AN – Wee here's another chapter. We're getting to the good stuff now. Looks like our boys might need to leave for a quest soon! As always, thank you all so much for your kind words. =)
I still own nothing. Enjoy!
Warnings: Dwalin says potty words, depiction of animal death (aka Kíli and Dwalin go hunting), memories of past battles and panic attacks, probably crap writing.
Greater than Gold
Chapter 14: Forty and Thirty-Four
By Displaced Hobbit
He's not falling asleep. He's not. He's listening very intently to Balin's lessons about ancient dwarven history. He's absolutely enthralled by his description of how the first documented case of thievery was tried and how it led to the development of their current laws. Positively riveted.
Absolutely enthralled. One hundred percent.
He's not at all jealous of Kíli, who is probably still passed out in their bed from the effects of the sleeping draught Oin had provided him with the day before. Actually, the more he thinks on it, he truly isn't jealous of his little brother at all. Kíli hasn't slept well in the years since the attack that decimated their settlement, not without horrible night terrors that leave him screaming and shaking and completely terrified. He knew how much Kíli dreaded sleep, how late he stayed up, how hard he pushed himself to make sure that when he did sleep, he was wholly exhausted, because the night terrors weren't so bad then.
Thorin had been worried sick about him, though he abysmally tried to hide it. Kíli was still horribly scrawny and weak, despite the facts that food was more plentiful now and he trained with Dwalin most days. There was just something off with him, something that still hadn't quite healed within him, even though all of the physical wounds have faded with time.
Oin had suggested the sleeping draughts for when he became too frayed and tired. It worked well; Kíli always woke from them completely refreshed and renewed, and it was in those instances that Fíli could clearly see the little brother that he loved so dearly shine through, then that he could pretend they hadn't lived through such horrors and that everything was all right. Kíli was doing much better now, really he was, but when he took those draughts he was completely knocked out, sometimes for days, and Fíli missed his little brother dearly.
He just wanted everything to be normal again; he wanted everything to be okay.
"Are you even listening to me, laddie?" Balin scolds, though his voice holds little menace.
"No," he admits. "I'm worried about Kíli."
Balin sighs, removing the spectacles from his face and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I think we all are," he murmurs as he shuts the book they were looking at closed. "He's a lot...a lot like your uncle, honestly."
Fíli feels a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Kíli had always been overly prone to brooding and thinking too much. And on top of that he was even starting to look more and more like their uncle.
"He's about the same age that Thorin was when Erebor fell; just a tad older," his tutor elaborates. "Brooding in much the same way - not sleeping, pushing himself too hard, things like that."
Fíli frowns just a bit. "But Uncle got better, didn't he?"
Balin sighs once more. "In a way, yes. But, as you will unfortunately learn, there are some hurts that never truly go away, some things that, once they're seen, stick with you for all time. I think...I think it will be a long time before your brother truly returns to us, if at all." He looks sad in a way that his tutor often doesn't, and it pulls at Fíli's heart just a bit to see him so.
"I wish we had been here to help," he murmurs a moment later. "We could have...we could have kept him safe. You know?"
Balin gives him a sad smile as he nods in agreement. "Aye, laddie. I know."
Thorin slams the door their relatively new home shut, wincing a bit as he belatedly remembers that Kíli was probably still asleep, and he had most likely woken him up in a spectacularly terrifying fashion.
He couldn't help it. He was just so frustrated. The years since the attack had been hard, but he'd managed to see them through. They'd transitioned from their homes in the side of the cavern to the Great Halls, which were more easily defensible. In some ways, it was a great source of pride for him, for his halls were reminiscent of Erebor and they were a more safe and appropriate home for his people.
On the other hand, however, it was a step toward making their settlement in Ered Luin a more permanent one, and in some ways it felt like he was abandoning Erebor to make such a stable home for his people so very far away from their true home. It felt a bit like he was giving up on reclaiming their homeland, but the safety of his people was his first priority.
Dain had sent more than one letter insinuating that he must have abandoned Erebor all together, and he'd taken that with a grain of salt. He knew that he would return to reclaim their home one day, no matter how much the other clans were starting to doubt him.
The only thing that bothered him was that his own people had started to doubt him, that they no longer believed they would ever be going home. That stung him quite a bit, but he vowed to prove them wrong.
"Uncle?" Kíli calls from the hall after poking his head out to see what the noise was about. He is bleary eyed and his hair is a mess, and it tears at Thorin to know that he's roused him from his much-needed slumber.
"Go back to sleep, dear heart," he murmurs. "I am sorry I woke you."
"It's okay," Kíli mumbles sleepily as he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. "I've probably slept too long anyhow."
"You need to rest," he chides lightly as he crosses the front hall to meet him. "Come, let's get you back to bed."
"M'not a baby," Kíli whines, with no real weight to it, as he obediently heads back toward his bedroom and crawls back under the furs.
"You're not," Thorin affirms as he follows after him before tucking him in tightly and pressing a kiss against his brow, knowing in his heart that Kíli's innocence had been ripped away long ago. The lad's eyes are already drooping, and he is immensely relieved that he hadn't woken Kíli enough that the sleeping draught would lose its effectiveness. He knows how badly his youngest needs to rest, knows because Kíli is so much like him, in all of the worst ways. "Do you want me to sing to you?"
Kíli sleepily nods, and Thorin settles himself on the bed, wit his back pressed against the headboard. Unsurprisingly, Kíli curls toward him, wraps his arms around Thorin's leg and presses himself close. He can't help but chuckle just a little bit, and reaches down to card his hands through the lad's hair.
"I love you, you know," he murmurs, surprised at the way his voice thickens with emotion.
"I know," Kíli whispers back, his voice slurred with fatigue. "Love you."
I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, he wants to say. I'm sorry you're suffering. I'm sorry that I let you down. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Instead, he starts to sing quietly, hoping that Kíli knows how he feels, hoping that, despite all of his failures, the lad will never start to doubt him, too.
It's his greatest fear, truthfully, that one day his boys will look upon him with hate and disgust, instead of the love and adoration they regard him with now.
And Aule knows he'd deserve it if they did.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Fíli asks as soon as Kíli and Dwalin have slipped from the room, eyeing the provisions the pair had packed for their hunting expedition.
"It'll be good for Kíli," Thorin murmurs. "He's not complaining overly so about it, but we're babying him too much. We have to give him some of his independence back. We can't keep watching every step that he takes."
"I know but...three days? In the wilds?" Fíli chews his lower lip nervously.
"We cannot treat him like he is made of glass, Fíli," Thorin murmurs softly before reaching over to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. "Besides, I trust Dwalin more than I trust myself to keep the two of you safe."
Fíli still looks wholly unconvinced, but he nods anyway.
"It will be good for him," he says again, not sure if he's reassuring Fíli or trying to convince himself. "He's been looking forward to this for years."
"Thorin!" Balin calls out, bursting into their home with little pretense (not that he truly ever required any). "We need you in the Council Hall. Immediately" He appears around the corner of the hall, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. "Dain is here."
"I must admit," Dain murmurs as they step into the Council Hall, not bothering to rise from his seat to greet his hosts. "You've done a fantastic job creating these halls. What a fine place to build your new kingdom."
"This is not a new kingdom," Thorin reminds him, voice carefully devoid of any emotion. "This is a settlement, temporary. It is only carved into the stone for protection."
"Oh yes, I heard about the slaughter," Dain comments offhandedly.
"And yet you did not respond to our call for aid," Dwalin all but hisses, having come into the conversation a bit late. Thorin winces just a bit when he sees that Kíli is with him, arms laden with miscellaneous supplies for their trip, truthfully looking more like a serving boy than the prince he his.
"Did not have the resources to spare, unfortunately," Dain answers easily, though his gaze has caught on Kíli, who, by all accounts, looks a bit like a deer caught unawares in the forest. "That winter was hard on us all. Really, Thorin; I'd swear he was your son if I didn't know any better."
Kíli looks up at him in surprise, and Dwalin takes a step forward to put the lad behind him. Fíli realizes that he's gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to defend his brother should Dain try once again to convince Thorin to foster him.
"Well," Dain continues, making a face like he's been offended. "Won't you introduce me to your spare?"
Fíli almost pulls sword at that - Kíli isn't supposed to know, no spare is ever supposed to know of their duties before they come of age - and white-hot anger washes over him.
Thorin is clearly reluctant as he calls Kíli over, the younger tentatively handing his burdens to Dwalin before coming to stand at his side. He looks lost and confused and a tiny bit scared, though he does his best to keep his gaze even on Dain and his face impassive. "He is the second-son of my father's daughter. This is Kíli, son of Dís."
Dain doesn't bother to rise or introduce himself, and a small, twisted smile curls at his mouth. "And how old is the second-son?"
Kíli looks up at his uncle, unsure, but quietly answers. "Thirty-four," he murmurs. Fíli can see the almost imperceptible shaking in his shoulders. He knows Dain is intimidating his brother - on purpose - just to get a rise out of Thorin. Or Dwalin. Or him. Probably all of them at once.
"Ah, excellent! You must be well into your scholastics. Tell me, in what year did Durin the Deathless take the throne of Erebor?"
Kíli blinks owlishly, clearly caught off guard, and takes a half step closer to their uncle, who settles his hand gently upon his shoulder. "Uhm," he murmurs.
"Oh, a pity. Perhaps you might know something simpler?" Dain asks, his tone mocking. "Recite your lineage for me, boy."
"Enough," Thorin interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. "If you have come here for nothing more than to accost my heirs then you may leave now."
The dwarf lord's face twists strangely at the word 'heirs.' "I mean no offense," Dain placates immediately, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Though he is a bit of a runt, as I have heard the people murmur, and it seems that rumor of the bow is true enough. And if they are truly princes, why do you let them dress like commoners?"
For half a second, Fíli is absolutely certain that Dwalin or Thorin or both of them will punch Dain square in the jaw, but a hissed warning from Balin stops them. Kíli's eyes have sunk down to the floor, and Thorin looks positively murderous, though he squeezes his hand comfortingly on his youngest nephew's shoulder. For his part, Fíli is gripping his sword with white-knuckles.
"He has fought in battle and saved many lives with that bow," Thorin growls through his teeth, clearly struggling to keep his temper at bay. "And he is pure-hearted enough to go without food so others do not. What you see in him as weaknesses are his strengths. I will not hear traitorous words in my own halls that suggest otherwise. Now, if you have business with me, speak it, or my guard will have you escorted and banned from these halls."
Kíli glances up quickly at him to give a small smile of gratitude, but Fíli can tell from the tilt of his shoulders that Dain's words have accomplished their goal of hurting him. He tries to catch his little brother's eyes, but isn't able to, so he sighs and musters up his strongest glare to give to the Lord of the Iron Hills.
"Yes, yes. Of course. We have many things to discuss, but off with these boys for now. Just you and your scholar, for the time being," he murmurs as he casts a disdainful look at Dwalin. "Be a good lad and take the boys out?"
Fíli is half convinced that they will come back to find Thorin touting Dain's head on a spit, based on the look on his face when he nods to Dwalin to leave. The warrior himself is spouting profanities non-stop as they head away from the Council Hall.
"Fee, who was that?" Kíli asks as he rushes to keep up with the both of them. He grabs Fíli's hand and holds it tight, and it only just occurs that Fíli that his little brother must have truly had no idea what was going on.
"Dain," he grumbles as resentment stirs up within him at the slight the older dwarrow has given his brother. "From the Iron Hills."
"More like the land of shit and lies," Dwalin spits angrily. "The nerve of that fool."
"Oh," Kíli murmurs softly. "I don't like him," he continues a moment later.
"No one does," Dwalin adds. "Not around these parts anyhow." He slows his pace a bit to let the boys catch up with him before comfortingly laying his hand on Kíli's shoulder. "He's next in line for the throne of Erebor, after you two. And for some reason, he thinks that gives him some right to steal the throne from under your uncle's nose."
Kíli frowns, clearly disturbed by this new piece of information. "But he can't," he mumbles. "I mean, can he? After everything Uncle has done...no one would really accept it, would they?"
"Probably not," Dwalin admits. "But I do not know what tactics he might employ to get what he wants."
"He tried to…" Fíli starts, and then stops. "Never mind," he grumbles, but Kíli's interest has already been piqued.
"Tried to what?" he asks, tugging on Fíli's hand to slow him down. "Fee!"
"He just...he's tried to arrange it so he could marry into our line a few times, either with himself or his children," Fíli hastily explains, careful not to give away too much information. "That's what I've heard, anyhow."
Kíli frowns hard at that. "But why would someone marry another that isn't their One? They'd be miserable, at least that's what Mister Balin says."
Dwalin pats his back lightly. "True, that. Most dwarrow would never agree to such a thing. But, laddie, you'll soon start to see...that there are some who are more interested in gold and power to care much for the matters of the heart."
And for Kíli, who wears his heart on his sleeve, and does everything that he can for his family and friends, for those that he loves, that might be the most devastating news of his life.
Kíli shifts silently through the lower branches of the trees. While he may be mocked for it, his smaller than average size gives him the ability to sneak about, to come up behind prey without being detected. It's still his first real hunting outing with Dwalin, and he hasn't even killed anything yet, but he moves like he's been doing this for years.
He's a natural, and Dwalin is positive that he has never seen anything quite like it.
He's watching from outside the clearing, standing still as a stone to keep the buck from noticing his presence. It's a young one, by the looks of it, but with plenty of meat and muscle on it to feed several families all winter, not to mention the fur, and how the antlers and hooves could be used. He's not sure if he's set Kíli up for failure by giving him such a difficult first target, but the opportunity had presented itself, and he truly was confident in Kíli's abilities, green as he may be.
There's the barely perceptible sound of a stretch, then the quiet hiss of the arrow, before he hears the solid thunk of the arrowhead lodging itself into the buck's side.
The animal rears up, panic in it's features, and this is the part that Dwalin hates. He knows it's for the good of their people, but that moment, that horrible moment where he can see the animal realize that it's going to die, always gets him in a way he'd rather not get too far into. Perhaps it's because he's seen it too many times in the eyes of a fellow warrior.
The buck sprints away from the clearing with a strained keening noise before disappearing out of sight.
Kíli drops out of the tree with a huff, frown set on his features. "I thought I had it," he murmurs, clearly disappointed.
"You do," he replied. "Come on; it's rare enough to kill with one shot. He'll run himself out quick enough." He shows Kíli how to track through the woods, how to look for tiny broken limbs and branches and nearly invisible drops of blood. It doesn't take them long to find the buck collapsed in the woods, chest heaving in exhaustion and fear.
Kíli looks wholly unsettled as they come upon it, even goes so far as to take a step back from the animal.
"Get your knife, laddie," he whispers, trying not to frighten the animal either.
Kíli shakes his head and takes another step back.
He realizes then that the sight of the deer struggling for life must be bringing back memories of the battle from years ago. Kíli is taking in deep, heaving breaths and his eyes refuse to stray from the struggling animal. Dwalin curses internally. He'd been so sure that Kíli would be ready, but he hadn't considered…
"Don't look," he says gruffly as he pulls his own knife before crossing to the wounded animal, intending to put it out of it's misery quick enough so he can tend to the little prince.
Kíli shakes his head and suddenly rushes toward him as he fumbles with his knife. "No," he murmurs. "No, I can do it. Just...just show me how?" he asks.
"I'll do this one," Dwalin compromises. "Watch what I do so you can next time, alright?"
The lad nods, though he still looks monumentally unsure of himself.
"Take a step back," Dwalin murmurs as he comes to kneel near the creature's head. Sure enough, the buck jerks his legs wildly in an attempt to get up, and Kíli has to jump to get out of the way. "You have to do this quickly, to ease it's suffering," he explains, gesturing with his knife along the neck of the animal. "The slower you go the more pain you'll cause it." With a swift motion, he jerks his hand up, slicing easily through the buck's neck with a slight spray of bright red blood. Kíli lets out a small, choked sound of surprise as the beast jerks once more before falling still.
"Are you alright?" Dwalin asks as he quickly wipes the blood from his knife, hands, and arms and stands to regard Kíli. He doesn't respond to him, his eyes transfixed on the dead creature. Dwalin reaches for his shoulders and shakes him gently, just once, so that Kíli's gaze snaps to focus on his face. "Kíli."
"I'm alright," he promises, though Dwalin can see the slight tremors in his frame. "I just...it just reminds me of…"
He reaches one hand up to cup the lad's cheek and pats it fondly. "This is not a meaningless death," he explains. "This is not you being cruel. It's not," he promises when Kíli looks doubtful. "We need the meat to survive. And I'll tell you, lad, there's not a piece of this animal that won't go to use. It's not the same as...not the same as that." He wants Kíli to understand, doesn't want the lad to be haunted by it, even though those dark thoughts have crept into his own mind more often than he'd like to admit. "This is...this is natural."
"I didn't think…" Kíli stammers slightly. "I didn't think it would...live after I shot it, I guess. It's...I don't like...I don't like having to kill it like that." His eyes drop down to the growing puddle of blood on the ground. "I don't like it," he all but whispers.
Dwalin lets his hand drop to his shoulder and squeezes it lightly. "There are few who do," he confesses. "It is hard to take a life, no matter how necessary it is." Kíli nods, bites his lip just a bit and Dwalin thinks there may be the sheen of tears clouding his eyes. This was too soon. He shouldn't have taken Kíli out so soon. He shouldn't have given him such a large target so soon. Aule, he could be stupid at times. "Do you want to go home now?" he murmurs, defeated.
To his surprise, Kíli shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes closed, visibly swallows, and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes once more they are clear, and he doesn't look so haunted anymore. "No, I can do this," he whispers, and Dwalin is pretty sure that he's still trying to convince himself, but he doesn't want to discourage the lad, not when he's making the effort.
They spend the rest of the day stripping the animal. Dwalin shows him how to take the cuts of meat and how to pack it, how to fold the hide so it can be returned to the settlement and tanned, how to preserve the hooves and antlers and other bones that could have various uses. Kíli listens intently, follows his directions to the letter, and by the time the sun is setting the deer is properly stripped and packed and they are settled down to camp for the night.
"You did well today, laddie," Dwalin comments as Kíli tends to the fire. The lad glances up at him and gives him a tiny smile, but he stays as uncharacteristically quiet as he has been the entire day. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Kíli nods again. "Yea," he murmurs. "Yea, I'm fine." He plops down onto his bedroll by Dwalin's side. "I am!" he insists at Dwalin's raised eyebrow.
"You're not," he murmurs lightly, lifting an arm out to pull Kíli close to his side. It's a rare form of affection for him, but Kíli has grown on him a lot, particularly in the last few years, and he does have a soft spot in his heart for the lad. Kíli may be young, but he's already been through so much, and Dwalin, like Fíli and Thorin, are insistent that he doesn't feel like he has to go through it alone.
Kíli scoots closer and tucks himself against Dwalin's side. "I'm supposed to be brave," he whispers. "I'm not...dwarrow aren't supposed to be scared, not like this."
"Maybe not," he replies, voice low and quiet. "But you've seen things a little dwarfling isn't meant to see, laddie, and it's okay to be scared; it's okay to not feel alright for a while."
Kíli sniffles and presses himself even closer to his side. Dwalin responds by squeezing him just a bit tighter. "I just don't want to be a burden," he whispers finally. "Uncle and Fee...I don't want them to have to take care of me all the time."
"They take care of you because they love you," he reminds. "I'd daresay you're the most precious thing on this earth for the both of them."
Kíli shakes his head. "Maybe for Fee, but not Uncle. Erebor is the most precious thing for him."
Dwalin is quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the fire in front of them. "You know, laddie," he murmurs finally. "I'm not so sure that's true anymore."
"I believe I'd asked for both of your sister-sons to be present," Dain asks as soon as they've all settled back into the meeting hall. Fíli tries very hard to keep himself from snapping at the elder dwarf, so he digs his fingertips into his palms hard enough that he leaves white crescent moons in their wake. Balin gives him a reassuring smile and a pat on his shoulder, and that eases his ire greatly.
"My youngest is unavailable at present," Thorin comments, almost offhandedly in an attempt to appear nonchalant. His uncle had been very clear before they'd entered this meeting that Dain was not to know Kíli was out of the settlement. "An extended training session." He does not elaborate further, but Dain raises a bushy eyebrow.
"I'd heard he was a sickly thing, but -"
"Believe what you will, Dain; I have no time to bicker with you over my nephew's whereabouts," Thorin utters, tone indicating that he's left no room for argument. "Now, you wanted to teach Fíli about the trade routes with the Iron Hills, did you not?"
Dain is scowling slightly, but he nods in agreement. "We shall focus on the routes between the Hills and Ered Luin. I daresay it will be a long time before we have need of the old routes."
Thorin clenches his jaw, but says nothing.
"Does this mean you're planning on opening yourself up for trade with us?" Fíli asks, and Thorin barely hides a small smirk of amusement when Dain appears to become flustered.
"I wouldn't go quite that far, laddie," he sputters.
"Then why bother having me learn them at all?" Fíli asks, genuinely curious. "It seems to be a bit of a waste to discuss things you have no desire to see to fruition."
Thorin and Balin are both fighting down smiles, pleased to see that Fíli was able to see through Dain's ruse, as well as entertained to see the dwarf lord well and truly flustered.
"I…" he stammers just slightly. "I wanted to test your skills, boy. It has been more than six years since I saw you last. You've reached your fortieth by now; you should be well prepared as Thorin's heir, and I wish to see if you will truly make a grand king one day."
"But why?" Fíli asks again. "You have no interest in trade with our lands. You have openly mocked my King for this settlement he has created for us here. You have insulted my kin to their faces with no remorse. Your only interest seems to lie in Erebor, which we do not have the means to reclaim at this time, so, forgive me, as I seem to be at a loss for why you have even traveled here, unannounced, to meet with us."
Thorin gives him a tiny nod that is all warmth and pride. "The lad has a point," Balin agrees. "And I am sure that if your intentions are to secure one of the lads to foster, our answer will be the same."
Dain is quiet for a long moment as his gaze shifts between the three of them. "It appears I've underestimated your heir, cousin," he murmurs finally, something akin to pride hidden in his features. "He has much of his mother's spirit within him."
Thorin regards him carefully. "Aye, he does," he finally agrees.
"I do have reason for wanting to test his skills," the Lord of the Iron Hills continues. "We've not seen or heard any news of Smaug in several years."
Balin furrows his brow in confusion. "We've received reports often enough of the dragon terrorizing the lands around the mountain."
"Fabricated, most of them," Dain murmurs. "Not by myself, mind you. I grew curious after our last meeting. You've been so intent upon reclaiming your homeland, cousin, and I wanted to see if it would ever be possible, should I be able to muster up resources to spare for you."
"But why?" Fíli asks again, face twisted just so in confusion.
Dain sighs once more. "It is true that I have long had my eye on the throne," he confirms. "My father taught me from a young age that it was my birthright, that I needed to seize the opportunity and claim the throne for myself."
"And you no longer feel this way?" Thorin questioned, looking extremely suspicious.
"Truthfully, no," Dain murmurs. "The throne is cursed. Nothing good has befallen your people since your grandfather's reign went sour. There is gold-sickness there, and I have no more interest in it for myself."
Realization crosses Fíli's features. "But you would benefit greatly if Uncle took the throne once more. Closer trade, more resources, more gold that could be paid to you…"
"We have fallen on hard times in the Iron Hills," Dain confirms with a small nod. "There are not enough towns and lands nearby for us to keep ourselves afloat. If Erebor were to be restored to its former glory, then, well...I believe our hardships would come to an end."
"Is this your true purpose?" Thorin asks, still obviously untrusting of Dain's intentions, with good reason.
Dain nods. "Aye. I cannot offer your resources, at least not at this time, but I can send you as much information as I can gather. I've started regular scouting expeditions to the mountain. My lads have kept a constant vigil on the mountain for the last five years, and not hide nor hair of Smaug has ever been seen."
"Then who is sending us false information?" Thorin muses. "I want to trust you, cousin; it would do good for both of our lands, but you have deceived my family in the past. How am I to know if what you give me is valid? How am I to know that you aren't just setting us up for failure and death?"
"The wizard, Gandalf," Dain murmurs. "I believe you've met him before. He has seen as well. I will send for him to visit with you once more. He knows the truth, and he will share it with you."
Thorin still looks unconvinced. "I will send you a missive once I have spoken with him, then," he murmurs finally, an expression that Fíli does not recognize flitting across his features.
"There are strange things brewing in these lands," Dain adds a moment later. "Things that will change the shape of Middle Earth for years to come. I think it best if we are on the same side."
Dain bids his farewells as soon as their talks are over that day, issuing an apology to Thorin on Kíli's behalf before he goes. As they watch the dwarf lord's caravan depart, Fíli chances a glance at his uncle, who looks deeply lost in thought.
"Do you think he's being truthful?" he asks once their caravan is nothing more than tiny specks on the road leading to the leftover town of Fairfield.
"I cannot yet say," he replies. "I will speak with the wizard and see what his thoughts are."
"What kind of strange things was he talking about, anyhow?" Balin muses. "I haven't heard much news of anything.
"Perhaps we are being fed misinformation," Thorin grumbles. "It may be time to send our own people out for reconnaissance. I know not who to trust in this."
"I do not think it wise to risk our own people," Balin sighs. "If Dain is lying, then we could be walking into a trap. Our numbers are far too few as it is. I do not think we have those to spare."
"What if we went?" Thorin asks.
Fíli blanches a little bit. "The last time you left…" he starts, a solid lump finding its way into his throat.
"Just wait and see what the wizard says, Thorin," Balin interrupts. "There's no need to be hasty."
Thorin frowns. "I only fear...perhaps I am worried that someone else will set out to steal the throne if we sit idly by."
"Just give it some time," Balin repeats.
They fall into companionable silence once more, but the horrid feeling of dread starts to seep back into Fíli's bones.
A storm is certainly brewing.
He hopes it is one his family can weather through.
It is late by the time they return to Thorin's Halls, but the marketplace is still bustling with activity. Dwalin claps a warm hand onto Kíli's shoulder before flashing him a wry smile.
"Now, this is my favorite part," he murmurs. "You have the antlers, lad?"
Kíli looks up at him, confusion etched across his features. "Yes?" he replies, curious as to what Dwalin would want those for (they had been horrid enough to remove in the first place), even as he obediently pulls the antlers from his pack.
"They make fine weapon handles," Dwalin explains as he grabs the antlers. "The bone is easy enough to carve and polish. There are plenty of men and dwarrow alike that will pay a pretty penny for these."
Kíli wrinkled his nose. "Don't they know where it came from?"
The warrior barks out an amused laugh. "Probably not, especially if they're men." He turns the antlers over in his hands. "What kind of sweets do you and your brother enjoy?"
Kíli perked up a bit at that. "We can have sweets?" he asks, just a tiny bit excited.
"I daresay you've earned it after nabbing a buck your first time out," he affirms. "Besides, we'll make enough off the antlers and hooves and hide to spare a little luxury. Not to mention how well we'll eat all the way through the winter."
Kíli gives him a wide smile, clearly delighted at this little bit of brightness in his otherwise bleak routine, and they head off in search of the appropriate shops. Kíli settles on some baked candied apple rings, his brother's favorite, and they do fetch a pretty penny for the antlers and the hide of the buck, one that leaves them both with heavier pockets and lighter spirits.
Fíli sighs as he settles into his bed and snuggles up under the furs. Kíli is already sound asleep, but, as is typical, his little brother instantly curls into his embrace and presses close to him with a sleepy grumble. Dwalin had regaled them all with stories of Kíli's advanced hunting prowess over a dinner of fresh venison. Kíli had flushed under all the attention, insisted that Dwalin had done most of the hard work, but Fíli couldn't have been prouder of his brother.
He'd overhead Dwalin and Uncle speaking in hushed tones as they stocked the extra meat, had heard Dwalin confess that Kíli had very nearly broken down out in the woods, but that he'd managed to hold it together, that he'd been strong. He had always known that Kíli was brave and strong, albeit less obviously than most of their kin, and it warmed his heart to know that Dwalin and Thorin had seen that strength in him too.
For the first time in nearly a decade, things felt normal. Kíli felt like Kíli. Even Uncle seemed to be more like his old self since Dain's departure the day before, though the utterings of trouble for all of Middle Earth had unsettled him just a bit. Kíli snuggles ever closer to him, and he adjusts himself so that his brother's head rests upon his shoulder. With one hand, he idly cards through the boy's hair, a small, contented smile coming to his lips, grateful for the presence of the warm body by his side.
Ten years ago, he'd taken Kíli well and truly for granted, had thought he'd be better off without his little brother's affections and adoration.
He had never been happier to be so wrong.
I was going to keep going but it was pretty lame and boring and repetitive so I'll save that for later. Hope you enjoyed it! Kiss kiss love youuu~