In addition to posting this chapter, I also corrected an error reguarding the location mentioned in Gandalf and Radagast's conversation in the last chapter. So be sure to recheck that part of the previous posting! Enjoy :)

Heirs of What

| Part 3 |

-Places Beyond Hope-

Chapter (20) 'Sorrow's Footsteps'

He woke with flames in his eyes, the light bending with grief and sorrow. Tears streaming down his soul. A cry lifting from his heart of loss that shook the core of his very being. He felt shredded inside, aching under his skin and throbbing in his bones. He was bleeding out, slowly, one tear at a time. Most of them were only the ghosts of tears, physically absent but more real than the moisture that would sometimes drop down his cheeks. It hurt. And he felt very much like he was dying.

Yet no one could see the pain churning inside him. They couldn't see the extent of his torment. Couldn't see how quickly darkness had settled inside him. All that could be seen by anyone watching was his pale form sitting up, his blue eyes blinking past his agony, and his unsteady stance as he rose to his feet. They could only tell for certain that he'd gotten little sleep and even less rest. They could only see that he wore the heaviness of his grief in every feature.

Willing his tight muscles to work, Fili made his way to his water and took a long drink, the liquid wetting his begging throat. He wasn't sure when he had last drank, or when he had even last thought about it. It felt so incredibly long since he'd had anything else on his mind but his brother. And now, though it had only died a day ago, even the spark of hope he had nurtured so attentively seemed so distant, like an entire lifetime had woven itself into being since then.

Fili felt the Company's eyes on him as he moved, restless gazes watching to see how incapable his sorrow had made him. He could feel them, unpleasant stares despite their innocent intent. And Fili knew he couldn't stay there where he could not escape even the reminder that he was broken and near collapse. So he stepped past Balin's sad gaze, and Gloin's kind one, and Ori's troubled one, and Thorin's heavy one, and Bilbo's worried one, away from them all until he was free from their judgments even the ones made without notice. And when he was alone, outside of the woods and in the tall, brown grass he stood under the sun with his fingers clinched and quaked with sorrow.

A naked pain, a raw, cruel ache pounded in his chest and Fili wondered how long it could beat so heavily before it busted. An unguarded grief swelled in his lungs making them burn with a trapped cry. A mixture of rage and despair laced its hand with his fingers, dragging his heart down tortured paths while his body stood there and shook.

Kili, his brother. His kid brother. Dead. Kili who sang to the stars and grinned with the sunshine and laughed in the rain. Who stood without flinching in the light and only faced his fears in the dark where he thought there was only himself to see. Who would just as soon dance in the night as fight in the day. Whose happy spirit traveled in the wind and slept safe in the earth. Who embraced the good fiercely and who tried his best to change the bad. Who found joy in every place. Kili who loved life and every second of it. He was gone.

Fili swallowed a gasp of air as his eyes pinched shut in grief. So many years…so many memories… His whole life, his entire existence had been shaped and molded by his little brother's hand in his own. Whose calls would bid him now? Whose footsteps would he follow to his purpose now? Whose hand would reach to him now for help, for comfort, for strength?

A happy voice, a ceaseless laugh bellowed over the brown grasses and a familiar comfort brushed against Fili's heart. Followed by a new throb. That sound was nothing but a memory now. A smile, as welcomed as not, flickered against his closed eyelids, Kili's grin beaming for a moment before him. Fili stumbled to the ground, his legs folded under him. Any such visions were merely an apparition now. His brother was not and would never be there.

He'd been uprooted, he knew that. His feet were no long tethered to the ground he used to walk. Those paths were always treaded by two, never alone. His new course was a lonely one. And in that moment Fili felt very much like he would be blown along this new way like a fragile gale thrown where grief would take him. He was a hollow and bawling torment chasing peace he wouldn't find. Where was comfort in his brother's murder?

He felt a depthless void, a placeless ache inside his chest. He hurt with a pain that seemed unreal, unfathomable. The uninterrupted sunlight that covered his face did nothing to warm the chill in his beaten soul. The ebb and flow of disbelief and unimaginable sorrow was constant. The hateful truth receding just enough to shock Fili when the miserable reality returned again. And the dwarf prince sat there in the silence and mourned for his brother. He mourned for his loss. His lamentation roaring in his heart. His suffering overwhelming and complete.

"Fili?"

He turned to see Dwalin standing behind him near enough to notice his trembling shoulders should he look closely. If he was meant to answer Fili ignored the expectation, managing only to look up at his older friend with glassy eyes.

"Lad-"

"Please, Dwalin. I can't listen a second time to void speeches," Fili pleased, a panicked desperation in his voice. He could not calm the grief in him now. He could not calm the pain. He couldn't even try.

Dwalin frowned at him with confusion.

"Thorin," the younger dwarf explained simply.

The warmaster chuckled weakly, "Thorin is a dwarf of few words and I of even fewer. You need not fear my lectures. My brother though, well, you are fortunate they didn't send Balin in my stead," he paused, the little humor he spoke with leaving his eyes again. "I came only to tell you we are leaving."

Fili had no reason to be surprised, no reason not to expect such a message. Yet, somehow he was bothered. "Thorin is eager to return to the Mountain?" he asked with a strain of bitterness on his tongue.

"He is eager to leave this place behind," the older dwarf corrected gently. "Aren't you lad?" He could see the sharp pain in Fili's eyes, could hear it in his voice. And though he had no place to pass judgment on feelings he himself possessed, Dwalin wondered how to ease the bite in Fili's heart. He knew what it could do to one so kind and so young.

Fili looked away from the question, his eyes carried back towards the shadow of Gundabad. In his gaze he threw grief and anger and something else in the direction of the mountain.

"He died there," he said quietly, his shrug beckoning towards the ancient fortress. "His…he lies there, somewhere…And I don't think I will every be back here again."

Dwalin slowly nodded. He understood. There was no body to take with them. Nothing to place in the tomb. Nothing to whisper goodbye to. No flesh to touch once more. No last look upon the beloved face. There was only this, this place where he breathed his last. And for Fili, this was a sort of burial. This was where he would be forced to leave the body, where he would turn away and never again have anything of his brother but his memories.

"I understand," Dwalin told him gently. "After Moria, we lost so many. I searched the battlegrounds for…until I could hardly stand, hoping to find some…any. My brother had to pull me away from the field."

"You were looking for survivors," Fili objected. This was not the same madness or grief.

"Aye, that's what I said. But the truth is I wasn't looking I was lost. I couldn't imagine turning away and leaving…all of them. I didn't even know how to begin to move on." The warmaster's voice did not waver, but his speech came slowly, forced, as stubborn as he was.

"You had your brother to help you."

Dwalin agreed with a nod even as he spoke again, "We lost our father that day, Balin and I. And our father's brother. And our cousin. And so many others. The few of us that were left had to hold to each other yet tighter. If we had scattered we could not have survived."

The meaning and purpose of his words were understood, though not accepted.

"If we had held together Kili might never have been taken. It's too late for that to make it right now," Fili said.

"Not right, but better Fili."

The dwarf prince didn't voice any agreement but Dwalin didn't press the idea. He waited in silence as Fili slowly rose to his feet. The older dwarf watching quietly as the younger looked once more at the inglorious gravesite of his little brother. And the aged warmaster remained hushed as Fili turned away from the fortress again and followed him back to the rest of the Company.

OOO

The journey back through Mirkwood was for the first time uneventful. No spiders, no elves, and no poisoned, swelling waters slowed the Company's travel this pass through the forest. Though any one of them would have chosen any of their previous obstructions without hesitation if they could forgo the grief that instead smothered them. For the first time they brought with them something stronger than any charms or curses the woods crept with. Their sorrow, while much newer than Mirkwood's enchantments, was potent. It pierced the heavy haze of bewitchment that had perturbed them before, leaving their senses sharp and their minds clear. Too clear. Most would have voluntarily rendered a bit of their sanity if it meant the grief would dull for a while. Instead they were left to trek the paths of a forest too dark and too eerie without a distraction from their sorrow.

As they traveled in silence, Fili was not the only one to wonder whether his brother's rescue would have been possible if their last passage through the dark forest had been different. Had fate spared them capture and more time given them would it have been enough? Would it had changed things? Would it have saved Kili? Bitter anger burned within him at the thought, remorse and misery calling out his condemnation. He was angry at the elves for their selfish distrust, and more angry at whatever destiny chose to rob him of his brother and hand him such pain. He wanted to destroy destiny as surely as it had destroyed him. He wanted to burn it from wherever it sat in the skies and watch it fall. But all he could do was mourn.

His agony would boil and settle, calming only to be stirred again at the slightest prompt. Each time a noise close enough to something familiar sounded, something that reminded him of Kili, Fili flinched as surely as if he'd been struck while fresh sorrow poked at his heart. He never forgot his pain or the reason for it, but every few minutes he was reminded just how great his loss was, just how deep his hurt ran. It was excruciating beyond what he had imagined anything could be. Unendurable and yet ever persisting. He was surely being every second tortured there before the rest of his party.

Thorin could only watch through miserable eyes as his heir was bowed lower every moment under the presence of his grief, the king's own sorrow second to only one if not none at all. Each mile they walked was a shared struggle, each hour that passed a challenge. And as hours turned to day and the miles stretched long and many behind them it did not get better. By the time they had long put Mirkwood's edge behind them and were nearing the Long Lake the King under the Mountain could only look at the looming view of his Mountain and see the losses. As the sun rose in fiery hues behind it throwing glowing, red shadows up it's entire height, all he could see was the blood that had spilled because of the wealth it stored in its depths. Washed in the crimson mist of dawn, Erebor looked very much like it was painted, and Thorin could imagine with an overwhelming sorrow and remorse, that the blood red handprints of all who had perished for its cause adorned the Mountain from its sturdy base to its lonely peak. One after the next they stained the kingdom. So many of his people, of his kin, of his family.

And now Kili's.

That hand, once so small and pudgy that would reach up to him, tiny fingers straining, its owner's little face grinning at him. That hand, that would brush the dirt from its owner's clothes as he came rushing inside from his play. That hand, that would knock an arrow and loose the sting in so steady a manner that its owner's skill was certainly unmatched. That hand, that had held a part of his heart since the day its owner's first breaths were drawn. Now its ruby pattern marked Erebor's walls as the newest and brightest print of all.

A hesitant part of Thorin wondered if when they reached his ancestral home, when the sunlight turned yellow and warm, whether there would be any comfort there. Whether a little peace and rest would be possible. If there he would find privacy to heal.

The other part of him already knew it would not be. There was no peace in a comfortless ache. And while the body may always work to heal itself, the heart was not so resilient. The soul had its limits and Thorin believed he had reached his.

By the time they made it to the heart of the Long Lake, Thorin was sure no place, no shelter, no home could offer rest from his pain. And yet, as they took a respite in Lake Town and trudged along its still ashy beaches to find somewhere dry to camp, Thorin was not able to fully dread their return to Erebor. Because at least there was something good there among all the bad, be it only very distant memories. And at least it could protect them. Perhaps it could protect them from anymore misery beyond comprehension.

Or at least give them somewhere they could go mad with grief away from the world's eyes should more misery come…

They build a fire that night in the sand away from the ruins of Lake Town. It cut a striking figure of destitution in the sky behind them, but they faced the water instead, intent on keeping their backs to the place where so much pain was began. They had just settled for the night, nearly ready to retire when they were intruded upon by the sound of movement and approaching light.

"Who invades these shores in the night?" a voice demanded, though the speaker's torchlight had not yet revealed his face.

"Who wishes to know?" Gandalf asked as his eyes narrowed in the dark, his voice holding more authority than a trespasser's perhaps should.

The intruder finally drew near enough to see and Bard stepped forwards with a group of men at his back. They filled the small area of beach lit by their torches.

"Gandalf? So you have returned," Bard observed. If he was surprised he hid it well. "And your quest…?" He asked as he tried to count faces in the dark. The silence that rang across the beach was the only answer needed for the bowman to draw a sad conclusion.

"I…I am sorry."

"Indeed," Gandalf agreed, unwilling to speak of their loss any more for fear of agitating an already painful wound. He could not bare it anymore than the rest. "We are only camping the night. We'll be departing come morning."

"Are you returning to the Mountain?" Bard questioned.

"Yes, Erebor need not sit empty any longer. The dragon may be slain," the wizard said with a pointed look, "but there is still much to be done to restore the kingdom."

"But you know plenty of that," Thorin's voice lifted from the dwarves' silence as he stepped nearer the taller man. "Your people have much to restore."

"Yes," Bard agreed as he turned towards the dwarf king. "Yet our efforts in Dale have been effective. We have only returned here to find whatever can be salvaged from the ruin to take back there," he said with a gesture at the men standing next to him. "We saw company upon the shore and came to see if it be friendly or otherwise. I'm glad to find allies and not foes this time."

"Ones that have not forgotten their agreements," Thorin promised after a pause. "I am sure the folks of Lake Town are in need of much. When you return to Dale come to the Mountain and you will receive your payment."

Bard nodded his head in gratitude. "You are right, our families are without their homes and many comforts. Even still, our losses could have been much greater. Your hospitality is appreciated and your aid welcomed."

It was not lost to Thorin that hospitable was hardly the standing he had shown the people of Lake Town when the choice had first been his, and fair payment was hardly generous aid. But if Bard was willing to overlook his transgressions Thorin was glad to accept his grace and thanks.

"I will return the favor, if ever I am able. If ever there is a time when you require something I can provide I will not overlook your need," Bard promised, drawing surprise and confusion both to the dwarf king's face. "Your nephew protected and saved my children at the cost of his own life it would seem. I can not repay that," the bowman explained.

Thorin felt a tightness in his crest that made it decisively hard to breath. It hadn't occurred to him that by helping to protect the rest of his party Kili could have left himself vulnerably. It hadn't occurred to Thorin that Kili's fate had come by any hand but his when he abandon his nephew in Lake Town.

"No more than I can repay your people for the destruction I brought here," he said.

"Perhaps then, newer and stronger ties can be made on these shores now. Perhaps trespasses and debts can be forgotten in favor of truer relations…perhaps friendship," Bard said, watching carefully for Thorin's answer.

"Indeed," the King under the Mountain agreed. "Friends serve much better than enemies."

OOO

Bilbo's feet put the last few miles of a terribly long journey behind him as they neared the Lonely Mountain the next day. He was weary of traveling and grieving both. And he was glad at least that one of his exhaustions would be eased by their return to Erebor. Yet he feared the other may by increased by the very same. There was a steady pace to travel, even slow travel, that kept the mind busy. A little. No more journeying left even less to keep the sorrow away. He'd only seen the kingdom briefly but the empty spaces, the quiet, the shadows all seemed a welcoming place for heartache.

He had been dealt more heartache on the Quest then he had ever thought to imagine. When he left the shire his fears had center on the wellbeing of only one, himself. He had been so preoccupied by his own vulnerabilities and inabilities that he hadn't considered any one of his companions' safety. He hadn't realized it was in need of consideration. Because if he did not die then sure they would not. If he, hardly a warrior or physical champion of any sort, could survive the journey than surely they all would as well. It was only after the Company's first few shoulder brushes with death that Bilbo noticed his companions' mortality for what it was. He finally understood, perhaps after more time than it should have taken, that they could indeed fall and leave him standing behind. Much of it had to do with their lack of caution, a trail he, on the other hand, had in abundance and utilizes almost always. But also their courage, he realized, moved them into harm's way nearly more often than his nerves could stand.

Even after he finally realized his fellow Company members could die while he yet lived, Bilbo still did not know at first the impact this loss would leave on his heart. It was only after they had shared smiles with him, and stories, and laughs, and even their fears that he began to feel the ties knotting together. It was only after they became his friends that he realized he would mourn their loss deeply and feel their absence acutely. And it was then, somewhere between the Shire and Rivendale that Bilbo realized he had signed himself up for potential heartache when he wrote his name on that contract.

And he had gotten it.

He missed Bag End and he missed the quiet comfort he'd known there. He missed the time before the fears and worries and sorrows he knew now. In Hobbiton he had lived in a peace untouched by the foul hands that groped most of the lands. Shadows and evils did not reach into the green hills of the Shire where Bilbo had built a safe home and lived a content life. He missed the warmth of those nights seated before his fireplace in his armchair before pain had the chance to grab him. He missed not hurting.

And yet…

If he could do it over…if he could relive the moment he signed away his comfort and peace…if he could change the choices he had made…he would not. He would not undo the things he had done. He would not take back the decisions he had made. He would not replace the past months for anything. Because hurt, even deep hurt, was made worth it by friendships truer than any he had known his whole life. Because knowing a friend for even a short while was better than never knowing him at all. And because the pain of his loss was overshadowed by his memory. Bilbo knew his grief now only meant his bond with young Kili had been something of great value.

And for that he was grateful. Not all could boast of fortune enough to have what he had found on this Quest, something far more precious and prized than wealth.

But Bilbo was not sure if the others could possibly feel the same. For they had all lost more and gain less than he had. For him, even in his sorrow he had something to be thankful for. But they, perhaps, couldn't say the same. They had won back their Mountain, yes, and all the treasures beneath it. But other than pale riches they had only gained his friendship. And while Bilbo believed he had proven a trusted and true friend, he was hardly worth the loss of family. There was very little chance that any of the rest of the Company could look at all they has amassed since their journey's beginning and deem it worth while. Which was why Bilbo was sure that as they approached Erebor once again Fili was utterly miserable at its sight.

He was not mistaken.

Fili could only look up at Erebor's towering heights with dread and disgust. When he had first arrived at the Kingdom he'd been wrecked with worry and fear. Now he was crushed with sorrow and loss. And that was much worse.

It felt like an unreal dream separated the first time he entered Erebor and now, him standing in the dying field before it again. Their travel back from Gundabad had taken much longer, nearly twice as long. There had been no rush and no reason to. Grief had a way of slowing everything to an agonizing pace. He had spent most of the journey grieving for all he had lost. But there were times his mind had wandered back to the Kingdom before him. What would he have there now? Fili realized as he paused for a moment with the rest of his party to breathe and look upon their destination, that he had never once taken the time to consider Erebor his home. In the chaos of their Quest he had never replaced the small, cozy home he'd known in the Blue Mountains with the Lonely Mountain standing before him. He hadn't yet called Erebor home, hadn't yet claimed it as such.

And know he knew he never would. His home could not be a place Kili had never known. Or at least not one his joy had never known. Now Erebor would always be the lonely shadows bought with his brother's blood. A terribly unfair exchange.

Fili wonder if when the Kingdom's people were first driven from its walls, if during their exodus as they turned their backs to Erebor and fled, could they have known all the pain that day would cause? All the lives it would cost for years to come. Its exiled people where slaughtered in great number. Many of its homeless folks were scattered and starved. Only a precious few survive.

And then they had come back for more.

They should have known…Fili wished he had only known…He had won a kingdom and lost a brother. Such a cruel trade, he thought with hateful bitterness. They had been heirs of all of this, together. And now he was a lone inherent and of what? What had cost Kili his life? What was he truly an heir of? Ash and ruin…and death?

I hope you liked this chapter! I know there wasn't a lot of action, but they did make the entire journey back. Now that they've returned to Erebor you'll see more happening. I promise this story will not just be an uneventful tale of mourning. There are many events yet to take place and many serects still to come ;) Please let my know what you thought!