A/N: Hey everyone! I'm really sorry for the delay with this chapter, but I've had a rather dramatic week. Suffice to say, I got my exam results and next week I'll be graduating university with a First Class honours degree in English Literature! So I've learnt that it is actually possible to write a multi-chapter fic during your finals period and still graduate. And can I just thank you all for being such supportive readers – you guys seriously helped me get through my exams and never failed to make me smile, so I really can't thank you enough! Now what better way to celebrate than with angst and drama? So here's Chapter Eleven…
Fíli came to a stop just as they reached the stone archway connecting the servants' passageway to the upper corridor. He hunched over his crutches and drew in several shivering breaths. Even in the dim lighting of the passageway, Kíli could see the tears shining on his brother's cheeks, which were flushed with colour from the upward trek back to their room. Kíli hastily wiped away the tears burning in his own eyes, and then reached out and began to rub slow, soothing circles on Fíli's back. Fíli continued to stare at the floor, his teeth set hard against the pain. Glancing across at Estel, standing at Fíli's other side, the concern in Kíli's eyes communicated the question of whether it was now time to intervene. Estel gave a barely perceptible nod and was opening his mouth to make the suggestion when Fíli straightened up. Without a word, he continued through the archway, making the left turn towards his room.
They had been the first to leave the main vault after the engraved stone lid was placed over Thorin's tomb. Fíli's departure from the vault had mirrored his arrival, and the black-clad crowd had parted and bowed just the same. Dwalin had followed them to the doors, but then chosen to stay behind. Kíli could tell Thranduil's presence had got Dwalin's back up, and the older dwarf had let Estel take his place so he could return to stand guard by Thorin's tomb.
The only sound was the clacking of Fíli's crutches against the stone floor of the corridor, and Kíli and Estel moved silently in time with Fíli's steps, knowing that there was little comfort to be had in conversation which would only be rendered hollow by grief. Fíli was keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead when his left crutch suddenly skidded in the dust. With a lightning-fast reaction, Estel grabbed hold of Fíli's arm, keeping him upright as the crutch clattered to the ground. Fíli looked from Estel to Kíli, his eyes wide in shock and his chest heaving, as Estel helped him regain his balance.
Kíli's heart was hammering against his ribcage as he stooped to retrieve the fallen crutch. "Fíli," he said gently, as he straightened up. "Are you sure you can…?"
"Yes," Fíli cut across him, the single syllable hard and sharp as flint, and Kíli flinched. But then his tone softened as he added: "Please… I'm… I'm just tired… I have to do this on my own."
Fíli's blue eyes were shining as he spoke, and Kíli realised this was a plea. Fíli needed to prove to everyone and, more importantly, to himself that he was strong enough to make the journey there and back again without help. The pain and the exhaustion were scrawled all over his flushed features, but Kíli knew he was determined not to be beaten.
"Of course," he said softly, handing Fíli his crutch. "But take your time, there's no rush."
Fíli managed a weak smile, silently thanking his brother, as Estel helped him position the crutch and set off again towards their room. Fíli's step was now slow and cautious, and Kíli sensed that both he and Estel had instinctively moved closer to Fíli by half an inch or so, preparing for another fall. But the fall never came. Fíli made it to his room, and to his bed, without another pause to regain his breath. Estel and Kíli pulled back the bed sheets, and Fíli twisted himself around and sank down onto the bed.
"Would you like us to bring you some food?" Kíli asked, taking Fíli's crutches and returning them to their usual place, leaning against his bedside table.
Fíli shook his head. "I… I just need to sleep," he murmured, and his eyelids began to droop as he spoke.
Kíli nodded and started to help Fíli unbutton his black tunic. Estel knelt down and slipped the boot from Fíli's left foot. Carefully pulling the tunic from Fíli's shoulders, Kíli folded it and went to put it with their other spare clothes, piled on the floor by the bed.
Fíli's tired eyes followed him, and he absentmindedly straightened out the sleeve of the thin cotton shirt he had been wearing beneath the tunic. "Mother should have been there," he said quietly, his voice cracking.
Kíli's heart jolted painfully in his chest, and he felt an ominous sting in his eyes again. He moved back to Fíli's side and put a hand over his on the bed. "I know," he whispered. "But you were there. And…"
Kíli wasn't sure how to continue. He wanted to tell Fíli just how proud of him he was. He had never been prouder of his big brother. It had taken a great amount of courage to go down to the vault that morning, and Kíli wished he could praise Fíli's bravery and determination, but he guessed now was not the time.
"You were there," he repeated, tears beginning to blur his vision. "And that's all that matters now."
Kíli leaned forward and pressed his lips to Fíli's forehead. Screwing up his eyes, he felt one tear escape and slither down his cheek. He then lifted his head to rest his chin on the top of Fíli's hair, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and Fíli pushed his face into Kíli's chest. The brothers held each other for a few long moments and then Fíli pulled away, his eyes bleary with both tears and need of sleep.
"You need to rest," Kíli said finally, and as Fíli lay back, he and Estel carefully lifted his bandaged leg up onto the bed.
Kíli pulled the bed sheets up to Fíli's chin and tucked them in around his shoulders. He then unfolded Ori's brown and gold knitted blanket, and by the time he had draped it over the sheets, Fíli was already asleep. His shoulders slowly slumped into the pillows and his head fell to the right, his mouth slightly agape. Kíli watched his brother for a few moments, and then sank down into the chair by his bedside. Estel, who had been wise enough to hover, silently, on the periphery of the brothers' shared grief, moved to perch on the edge of the bed.
"They all bowed," Kíli said, breaking the silence, with a hint of wonder in his voice. "All of them… Even Dáin's councillors sort of twitched forward." His eyes moved slowly away from Fíli to peer up at Estel.
"Your people have chosen their King," Estel replied, a small smile appearing on his lips as his gaze fell on Fíli. "And they will wait for him, until he is ready."
"Dáin was disappointed," Kíli muttered, remembering the look on his cousin's face when Fíli had taken a seat at his side. "He thought Fíli wouldn't show."
"Do not dwell too much on Dáin," Estel said, with a sigh. "He is ambitious, like any leader. Having power often breeds desire for more power… But when the time comes, he will not stand in Fíli's way."
Kíli nodded, trusting Estel's judgement. They were quiet for a few moments and then Estel straightened up. "Will you come to the feast?"
The traditional funeral feast was being held in the Entrance Hall. The camp had pooled supplies together and every fire was in use to prepare enough food for everyone, and to ensure it was a feast worthy of Thorin's name.
"I don't really want to leave him," Kíli said, his eyes flitting to Fíli's sleeping form.
Estel nodded, but seemed reluctant to go. "Would you like some company?"
It suddenly clicked with Kíli that Estel was worried about him. Estel was watching him intently, and the concern was evident in his grey eyes.
"Please, go and join the others, I'll be fine," Kíli replied, but, suspecting Estel wouldn't be satisfied with this, he conceded: "I'm not all right… But I will be." His eyes moved to Fíli. "I've got my brother back… And that's all that matters now."
Fíli took a long drag on his pipe and slowly blew the smoke out through his nostrils. His fingers were still shaking. He was hoping Bilbo's ration of Old Toby might quiet his nerves, but he guessed his anxiety was to be expected. Dwalin would be arriving any minute now, and unlike the visit from Ori and Bofur, Fíli knew that this time the subject of Thorin would not be avoided. It had been three days since Thorin's funeral, and from the moment Fíli met Dwalin's eye at the doors to the main vault, he had known he would have to speak to him sooner or later.
Drawing on his pipe once again, Fíli's gaze moved back to the door. It had taken a long time for him to pull together the courage to send for Dwalin, and he had spent hours tangling and untangling his thoughts about this meeting in his mind. Now he just had a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he had no idea what he would actually say to Dwalin when he arrived. He didn't want to talk about the battlefield, but he also knew Dwalin had the right to know how his best friend had died. Fíli was also wary of the fact that Dwalin had known Thorin a lot longer than he had, and probably knew his uncle far better than anyone. There were no words of comfort to be had. All they could do was share in their grief and… A knock at the door put an abrupt stop to Fíli's train of thought.
"C-Come in!" Fíli called, cringing at the waver in his voice.
Dwalin slowly stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. He paused by the door, glancing around the room as if overcome, before quickly regaining himself.
"Afternoon, lad," he said, with a nod, as he came to Fíli's bedside.
Fíli noted how cautious Dwalin's movements were as he approached him, and his light blue eyes kept moving around the room, as if he wasn't sure where to look. Fíli sensed that this anxiety wasn't due to uncertainty; Dwalin knew exactly why he had been sent for. After standing awkwardly at Fíli's side for a few moments, he slowly lowered himself into the chair usually occupied by Kíli.
"How's that leg of yours doing?" Dwalin asked, another nod indicating the mound of bed sheets covering Fíli's bandaged leg.
"Óin is helping me manage the pain," Fíli replied, using one hand to pull his back up straighter against the pillows, the other keeping a firm hold of his pipe. "I'm getting used to the crutches, though navigating corners is still a bit of a nightmare."
Dwalin smiled, but his eyes continued to roam, distractedly, from wall to wall.
"I know this used to be his room, Dwalin," Fíli said quietly, lowering his pipe.
Dwalin's eyes widened as they darted back to Fíli. "Your brother said he hadn't told you that."
"He didn't," Fíli admitted. "Thorin's sigil is carved into the bed-post."
He twisted slightly away from his pillows, pointing to the right of his head. There, just above the point where the bed-post met the head-board, was a roughly carved design, about the size of a coin. The wooden bed frame bore many lighter coloured scars, with some sizable chunks chipped away in places, so the etching wasn't immediately noticeable. Fíli had only discovered it after his first excursion to Thrór's bedchamber, when Estel had been settling him back into bed.
"And I found his initial too," Fíli said, when Dwalin seemed at a loss for words.
Fíli deposited his pipe on his bedside table and, twisting his body to the left, pulled away his pillows to reveal two Cirth runes; the letters' straight branches were cut into the bottom of the head-board, just above the mattress. After the discovery of Thorin's sigil, Fíli had gone searching for other clues to his uncle's past. He understood why no one had told him the truth about the room, and he was sure Kíli must have noticed Thorin's carvings, but finding them had been strangely comforting. It was as if Thorin was finding a way to reach him, and even though every time he caught sight of the sigil his heart throbbed painfully, there was still a feeling of connection and kinship.
"This is Thorin's initial," Fíli murmured, one finger tentatively tracing the lines of the smaller rune. "I'm not sure whose initial this is." He pointed to the second rune. "I think it's an 'E'…"
"Yes," Dwalin said, and his voice sounded strange. "That'll be Elsi."
Fíli slowly moved his pillows back over the runes and turned to Dwalin. "Elsi?"
"Thorin courted her for a while, though he was barely more than a bairn," Dwalin explained, his wry smile touched with sadness. "That girl broke your uncle's heart."
Fíli could do nothing but stare at Dwalin. All the stories he had ever heard about his uncle had been either war tales or anecdotes about younger mischief. No one had ever mentioned Elsi, or anyone Thorin might have courted, and Fíli had never asked. He didn't think it had ever occurred to him before… Stories of love, somehow, didn't seem to fit with the infallible image of his uncle that he and Kíli had grown up with.
"There are still so many things I don't know about him," Fíli said, his gaze dropping to his lap, and the weight of his ignorance, of all the questions he would never get to ask, fell heavily on his shoulders.
"I feel the same way, lad," Dwalin replied. "Most of the time I never could fathom what was going on in Thorin's head… But if there's anything you ever want to know about him, just ask me and I'll try to give you an answer."
"Thank you," Fíli whispered, a smile tugging on the edge of his lips.
A silence fell over the room and Fíli could sense all the things that were being left unsaid swelling up between them. He could see his own grief mirrored perfectly in Dwalin, sitting at his side, but he wasn't sure what to say to bridge the gulf between them.
"One thing I do know," Dwalin said, his voice deep and low as he leant towards Fíli. "Is that your uncle was so proud of you."
Fíli's heart skipped a beat and his mouth went dry. He heard Thorin's strained voice in his head again, and his uncle's final words as he fought for breath out on the battlefield echoed around his mind: "And I need you to know… That I have never… been more proud of you…" Fíli's stomach squirmed at the memory and there was a tell-tale prickle in the corners of his eyes.
"Do you remember the first time you defeated an opponent in training using two swords?" Dwalin asked suddenly, throwing Fíli for a moment.
Of course he remembered that day. His rival had been almost twice his size and several years older, but it had also been the day he discovered his ambidexterity; his ability to wield a blade in his left hand with the same ease as in his right. It had been a gruelling match and Fíli's nose had been bloodied, but eventually his opponent had been forced to yield. He nodded slowly.
"Well, your uncle was there," Dwalin said, his blue eyes shining. "He saw you… He came running back to the forge to tell me and I've never seen him so giddy."
Fíli's eyes widened. Thorin was there? "He… He never said," Fíli whispered. He thought back to the evening after his training victory and how he had told Thorin everything over supper. His uncle had smiled and nodded and congratulated him… and never let on that he had seen it all for himself.
"Thorin wasn't one to sing people's praises," Dwalin said quietly. "But even if he's been silent about it, I want you to know, lad, that your uncle has never doubted you for a second… He has always been proud of you and… and he loved you very much."
The tears that had been threatening to appear since Dwalin's arrival finally spilled into Fíli's eyes and he quickly reached up to brush them away. He had expected the conversation to be full of black words and woes, but in the end he was glad that they had spoken about how Thorin had lived, not how he had died. Dwalin's words resounded in Fíli's head, drowning out the lurking, poisonous thoughts. "I want you to know, lad, that your uncle has never doubted you for a second…" A warmth began to spread outwards from his stomach and as the silence returned, Fíli felt that this time it was not heavy or congested with despair.
"Thorin and I said our parting words to each other long before we left for Erebor," Dwalin said, breaking the silence again, and there was a distant, pained look in his eyes. "We always knew we'd go in battle…"
Fíli's chest tightened as he sensed the conversation take a blacker turn, but he knew he had to let Dwalin say all that he needed to.
"I promised him I'd look after you and your brother if anything ever happened to him," Dwalin continued, and Fíli felt a twinge of pain when Dwalin's voice cracked on the last word. "And I'm going to do everything I can to keep that promise… If you or Kíli ever need anything, you just come to me, all right?"
Fíli found himself nodding, though he had no idea how to reply. Dwalin had always been so guarded and, aside from his quick temper, generally inscrutable. When not confronted by elves, it was rare to see him break his stoic warrior's façade.
"Right… I, er, should let you get some rest," Dwalin said, awkwardly getting to his feet.
Fíli sensed the older dwarf's embarrassment over the exchange of confidences, but wasn't going to comment. "Say hello to the company for me," he said, peering up at Dwalin with a small smile.
"Of course, lad," Dwalin replied. After a little hesitation, he clapped a firm hand on Fíli's shoulder and returned his smile, and then he headed for the door. His hand was on the door handle when he stopped and slowly turned back around to face Fíli. "And Fíli… I also want you to know," he murmured. "That whatever you decide to do, I'll follow you to the end."
Hundreds of pairs of eyes were boring into him and the crowd wouldn't part. Fíli stared in horror at the solid wall of black mourners gathered in front of him and shrank back against the doors. His wide, blue eyes darted to either side of him, but Kíli and Dwalin were nowhere in sight. He desperately sought out a familiar face in the dark sea of people before him, but he could find no one he knew. The company, Estel, Lady Arwen, Gandalf… They had all abandoned him.
The crowd, now resembling more of a mob, were still staring at him expectantly… Or was it accusingly? Either way, they expected him to do something. Knowing he couldn't turn back, Fíli began to move forward, though his crutches felt heavy as lead. The crowd barely stirred as he approached them, and then they wouldn't allow him to pass so easily. A narrow pathway was formed, but always only a few feet ahead of Fíli's steps, so he couldn't see the front of the vault. He knew that was his destination, and that something awaited him there, but he couldn't remember what.
As he fought his way through the assembled horde, Fíli could hear them whispering to each other. "No king of mine…", "Only a boy… He knows nothing…", "…You know he just lay there and let Thorin die?" At the mention of his uncle's name, Fíli suddenly realised what he would find at the front of the vault, and his heart rose into his mouth. He had no time to cry out before the last few mourners on the edge of the crowd stepped out of his way… to reveal a black figure standing where a tomb should be. It was Thorin.
Fíli felt his trembling lips mouth his uncle's name, but no sound came out. He stood, frozen to the spot in terror, as Thorin took a step towards him. He looked just as he had done the day Fíli found him in the ditch in the corner of the battlefield with Azog the Defiler standing over him. His chest was a mess of criss-crossed wounds and his face was smeared red with blood that crusted around his eyes and mouth, and matted strands of dark hair to the side of his face. The only difference was the crown placed upon his head… Thrór's crown. The ornate silver design was shining with flecks of blood.
Fíli wanted to scream, to run, but he couldn't move, and he couldn't look away. He could do nothing but stare up at his uncle with terrified eyes as he moved towards him. And when Thorin came to a stop, he was so close that Fíli could smell the foul stench of blood and death. Barely able to breathe, Fíli could only watch in horror as Thorin reached up and slowly slipped the crown from his head. The silver rim was glistening with blood and a single scarlet droplet swelled on one of the design's dagger-like tips.
"Long live the King," Thorin growled, and his voice echoed around the vault like a thunder-clap.
And then, before Fíli had time to react, he brought the crown down upon his head and the metal burnt like a white-hot branding iron…
"NO!"
Fíli sat bolt upright in the bed, his chest heaving. His heart was rioting against his ribcage and each breath had to claw its way out of his throat. He was alone in his room on the upper corridor and a single candle burned on his bedside table, casting menacing black shadows on the surrounding walls that loomed large like a mob of people, threatening to swallow him whole.
With shaking hands, he reached up to his head, but his fingers found only braids and strands of hair, sticky with sweat. No crown. No blood. But still he needed to scream, and he needed to run. The walls seemed to quiver as Fíli's eyes desperately roamed around the room… and then his gaze fell on the crutches leaning against the table at his side.
"Hang on there, Kíli! I think we can spare a bit more," Bofur said, when Kíli made to turn away with Fíli's bowl.
Kíli smiled and held the bowl out again for Bofur, who added another ladle of stew from the pot boiling over the company's fire.
"I won't hear of the lad going hungry on my watch," Bofur added, spooning a little more gravy into the bowl until he was satisfied.
Kíli's hunting trip with Elladan and Elrohir had been surprisingly fruitful, so there was little chance of Fíli starving in the next few weeks, but Bofur's fussing and continuing good humour at the return of Fíli's appetite always put everyone in a good mood. Each meal was lovingly prepared, and Bofur wouldn't hear of a bowl being sent to Fíli until he was fully convinced it was up to standard.
Estel watched as Kíli left the company's fire and headed out of the Entrance Hall, holding a steaming bowl in each hand so that he could share supper with Fíli. Now that Fíli's meal had been taken care of, Bofur began to ladle out everyone else's helpings. They all waited patiently as the mismatched array of bowls was passed around the circle. He glanced across at Arwen, sitting at his side, who gave him a smile… a searching one. He was being unusually quiet and she knew it. But there was a strange feeling of foreboding that he couldn't place resting at the bottom of his stomach, and it made him ill at ease.
"Your brothers not joining us, my lady?" Bofur asked, drawing Arwen's eyes away from him.
"Not tonight," Arwen replied, with a sigh. "They are supping with Tauriel and her guard in King Thranduil's camp."
Elladan and Elrohir had first met the fiery-haired leader of the Mirkwood guard at Thorin's funeral and since then the pair had been disappearing off to the Elven camp across the river. Estel had never seen Arwen roll her eyes so much, and she wouldn't be convinced that it was the call of fresh air that was drawing her brothers out of the Mountain.
"Is it true the Elvenking will soon be leaving?" Balin asked quietly, studying Estel and Arwen across the fire.
"Yes," Estel replied, taking the opportunity to set his bowl down at his side; as good as Bofur's cooking was, he didn't feel up to eating much. "Their camp cannot outlast the winter. Legolas says they intend to make a full withdrawal in the next week or so."
Dwalin grunted something into his stew, earning a glare from Balin, who then turned to Arwen with contrition. Arwen only smiled; she had learned not to take the dwarves' remarks personally, and she was equally unfond of Thranduil's theatrics.
"Bard has been sending scouts over to Dale," Balin continued, trying to change the subject. "I think he's going to be moving his camp into the ruins for the winter. Though there's trouble brewing with the Master… Now that is one fight we don't want to get involved in."
There was a murmur of agreement and then everyone's attention returned to their bowls. For a few moments the only sound was the scraping of spoons, but suddenly this was drowned out by the hard patter of footsteps and Kíli burst back into the Entrance Hall, skidding to a stop by the company's fire. His face was a terrifying shade of white.
"Fíli isn't in our room!" he cried. His brown eyes, round with panic, moved straight to Estel.
"What?" Estel was on his feet in an instant.
"His… His bed's empty," Kíli gasped. "He's gone!"
A/N: Apologies again for the delay guys, but this week has been quite manic and I just haven't had much time or energy to write. But I'm glad I finally found time to post this and you know I'm always eager to hear what you think, so please do let me know!
