A/N: Thank you thank you thank you everyone for all the lovely reviews last chapter! You guys really rose to the challenge beautifully, and I have baked chocolate chip cookies for you all in gratitude! I just don't know how to thank you guys anymore…THANK YOU. So much. I do apologize for falling off the grid for two weeks – real life became very complicated! But thank you for bearing with me! I still have a few PMs to respond to – I'm nearly there, so if you haven't yet received a response from me you will soon! I'm so so sorry, and thank you reviewing! You all really made my day, and I have cranked out this chapter for you.
Speaking of this chapter, I had something else entirely planned for it, up until a few days ago. And instead, this typed itself out. I hope you guys like it, please leave me a review! You have no idea how warm and fuzzy inside your reviews make me feel! The title for this chapter comes from the song Iridescent by Linkin Park, if you haven't heard it I strongly recommend it. Excellent song. Now go, beautiful people, enjoy the chapter! And your cookies! My muse and I thank you for your reviews!
Iridescent
Remember all the sadness and frustration, and let it go…
Thorin dropped into a chair as he watched Balin leave, the aged dwarf's form silhouetted in the doorway by the moonlight streaming in for barely a moment before he closed the door quietly behind him, cutting off the silvery glow as abruptly as he had allowed it in. He rubbed his palm tiredly across his face, nearly wishing the sun would never rise. This was not a day he had the strength to face. Then again, he'd plowed through the past twelve days with the exact same mindset.
He and Balin had just arranged for Dis's funeral. Her funeral. His little sister. She should have been the one to bury him.
And it was to be this very day. The healers didn't want to wait, for fear that they would soon lose their ability to preserve her. It had been far too long already, they said, and none wanted to tempt fate any farther. That meant he would have to tell Kili, tell him before the funeral in the early evening, Dis's favorite time of day.
But what was eating away at Thorin from the inside was that Dis would not be laid to rest by her husband's side. It was customary for a husband and wife to embark upon their final journey together – but she would be alone. Thorin could only pray that Firnen would be waiting for her – but he knew the dwarf would. Firnen may have been guarded around Thorin, but even so he had been able to see just how much the younger dwarf loved Dis. She would be in good hands.
Now he had to somehow attempt to fill the void Dis and Firnen had left in the lives of their sons. Reaching out, Thorin dragged a candle closer to him, running a finger lightly over the edges of the flame, close enough to feel the heat cutting into him, and then slashed the finger through the flame, so quickly that he avoided the burn. Or maybe he had lost his ability to feel.
He didn't know what Dis had wanted her sons to become. What she would have wanted him to mold them into. He could make them warriors, princes, leaders – Mahal, they could probably do that themselves. They were born that way. The blood of Durin flowed in their veins; they had been born ready. Even little Kili, whose favorite weapon was still his pout. Thorin felt the beginnings of a chuckle rumble in his chest, dying away before they had fully grown. Kili had chosen an incredibly effective weapon. Fili, on the other hand, was growing up entirely too fast.
He could see it in the blond dwarfling's eyes, that wariness born only of battle, the hardness born only of wounds cut so deep they would never fully heal. Seven he might be, but Thorin knew that his older sister-son would never forget how close he had come to being an only child. Some scars never fade.
Fili would be a lethal warrior one day. He had the talent, he had the ability. He'd had it for seven years. But now, Fili had a reason. He had something to fight for – and that was what crafted fearsome warriors. It was what tested and proved their mettle.
I will not have them die before their time, Thorin, and least of all because of you.
Dis's indignation at his intention to train Fili while the lad was still so young – he could remember it as clearly as if she had voiced her protests only yesterday. Was he doing the right thing? What if he taught Fili the law of the sword, and none other? She would never forgive him if Fili became what he was. But he knew what she was afraid of – it was that her sons would give their lives in battle the same way Firnen and Frerin and so many others had. It was that they might meet their end in blood and battle cries, wounds that could not be overcome. The way she had.
But he had no choice. They were relatively safe in Ered Luin, but as Dis's death had proved, the hardships of the Erebor dwarves were not over. And if he could keep them safe, even if that meant teaching them to use every weapon he could with the same proficiency he displayed, then he would do it. A hundred times over.
Thorin watched the flame flicker on the table, a drop of wax sliding lazily down the length of the candle. This time, when he put his finger to the flame, he was too slow – and withdrew his hand with a hiss, sucking on the angry burn to soothe it. Maybe he did not know what Dis had wanted her sons to grow into; but he knew what Firnen had desired for them.
Thorin slumped down in his chair, fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears to block out the sound of several dwarf women cooing like insane doves over the tiny infant known to the world as Fili in the next room. If he'd had his way, he would be in the forge or outside with Dwalin, not cooped up in Dis's living room, listening to this madness. But he hadn't. Dis had requested his presence for the entire day – Mahal knew why. And when Dis requested something, everyone else hopped to. She didn't do it often, but when she really wanted something, she made sure she received it. And evidently she wanted to put her older brother to death by cooing.
Grumbling a few Khuzdul curses under his breath, Thorin pulled out a sharp whittling knife and a piece of wood he had brought with him, relaxing as his hands began shaving off slices of the smoothened wood in rapid, assured movements.
"How long have you been here?" Firnen dropped down into the chair beside him, leaning over to examine the wood in Thorin's hands.
"Too long," Thorin huffed, sending a glare at the wall behind which his crazy sister and her idiotic friends were behaving as if they had never seen a dwarfling before. Children weren't exactly common, but he had seen dwarflings around in the past few years – several years older than Fili, yes, but still. And besides, Fili was over a week old. They'd had ample time to squeal over him like cats getting their tails stepped on.
"Do yourself a favor," Firnen advised, "And come with me. She said she wanted you here – she didn't say this room." He cast the same wall a dark look, one that Thorin didn't fail to catch.
"And what wrong have they inflicted upon you?"
"Made me sit with them," Firnen groused, glaring at Thorin when he barked out a short laugh. "As if they wanted to see whether each strand of my son's hair is the same color as mine."
Thorin chuckled again, abandoning the whittling in favor of laughing at Firnen. The dwarf was so easygoing – it was no surprise that Dis had married him. But he was also much easier to manipulate than either Frerin or Thorin because of it.
"Atkât," Firnen snapped, albeit with a smile in his voice and eyes. Thorin, out of pity for the younger dwarf, complied, silencing his laughter. Women could terrorize even the fiercest dwarf when they wanted to. Just look at him. Sitting here meekly, carving a piece of wood, not wanting to antagonize his little sister. Thorin sighed. The shame would make his beard grow backwards, if it wasn't for the fact that nearly every dwarf alive – save for Frerin, who feared nothing at all, not even Thorin's wrath – was petrified of her anger.
Standing fluidly, Firnen beckoned to Thorin, heading into the kitchen and plucking something off a tray. He tossed it to Thorin, who snatched it out of the air and grinned. Dis would kill them both, but her honey cakes were to die for.
"It's her own fault," Firnen rationalized as they headed into the room where Firnen stored his sizeable collection of arms. "She shouldn't have just left them there. She was practically asking us to help ourselves."
"Of course," Thorin grinned, taking another bite out of his. He wasn't sure what was making either of them so friendly towards each other – normally they kept a greater distance between them, Mahal knew exactly why – but today that distance seemed to have vanished. And Thorin was so grateful for some male company that he was not about to rebuff Firnen.
"And if she does get angry, well, I'm sure Frerin will make sure we get a proper burial."
"He'd better."
The dwarves laughed to themselves, and Thorin hefted a war hammer in his hands, admiring the balance. "It is well made," he observed, twirling it through the air.
Firnen scoffed. "No need to sound surprised."
"Did I really?"
"Just a little." For a moment Firnen held Thorin's gaze, and then he dropped his eyes. "Thank you." Thorin raised an eyebrow, and Firnen sighed. "You have mastered these" – he swept a hand out towards the various weapons in the room – "far better than I have – or anyone else, for that matter."
"Firnen, you –"
His brother-in-law held up a hand, and Thorin fell silent. "Teach my son." Green eyes met a shocked blue pair, and Firnen's lips curved into a smile at the other's expression. "There are many things I can do for him, but with weapons…You are the best, Thorin. Fili is lucky to have you as his uncle. Will you –"
"Of course," Thorin assured him, surprised to find his voice rather raspy. He cleared his throat – there must have been something stuck there. Not emotion. Definitely not pride or affection. Spring weather would be the death of them all. "He is my nephew, Firnen. He is of the line of Durin. He is a born warrior – and I will help him on his way. However I can."
Firnen inclined his head, unwilling to wrap his arms around Thorin in a bear hug the way he often did with Frerin. "Thank you."
"It will be my pleasure," Thorin smiled. And then they both winced as Dis shouted their names from the direction of the kitchen.
"I'll leave a note for Frerin telling him I'd like yellow roses at my funeral," Firnen whispered, trying to look innocent as the door burst open to reveal Dis, and Thorin smirked even as the wrath of his sister descended upon both their heads.
Hollow. That was how his life felt now, compared to what it had once been. Thorin regretted now that he had never had the openly affectionate relationship with Firnen that Frerin had. He would never have the chance now to tell the green-eyed dwarf how much he had cared for him, despite the fact that he had rarely shown it. All he could do now was stand by the promise he had made him. And hope that, along the way, he could give the lads at least a small piece of the love and care that Firnen – and Dis – would have.
Heavy footsteps sounded behind him; Thorin didn't bother turning. He knew only one dwarf who walked that way.
"How long have you been here?"
"Long enough."
Dwalin huffed. "Come on out. I've been needing to get some good practice in. The last dwarf who dared spar with me gave out in minutes."
Thorin snorted. "I cannot believe he lasted a full minute."
"He runs faster than I do," Dwalin conceded, grasping Thorin's upper arm and pulling him up. "Now come on."
"The lads –"
"Are sleeping, Oin's still sitting with them. They'll be fine."
"Give me a minute," Thorin said, leaving Dwalin behind as he moved towards the slightly-ajar door behind which his nephews were. When he pushed it open enough to glance in, he saw Fili holding Kili tenderly to him, blond hair mixing with brown. Both were sleeping soundly, nestled safely together, and Oin was so occupied in carving something into his ear trumpet that he didn't even notice Thorin at the door.
He released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The boys were alright. He could only pray they stayed that way.
Returning to the entrance, Thorin followed Dwalin out the door, kicking it shut behind him. The sun, not yet risen, bathed the horizon in a tentative light blue hue, a sharp contrast with the dark sky and twinkling stars above them still.
Thorin hefted his sword, bending into a crouch. It had been far too long.
-:-
When Fili's eyes fluttered open, the first thing he noticed was the wan sunlight peeking in through the curtains, and the comfortable weight of his brother's small head on his shoulder. Kili was still snoring, which meant he was alive. Good.
Carefully, so as not to startle the dreaming baby dwarf into waking, Fili shifted so that he was partially sitting up, wincing as his scalp twinged in protest. Kili had a thumb in his mouth, and the other hand was fisted in Fili's hair. The older dwarfling sighed. Some things would never change.
As he gently freed his hair from Kili's clutches, Fili frowned. The room was empty. Uncle Thorin was nowhere in sight – nor were any of the others. But an ear-trumpet was lying on the chair by the fireplace, which meant that the healer who had tried to force the drink down Kili's throat was nearby. Fili didn't know how he felt about that, besides sleepy.
His attention was diverted when Kili began whimpering, his eyes moving rapidly behind tightly shut lids. For a moment indecision gripped him, and then Kili began quivering with fear as the soft cries began to grow louder. Fili knew what this was. Nightmare.
"Kili!" Fili shook his little brother, growling in frustration when Kili, still asleep, tried to flinch away from him. "Kili! Wake up!"
With a gasp, Kili's eyes snapped open, the pupils already dilated with terror, his chest heaving so much that Fili was afraid it was paining him. "Fiwi!" With a cry, Kili dove into his brother's arms, shuddering.
"It was just a nightmare," Fili promised, feeling his head begin to pound. Kili's night-terrors had nearly ceased before that horrible attack twelve days ago. But now this. He hated to see his little brother so scared, so helpless.
"Was golbin?" Kili's brown eyes were wide, and Fili knew what he was asking to know. And not for the first time, he wished that Uncle Thorin was in the room. He didn't have much information to give. Nor did he know how to deliver the little he knew.
"No," Fili said comfortingly, patting down strands of brown hair sticking up in various directions, trying not to think of how close he had come to never being able to do this again. "It was an orc."
Kili frowned. "Why, Fiwi?"
Fili shook his head, hating the fact that his hands were beginning to shake, just with the fear that the memory of that day could conjure. He hated being so weak. "I don't know, Kili."
Kili glanced wildly around the room, his brown hair flying. "Where Mummy?"
He couldn't breathe. His throat had closed up, his heartbeat thudding abnormally in his ears, so loud that he could barely here Kili whines of "Wan' Mummy!"
Envy. That was what he felt. He was jealous that Kili could still cry for Mum, as if she could come back. As if she could hear him. He envied Kili his ignorance. But Fili didn't know how to respond now. Should he tell Kili what had happened? Or make up some lies to smooth the moment over until Uncle Thorin came back? But even as Kili turned his large eyes upon him, begging for an answer, Fili knew he couldn't lie. He wouldn't be able to handle the mistrust and pain in Kili's face when he found out the truth later.
"Kili," he said hoarsely, forcing his little brother to sit still and look at him. Brushing away a tear trailing down the pale, small cheek. Hating himself for what he was about to do. "Kili, Mum's…not coming back."
Silence. Which was very unusual with Kili around – even while asleep, the dwarfling snored. Fili held his breath. Waiting.
"Where she go?" Kili's eyes were very round, but he looked more befuddled than distraught, making Fili wonder if he'd said the right thing.
Fili bit his lip. He didn't know how to do this! What was he supposed to – furrowing his brow in concentration, he tried to remember what Uncle Thorin had said to him two years ago, on Kili's first birthday…The memory was fuzzy; all he could really remember was the pain of that day. And the first time he had looked down upon his baby brother.
"She's gone to Aulë's halls," he sighed, knowing he had failed the moment Kili's eyes brightened.
"So we gon' see Mummy 'gain?"
Fili swallowed hot tears, not wanting Kili to see him cry. Be strong like Uncle Thorin, he told himself. "Yes," he choked out, because it was the truth and he didn't know what else to do anymore, letting Kili snuggle up against him and close his eyes again, convinced still that all was right with the world. "One day."
Moments later Kili had again succumbed to the allure of his childish dreams, whatever they were, and Fili lay still, allowing his brother to pillow his small head on his shoulder. With a small shiver, he remembered seeing Kili collapse to the ground, blood gushing from his prone body, and all the fear of that moment returned, making him hold onto Kili even tighter, thanking Mahal for the snores that he had once found so incredibly irritating. How could he have hated the sound of his little brother's snores when they proved that Kili was still alive? Still breathing? Clinging to life with the same tenacity he used to hold onto everything else he wanted?
But no matter how many times Fili repeated to himself that Kili was alive, that the tiny dwarfling's heart was still beating, he couldn't change one fact: while Kili had been saved, he had not done the saving. He had not done what he should have, and being a failure hurt more than anything – because this time, it had been Kili's life in the balance. And he had failed to save it.
He couldn't even bear to consider what would have happened if Bofur hadn't been there; if Oin hadn't been there. If Uncle Thorin hadn't been there. They had rescued Kili. And he had just stood there, watching. He had gotten himself locked out – he hadn't even watched. He had left Kili to fight desperately for life alone.
Tears dripped in an uneven drizzle down Fili's cheeks onto Kili's hair, but Fili didn't notice, and neither did his brother. He glanced down at his hands. Small, unmarked, and so weak compared to Uncle Thorin's. Fili could remember his father's hands picking him up when he was younger – and they, too, had been so much stronger than his. Although he kept trying to deny it, Fili knew, deep down, what he was. What he truly was.
Useless.
He couldn't protect the one person who actually needed him. He couldn't be the prince that Balin and the others expected him to be. Uncle Thorin couldn't even look at him without that tortured expression appearing in his eyes and face. He was a failure, a useless failure, and Fili didn't know how to fix himself.
What he did know was that he couldn't stand the innocent trust with which Kili was cuddling up to him. He didn't deserve that trust. And one day, if Kili ever found out what exactly had happened after he had so bravely given his life for one that didn't deserve to be sacrificed for, Fili knew that he would be the reason for destroying both Kili's innocence and trust.
Because a brother's betrayal is impossible to forgive. It shouldn't exist. But he had brought it into being.
Gently freeing his tunic from the tight clasp of Kili's hands, wondering how fingers so small could have so much strength, Fili slipped on his boots and escaped the room. He needed air. He needed to breathe. But his lungs couldn't remember how.
Oin was in the next room, talking with someone. Fili recognized the accent. It was Bofur. As if he needed another reminder of the moment he had ruined his life – and nearly taken his brother's. He was a murderer. He didn't even deserve to be in the same room as Kili. Because one of them had saved a life. Only one.
Standing on his toes, Fili shoved the front door open and tumbled out into the sharp morning air. And the first thing he heard was the clang of metal on metal. Following the din, Fili found himself watching his Uncle Thorin and…well, he couldn't remember the other dwarf's name, but he remembered him as the one who had come to tell them that Kili had woken. With the tattoos. Dwalin? They were whirling around each other in a furious, deadly dance, their swords spinning through the air to meet each other.
Entranced, Fili crept closer, his eyes eagerly drinking in their swift, assured movements, the way each seemed to be able to anticipate the other's move and could respond in kind. He watched their footwork, noticing how while Uncle Thorin's was somewhat more graceful than Dwalin's, they both constantly moved their feet to remain balanced, perpetually adjusting their bodies almost unconsciously. Spinning over the ground. Even with their differing styles, Fili was quick to find the similarities, things they both did to center themselves, to give themselves the maximum advantage with every offensive and defensive motion. Angles, planes of movement. Always perfect.
Uncle Thorin swung his blade up, blocking a strike the same way he had taught Fili to, and the simple motion brought tears to the sunny-haired dwarfling's eyes. The other dwarf had attacked the same way the orc had – he would have recognized that fatal motion even in his dreams. And now he knew that he had known how to defend himself – and Kili – from the blow.
The acidic guilt began bubbling up from a festering pit in his gut, scorching every inch of his body with the realization that he had known. He had been taught exactly how to parry such a blow and he had failed. Inexperience was no longer an excuse he could lean on, because now he, if no one else, knew the truth.
Something gleaming in the morning sun caught his eye. His uncle had left his other weapons lying on the ground, shielded from the grass and dirt by his coat. The axe was too heavy for Fili and he knew it – but there was a beautiful dagger nearly hidden behind it that was perfectly within his ability to lift.
-:-
Thorin reveled in the strain on his muscles as he put his body through its paces, flying through the fray with Dwalin. They had done this for years, training together to further hone their skills, to keep them as sharp as their blades. And now the familiar movements were helping him to shake off the fear and the helpless, blind rage that had settled into his bones.
The physical pain provided a perfect escape from the memories of how he had sat by Kili through those long, terrifyingly lonely and silent nights. Sometimes he would hum the tune he'd heard Fili singing to his little brother, hoping that the familiarity of the lulling melody would draw Kili out of the darkness and back into their lives. And in addition, the humming was a survival mechanism for him. It ensured that he remembered to breathe.
He'd sat there, from dawn to dusk, trying not to remember how it felt to hold those dwarflings he loved so much in his arms. The way holding children felt like holding pure love, a selfless love. From them you can expect nothing, you can gain nothing, and yet it is the easiest to love them. Maybe because it is purely your choice, not the desire to benefit. Simply the desire to love, and be loved. To fill that void in your heart, if even for that heartbeat where their gaze connects with yours, and for a moment your heart warms with a love so powerful you want to never let them go.
Dwalin's sword descended upon him in a furious rush, and Thorin sidestepped, catching the strike on the hilt of his own.
He just wanted to forget everything, even if it was only for a short while. Just to be a blank slate, to be free of the memories weighing him down with every breath. The faces, the hands, the eyes – eyes missing that spark of life. He knew only too well what they looked like.
A knuckleduster swung up at him, and Thorin growled, using his forearm to bat the blow away and retaliating with one of his own.
What could he do for Fili? The boy's blue eyes looked so broken, so shattered, only when he thought no one could see him. Thorin just didn't know how to comfort him. Mahal, he didn't even know what was plaguing him, besides the fact that Kili had nearly…died. But Kili was recovering well now; that should have healed the cracks in Fili's eyes. It hadn't, which led Thorin to believe that there was something more torturing his sister-son. It hurt that he didn't know what. And he didn't know how to find out.
"Enough?" Dwalin panted, staggering backwards slightly.
Thorin nodded his assent, gulping in deep breaths. "Enough."
"Thank you for not running from me the entire time," Dwalin chuckled, sucking in deep lungfuls of air between his words. "It was a nice change."
"Aye," Thorin agreed, smirking slightly at the mental image of a panicked dwarf running from an irate Dwalin. "It must have been." He stooped down, hefting his axe up from the ground, when he froze. "Dwalin, did you borrow my dagger?"
"You know I never use those things," Dwalin huffed. His dislike of daggers – even swords, he only used those when Thorin wanted to spar with them – was well known. And as one of his closer friends, Thorin ought to remember that. "Why in Aulë's name would I –"
"Well, then, where has it gone? I am sure I –"
"Thorin." Dwalin pointed to the scuff marks in the dirt – clearly made by small boots, the prints too close together to be the stride of even a half-grown dwarf. He knew exactly whose feet had made those marks, and, judging by the way the crownless king paled, so did Thorin. In an instant Thorin had sprung into motion, following the trail of footprints around the corner house nearby, and Dwalin leaned forward against his axe, planting it solidly in the dirt, trying not to worry. Fili had probably just borrowed it to show his brother – those two dwarflings, if memory served, were obsessed with Thorin's weaponry. He'd heard his friend griping on about their affinity for all things sharp and shiny on a fairly regular basis. He examined the tattoos on his knuckles, suddenly grateful he didn't have nephews. And hoping that Thorin's hadn't done anything they shouldn't have. Mahal protect them. The entire family had lost too much to lose any more.
-:-
Thorin followed the trail of tiny footprints, trying not to recall the time he had tried to lift a sword while still a dwarfling and had grievously injured himself. He could still vividly remember the blood, pain, and fear, and the terrified faces of his family – and those scarring memories did nothing to assuage his worry that his sister-son had done something similar. All he could do was thank Mahal that Fili had left a trail behind him. It had to be Fili – Kili probably couldn't even sit up on his own.
His brows came together in a frown as he found himself standing outside the house he had left his nephews in. Stepping inside, he nodded a greeting to Oin, who was mixing two liquids together in a small jar, and strode past, peering into every room he went by, most of which contained the dwarves wounded in the battle. Many had recovered by now, but some were still healing. He wasn't sure if the same could be said for Fili.
When he glanced into Kili's room he found Kili snoring peacefully against his pillow, and for a moment he lingered there in the doorway, closing his eyes and listening, thankful beyond belief that he could at least hear that sound again. It had been absent from his life for so long.
Turning away, he edged the opposite door open a little wider with the tip of his boot, and felt his jaw slacken. Fili was standing before him, the blade in his hand. Well, not exactly standing.
The dwarfling was slashing through the air, Thorin's blade clutched tightly in his one hand, the other out to balance him against the weapon that was undoubtedly uncomfortably heavy for him. Thorin stared, unable to even find his voice, as Fili swung fluidly through the same movement, over and over, a simple strike followed by a defensive block that he had taught his nephew about two weeks ago. He was struck by how easily Fili managed the real blade, wielding it as if he had been born with the dagger in his hand. But Thorin couldn't understand why his nephew would insist on repeating the same pattern. Fili had mastered the combination within moments of learning it – and it was evident now that his body was perfectly acclimatized to the motions.
So he stood there in the doorway and watched, unobserved, his eyes following the way Fili was furiously stabbing at nothing, his young sapling form constantly readjusting itself, somewhat clumsily at times, trying to accommodate patterns of footwork that Thorin recognized from…from the way he himself fought. And suddenly he knew what had happened. Fili had, for some reason, left the house, and once outdoors he must have heard the din he and Dwalin invariably created when they sparred. It was clear that Fili had decided to practice the footwork he'd observed, or the strike pattern, or both, but for the life of him Thorin still couldn't understand why.
Fili was sweating now, his arm shaking with the weight of the blade, yet he was still battling the air, a snarl on his young face, but it was his blue eyes that arrested Thorin's attention. They were glittering with a kind of undulating rage that Thorin had seen only rarely, but always on the faces of grown dwarves, often on the battlefield. To see it in the eyes of a child, in the eyes of his sister-son, the very dwarfling it was his duty now to protect from something like this…It was terrifying. Because suddenly he wasn't watching a child anymore. He was watching an adult. And it reminded him of that horrifying moment he had looked at Fili to see himself. Someone wearing a mask, a hard one – although Fili had not yet learned to wear it, and Thorin had torn it from him before he could. Thankfully.
Thorin had always known that Fili would grow up one day to be a skilled warrior – he'd known it the first time he'd put a wooden sword in that small hand and taught the dwarfling how to hold it. He'd been so proud that day, to know that the blood in his nephew's veins was the same as his. Until this day, he'd never been so afraid of that same fact.
Fili repeated the sequence, panting audibly now, and in a sudden flash Thorin understood. The desperation and fury in Fili's eyes made perfect sense – because it was this same sequence that Fili had failed to execute when his and Kili's lives had been in danger. Without knowing how he knew, Thorin could feel with absolute certainty that it was true. There was no other explanation for it. And he couldn't stand by and watch Fili torture himself any longer.
Stepping forward, he seized his nephew's wrist, prying the blade out of fingers shaking with exhaustion, knowing better than to berate the lad now. Dropping to his knees, he studied Fili's face, trying to gauge how best to approach him. What to say. He had never felt so helpless without words before. He'd never needed them before. But now actions were a superfluity. He needed the words, the ones that would right the innumerable wrongs that had been done. And he didn't know where and how to find them.
"You handle the blade well," Thorin settled on saying, knowing in his gut that they were the wrong words. Fili didn't respond, just continued to pant, the only sound in the room. He sighed. "Fili, what's the matter?"
Looking at the floor, blinking rapidly a few times, Fili shook his head, his blond hair flying. And of all things, Thorin took that moment to notice that the few braids in his hair had nearly come undone, it had been so long since they had been remade. Without a word, he reached out and loosened one, allowing the strands to free themselves from each other, and when all the braids had been opened up, he began the process anew, his fingers deftly twining the golden hair into neat, dwarven braids.
"I knew what to do," Fili blurted out as Thorin was on the second-last braid, and his voice was so full of anguish that Thorin's eyes instantly snapped up, his fingers freezing where they were, shocked by the amount of pain in his nephew's voice.
"Fili, what –"
"You showed me!" Fili's shouts were shrill, and Thorin hushed him, not wanting to wake Kili in the opposite room. Taking a quavering breath and lowering his voice, he whispered, "It really is my fault, Uncle Thorin. I knew what to do! And I could do it, I just didn't –"
"Quiet, Fili," Thorin said peremptorily, hating the way Fili flinched slightly at his tone, but unable to handle the way Fili couldn't forgive himself for his one mistake. He didn't know what to do, what to say, to make it better. For a moment he considered telling Fili about how badly he had failed Frerin, his own brother. Of how he had allowed himself to be separated from his baby brother on the battlefield, and how when he had found him again, Frerin was dead. Gone, forever. But he knew that instead of putting this moment into perspective, his own story of loss and pain would only make Fili feel worse. He would continue to berate himself, telling himself that he could have killed Kili. No doubt he was doing that already, on his own.
Thorin took a breath, praying to Mahal for guidance. "Fili, Listen to me closely. This – none of this – was your fault, as I have already told you. In situations like that, no dwarf is ever in full control. Accidents happen, Fili. What we have to do is fight back at them when they do. You did – and so did Kili. Both of you are going to be alright." Fili made an odd sound, between a sob and a snort, and Thorin gripped his sister-son's thin shoulders in hands tightly, forcing the dwarfling to make eye contact. "You are both going to be alright, Fili," he said quietly, assuredly. "I promise."
For a heartbeat Fili held his uncle's gaze, and then he dropped his eyes, nodding defeatedly. Thorin's heart sank – but it perked up with hope when Fili raised his head again, something else shining forth in those blue eyes. This time it wasn't anger, or sadness. It was a steely determination – the kind that Thorin had often been told made his own eyes appear more gray than blue. It was what gave him strength and resolve in his darkest moments. And it was doing the same for Fili.
"Will you teach me?" Fili asked, lifting the blade that Thorin had allowed to drop to the floor. "With this?" When Thorin looked unsure, Fili begged, "Please, Uncle Thorin? So that – so that it doesn't happen again?"
Thorin's hands unconsciously held Fili's shoulders with an even stronger grip. So that it doesn't happen again. Did his nephew really think he would allow something like this? "Fili," he said slowly, "I will not allow this, anything like this, to happen again. Do you hear me?" He paused, searching Fili's eyes for something. Even just a faint glimmer. "And yes, I will teach you. But with a blade made for you, not for me."
It was a bittersweet sort of feeling, the sight of the joy and hope blooming in Fili's eyes. Thorin knew that teaching Fili would help him regain some semblance of control over the shambles life had suddenly become – it would help him be more confident of his ability to protect his brother. But it felt too much like a betrayal of Dis. It was too soon. Fili was too young to be trained with weapons for warriors. Yet as far as he could tell, there was no other way to bring Fili back – the old Fili. He wanted to dispel the haunted cloud of darkness in Fili's eyes; this was the only way he could. And he would do it, a hundred times over, if it meant that someday he would see Fili smile again.
And because hope was the only thing he had to give Fili now.
A/N: Reviews? Please? Pretty please? As you guys know by now, they motivate me like you wouldn't believe, and I love to hear from you guys – even one-liners are good, although so many of you are indulging me and typing out beautiful long reviews! Balloons and hugs and party favors all around, and extra baked goodies for anyone who leaves a review! Plus when I feel unmotivated while writing, I go back and read them for inspiration – they really do help me write. Thank you for your support with the last chapter, and thank you for reading!
Take care, I'll see you next chapter :)