The dinner, as he'd expected, had been absolutely delicious.
Mushroom soup with herbs. Braised rabbit in a tart cherry sauce, plump pheasant stuffed with nuts and sage, forest greens - something he'd never had before but enjoyed very much. A dried blueberry compote topped with rich cream, of which he had just finished savoring the last crumbs on his plate.
Yes, Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor, felt sated and satisfied as he sat back in his chair. He looked idly around at his fellow diners in the Queen's dining hall, sipping slowly from a silver goblet full of spiced red wine, feeling as calm and relaxed as he had all day.
It had been rather disconcerting to dock his barge earlier that morning and see thirty or so tense Elves brandishing Orc heads on spears. He had thought that sort of thing was done a year ago, when the White Council drove everything evil from that old fortress.
Apparently he was wrong. Where had these Orcs come from, he'd wondered at the time - and still did wonder. But they were slain, and the elves - such magnificent hunters and trackers - said there were no more foul creatures that they could smell or sense.
Even so, the entire party was on watch as they rode from the docks to the palace. Orcs were not all clod-footed brutes who had no sense for quiet. Some were quite stealthy, capable of strategic thinking and hiding. Azog, may he burn for all time in whatever hell Orcs called their own, was one such planner. As was his son, Bolg, who had been in command of his own group. Orcs as smart as the late, unlamented father and son were capable of infiltrating the Mirkwood forest. They had the skill to surprise the elves.
But none had, thank Mahal. No attacks to deal with. There was something in the air, however, something he'd thought he could feel. Something watching them. Something observing, but waiting. It was odd, a sensation he'd not felt for a long, long time. And he wasn't the only one who sensed it. Kili had too, even when they all were safe within the walls of the palace. Thorin heard him arguing with his brother, saying something still did not feel right. But by that time, Thorin himself could not sense that unease anymore. The feeling had lifted.
And he'd wondered then if Kili was talking about something else.
Or a certain someone else.
He was determined to observe, as much as possible, his nephew and the Queen. He wanted to get a sense of what was going on. If anything was happening.
Thorin glanced over at his nephews. They were sitting next to each other, as they often did. But each was in conversation with different parties.
Fili, with his golden hair set in new silver beads, looked princely in his attire of black trousers and fine black leather boots. His red wool jacket trimmed in black leather and silver was new and well cut. On the aspect of appearance, Thorin did not have to worry at all about whether or not Fili and Kili looked the part. Even thought they were far more comfortable in simple linen shirts and trousers, they always wore their princely garments very, very well.
And Kili. Watching him walk in the hall, with the Queen already there in her blue and silver finery, was like being smacked in the head. How on earth had the boy managed to wear almost the exact same shades of color as Tauriel? Did they talk about it beforehand? And then he'd seen Kili's face turn red, and had realized they had not planned their colors. It was, simply, a coincidence.
If they'd been at home, a male and female dwarf known to be, well, interested in each other, and wearing the same colors out in public - that was one of the signs of contracted courtship. Fili had noticed, meeting his gaze with a raised eyebrow, but apparently it was not a custom in the world of Dale, or Mirkwood. He had not noticed anyone else seeming surprised by it.
But the queen had looked at Kili for a long moment when he arrived. Thorin had not missed their eyes locking, a look of longing flickering on Kili's face for an instant before his eyes clouded with sorrow. Then his nephew had turned away, to greet Master Tirin.
Much to Thorin's surprise, he'd later seen that same look of longing appear - not on Kili's face, but on the Queen's. When she stole a glance or two at his nephew, when Kili was engrossed in conversation or looking elsewhere, it came up, very quickly. Only for a second that strength of wanting shone on her face.
Seeing that look on the queen's face, on a woman's face, made him happy for his nephew. He rejoiced to see the woman Kili deeply loved showing she felt the same for him.
Thorin's life had been spent, first, being a young princeling, learning to lead, to run a kingdom. Then, after Smaug, homeless and bereft, he'd found reserves of hope inside himself he didn't know existed, and used them to keep his people together. Alive in body if not soul, and moving. They'd made it to Ered Luin, building new lives and and a level of prosperity he hadn't expected when they were roaming the wilds in exile.
What time had there been in his life, with his obligations, to have the love he saw on the two faces tonight? He'd lived a long life, working hard for his people, making sure they had good lives. Helping his sister and her husband, and then stepping in as father figure, supporting her and the boys in her widowhood. Thorin had felt what he thought was love, once, for a woman. He'd wanted to lay down the mantle of responsibility to family, to his people. If Smaug had never come, if they were still in Erebor, it would have been so much easier to make this woman his wife, his princess. But he could never abandon the dream of re-taking the mountain. It was always there, playing the role of jealous lover. Allowing him his duty, and nothing more.
So he had turned away from love, shutting his feelings down and focusing harder than ever on preparing his nephews for the future he dreamed of, night after night, for sixty years.
Seeing Kili and Tauriel looking at each other, longing for the other, woke up that long slumbering memory.
Thorin suddenly felt sad, and alone.
The king on his throne, with duty and honor as his constant companions. He had Fili and Kili and Dis to share it with now, blessed be Mahal that they all had survived their trials. But the throne that a queen would have sat in had been moved from the King's Hall in Erebor.
Tonight was the first time in many, many years he wished there was someone to occupy it.
It had been a long night already, Fili sighed to himself. After a long and tiring day.
It hadn't helped, him eating - and drinking - as much as he had. But the food was so wonderful, and different from the plain fare they were used to in Erebor. And the wine - red, slightly tart yet spiced with something he could not identify - tasted so good on the tongue.
Fili pushed his glass away from his plate. Thorin had not liked it when he had gotten drunk at this same table a year ago. His uncle - reasonable and even kindly at times - would appreciate it even less tonight. They weren't here for drunken frivolity, he thought, hearing his uncle's words in his mind. They were here for talks and development. Never let it be said that the line of Durin was so fond of drink that they could not effectively participate, could not represent their kin and kingdom. So - no more wine for him.
His conversation about weaponry with an elven lord - Lord Giliv, it was - had ended. The elf was in charge of the evening's musical entertainment and needed to leave to make sure all was in place. Fili sat back now, resting, listening to his brother talk to the elven archery master he'd met last year.
Why was it, as he'd asked himself so many times in the past, that his little brother was so different from other dwarves? Noticeably taller than almost all of them, and thinner too. A beard could never grow on that pale face, only short brown stubble. Kili, while talented with sword and hammer and mace, had a natural ability for archery that was uncommon for dwarves. Happily, their mother and uncle did what they could to help develop that talent - with the result that Kili's skill with bow and arrow had been a great asset on their quest to take back the mountain.
And now, the most surprising difference of all - his brother loved an elf.
Because he loved his brother, more than his own life, Fili accepted the situation. Whatever he could do to help Kili - to win the heart of the queen, to console him if she rejected him - he would do it. Whatever made Kili happy. But Fili could not say he understood his brother's love.
She was lovely, the Queen of Mirkwood. Strong, talented. A great ruler, by all accounts.
An admirable, and respectable woman. And that he could understand pulling Kili in. But Fili wanted something, someone for himself that was far less complicated. The Queen had her kingdom and her obligations, and Kili had his. How could the two come together in any lasting, meaningful way with their separate demands? Would his brother want to leave Erebor for Mirkwood? No one could possibly except Tauriel to leave Mirkwood for Kili - she was the Queen.
None of that would matter, Fili reflected, if Tauriel said no to his brother. If he was any judge of it, never having been in love himself, rejection would crush Kili. Once a dwarf's heart was given in love to another, it could not be undone. His brother would love Tauriel the rest of his days, and no dwarf woman, however wonderful she was, would ever be able to get his attention or interest.
He heard the sound of music start - a smooth, flowing melody. Sweet and lovely and hopeful. Turning his attention to the musicians as they entered the hall, Fili wondered if the tune was capable of weaving a spell to give his brother what he wanted.
Author's note - I have no idea if there is anything in the canon about male and female dwarves wearing the same colors in public and it signifying courtship. The idea came to me and I liked it, so I put it in.