorin said. "It seems you do have a little friend."

"I raised him out of his nest," Kíli said proudly. "They fall sometimes."

This one certainly seemed to know its young master. However, when it took flight, it wasn't toward Kíli that it veered. "Ouch!" Fíli yelped, but the thief was already away, a bunch of blond stands tangled up in its beak.

Fíli rubbed his scalp while Thorin allowed a bark of surprised laughter. Kíli glared at the bird. "Naughty Vahla. He likes Fíli's hair."

"No wonder," Thorin said, running his fingers through the messy waves. There was a rumor that golden-haired children were blessed by the Maker. A tale, and likely no more, yet it was pleasant to think it might be true. "Not a Durin before you wore such a color."

He'd meant it as a compliment, but Fíli went rigid. 'What is it, dear one?' Thorin wanted to ask. 'What makes your smiles so few, and brings on such sadness so suddenly?'

Perhaps he grieved for his father. Thorin could not forget that these lads had only recently suffered a wrenching loss. Easily, he could recall his own pain over his father's indeterminate fate. Kíli was very young, yet, but Fíli could perhaps feel the whole spectrum of emotion that came with losing a parent. The two of them should speak about it soon.

"I think it's time that we head back," he decided, and when Kíli groaned, he added, "You, Kíli, shall have the privilege of carrying this copper to the market for some cheese, and Fíli will show me the forge before meeting you and your mother for supper."

Kíli, who had clasped his hands around the copper, was already so consumed with his task that he barely registered the implied separation. "Widow Molly has the best cheese. She feeds her goats ground up millet worms."

A singularly unappetizing description, but Thorin didn't argue. "Lead on, then. I certainly hope you know the way, because I do not."

Kíli sniggered. "Uncle Thorin, the sun is right there."

Thorin put his fists on his waist and squinted at the proffered guide. He tried to divine its mysteries the way he might a draft moving the flame of a torch, but it remained sullenly fixed. He scratched his nose. "I'm afraid the lady does not like me, Kíli. She never tells me anything."

Kíli rolled his eyes. "Uncle, the sun doesn't speak with words."

He took Thorin by the hand. Thorin only thought to look back once they were already moving, just in time to catch sight of Fíli. His hand was still on the stone, but his eyes were lifted toward the sun, which tangled in his hair.

"Fíli," Thorin called, struck with a strong desire not to leave the boy behind.

Fíli turned, his face a barely discernable oval, but Thorin still felt a shiver work through him. Something was wrong. All that comforted him was the fact that, in just a short time, they would be able to speak of it.