Heirs of What

| Part 3 |

-Places Beyond Hope-

Chapter (26) 'Gone Without Goodbye'

Dis had not come alone. With her from Ered Luin had come a small assembly of dwarves which included the family of those members of Thorin's Company who had one, some of the elders who had first come to the Blue Mountains from Erebor where they had once held titles and positions of power, and a few adventurous souls who had missed out on the first journey. A few dozen in total who had taken the opportunity when it was laid before them. And with the party's arrival came the thing Fili dreaded most. They'd told him they would wait until all were there to honor Kili, but Fili was no more ready to attend his brother's burial surrounded by family, friends, and neighbors than completely alone. Because he felt alone without Kili. Now he would have to watch them all bid farewell to his fallen brother while he couldn't do the same. Balin had told him he must say goodbye. But once already he had learned that he could not.

He could not bid farewell to Kili's bright, eager eyes or his happy laugh. His little brother's free spirit would not lay down quietly in a grave and forever be still. His ceaseless joy would not settle to a soft memory. His bold heart refused to quit and belong to times past. A happy little brother by his side was all Fili knew, all he had ever known. So much of who he was relied on the dwarf who had always stood beside him. Now there was an emptiness inside him that ached, like a hunger that couldn't be satisfied. And it hurt. So desperately. So deeply.

His pain provided him a good reason to flee the confines of the Mountain on the eve of Kili's burial.

Fili had not been among the Company when they first entered Erebor. He had instead chosen to defy his uncle's request and remain in Lake Town with his brother. It was a moment that would mark Thorin and Fili's relationship for the rest of their lives, and a decision that had amounted to little. He still hadn't been able to save Kili. And yet, Fili did not regret the decision even now. He had always known his place was with his sibling. No, he knew he would make the same choice again even if it meant he had to watch Kili be taken from him a second time. Because he could not bring himself to regret the few hours more with his brother it allowed him.

But that decision had also meant Fili was not with the Company when Bilbo discovered the hidden doorway which lead into Erebor's passages. He's wanted to be there when the door was opened, when the halls of their forefathers were finally accessible once more. Kili had wished for that too. But neither had watched the spectacle in the end. And now, in the dull light of a clouded evening, the door didn't look so special. It lacked all brilliance. Left cracked opened just enough to make out the stone edges, it hardly looked like anything more than a mountain face. Fili places his palm against the stone and pressed firmly, grunting as it give and opened slowly.

The entrance of the secret passage was a wistful sight. This should have been their journey's end. This would have been their victory. This was meant to be the triumph they'd struggled for. But all that laid before the dwarf prince was the dark mouth of a tunnel, one which led to blood-covered riches. Never having any intention of following the tunnel, Fili sat on the ground in front of the entrance, grateful that the gray sky had kept the snow to itself for now. At least the cold ground was dry. The climb up the mountainside had been good for him. He knew he needed some fresh air and time away from the purviews of the kingdom, but he found his destination unsatisfying. Fili wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected to find up there. Some sense of closure, he guested. He'd never finished the Quest, not like he was meant to. On the eve of Kili's funeral Fili guested he was looked for something resembling closure. Only after he'd sat before the unhidden door for quite awhile shivering under the cold and the chilling should-have-beens did Fili realize he wouldn't find his terminus there. He wouldn't find it anywhere in the Mountain.

Finally, he gathered himself from the ground and closed the doorway again. Fili turned away, no more at peace with his circumstances than before his trek up the Mountain, only to very nearly collide with his own mother.

"Ma," he said with surprise though more quietly than he meant to, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"I didn't mean to startle you but I didn't want to interrupt," Dis explained her unannounced presence, glancing around as if trying to decide what she would be interrupting. "I've never seen it either," she continued after a pause, nodding towards the doorway. "When I first heard Thorin talking about it back in Ered Luin I though he was mad."

"And I was too foolish to doubt it," Fili said with a bitter smirk.

His mother didn't answer as she came closer. "I've been looking for you." Since she'd arrived they'd spent most of their time together so Fili's absence had been quickly noticed by Dis. "I want to give you something Fili," she told him as she took his hand and turned his palm up, placing something small in it. Fili stared at the item, taking a moment before realizing what he held. Kili's clasp.

"How…where did you get this?" he asked, confusion and a thread of unwise, unrealistic hope apparent in his wide eyes. Kili had been wearing his clasps when he was taken.

"It was your father's," Dis answered, quickly laying doubts to rest. "You wouldn't remember him wearing it but he did, every day with his own. He had one with your crest and one with Kili's." She smiled softy. "He was so proud of them. And of you both. He loved you and your brother so much Fili." Tears had collected in Dis's eyes. "I've kept them all these years," she said, gently touching the metal bead in her son's hand.

Fili felt so overwhelmed by sentiment that he was almost numb. "I never knew that," He whispered.

"I know," she nodded. "But I want you to have it."

There was something so beautiful and so miserable in the small item in Fili's hand. To hold something that belonged to his father but reminded him so much more of his brother made the feeling all the more potent. Both gone. He hadn't known there was anything that could so easily freshen both losses, something that so well crippled his broken heart all over again. Tragedy was laughing at him. And yet, there was so much love and devotion and pride etched into the metal bead. For family and duty and heritage. The sight of the clasp made Fili's heart swell with something like pride for both the one it represented and the one who had worn it. The gesture by his mother, as must as the gift, touched him in the deepest place and the tremble in his hands spoke of the overwhelming emotions that attacked him.

Dis knew her son was shaken, that he had been shaken for weeks. He had been lost and broken and without comfort. She hoped her presence would begin to correct that, even if it might first exposed pain and guilt to its fullest. She had healed and toughened again and again over the years enough to know it was indeed a grueling process. They were both about to face one of the most agonizing parts, and she wanted Fili to be ready for it.

"I thought you might want to wear it tomorrow," she said gently, watching closely for Fili's reaction. His face lost color. His stomach was immediately sick. The though of Kili's funeral, the mention of it horrified him.

"I don't want to go," he said, looking down shamefully.

Of course not. Dis nodded, "I know. But you'll regret not going." A tremor shook her voice as she fought to keep the tears from escaping her eyes. This was not the first difficult farewell Dis would have to speak. She had said too many goodbyes for any troubled lifetime. But this one…this one would hurt more than any of them. It already did. But her son deserved every bit of honor they could offer. He had earned so much more than a proper burial, and yet that was all he would get. "He deserves a goodbye Fili, and you'll wish you had told him if you don't."

The dwarf prince shook his head weakly, "I can't."

"Fili," Dis said, a hint of sternness entering her voice, "I know what it is to feel like you have been spared for nothing. I know how hopeless, how painful this hurt is. But Kili would not want, nay, he would not let you dwell in your sorrow like this. He would demand the strength he always admired in you. The strength enough to face this so you can being to heal. So we all can."

"I know that. I want to be strong. For him. For you," Fili struggled. "I'll go tomorrow. I'll be there. But I know I can't say goodbye. Not to him." Fili knew he sounded weak and childish, but is seemed an accurate description of his current state. Weak and helpless, like a child.

Dis held the shaking shoulders of her son, doing everything in her power to remain composed before him. But her defenses were quickly collapsing within her. Each time she remembered exactly what it was she was attempting to survive she was overwhelmed by unbelievable grief again. There were brief, scarce moments when the devastating truth would be forgotten. She never stopped hurting. But somehow, lost in the unimaginable, shock-drenched reality of grief and lose and confusion, she could temporarily forget exactly why she was hurting so terribly. It would come back to her with so little bidding, always ready to devour her all over again when the true reality of a dead child hit anew. It was miserable and exhausting and Dis couldn't stop herself from reaching to embrace her son, seeking comfort as freely as she offered it while she cradled Fili's misery in her arms. She was so lost in the sound of both their cries that she almost didn't hear him speak again, the noise muffled in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, ma."

She shook her head. "No, don't be sorry for mourning one you loved."

"Not that. For him…my promise," Fili choked. It wasn't letting Kili die that filled him with such guilt. It wasn't breaking his promise to his mother. It was letting Kili die while he still lived. Because no one could promise to protect a life. Not really. There were some threats too great. Somethings that couldn't be fought off. Some ends that could never be avoided. But he could have died trying. It wasn't that Kili was dead that was so wrong. It was that Fili didn't die too trying to stop it.

"That promise…" Dis said, remembering back to the night it was made as she pulled away. "I never should have asked you for it. It was never your job to take responsibility for his safety."

"It was always my job," Fili disagreed. "He was my little brother."

The dwarf prince still remembered his annoyance when they were young and Kili would find refuge in his brother's bed from the night terrors that freely roamed his active mind. If Fili didn't wake to the pleading whimper of the younger begging to share his covers, he would be stirred awake by the movement and warmth of his sibling's small body buried under his sheets beside him. He had been displeased for a while, until his mother reminded him that a day would come when he would not be able to lay Kili's fears to rest so easily. Protection would not always be so easily given. He would wish for those times again, when Kili's greatest concern was something Fili could destroy with a smile. Whenever Kili found his way to his brother's bed after that, Fili would think of the promise he had made to his mother. Perhaps it even included protecting Kili from things that weren't there.

It didn't matter because it was a promise he hadn't been able to keep. Very real horrors had taken his brother and Fili hadn't been able to stop it. A broken promise that would never stop haunting him.

"Fili," Dis spoke again, her voice full of hard earned wisdom and an edge of desperation for her son to heed some of it, "Kili knew exactly how much you cared for him. Never doubt that. You may hurt, I would never deny you that. But don't let guilt be part of it. Do not allow yourself guilt for things you never did. You never abandoned him. You never turned him away. And you never failed him."

"How can you say that? He's dead." A swell of pain caught in Fili's throat as he said it, hating the word and himself for using it in mention of his sibling.

Dis sadly shook her head, pained by her son's troubled understanding of blame. "Sometimes the power to save a life is beyond us. I should know. Someday you will realize that, when you've healed."

Fili felt like a child again, overwhelmed and entirely uncertain. "How?" he whispered, begging for an answer he hadn't been able to find anywhere or from anyone else. "How do I heal? I feel like I can't."

"Pick something. Something good. Something that reminds you of him. Something that brings you joy. And then make that the first stone on which you rebuilt yourself."

His mother's words hit somewhere new, somewhere deeper inside Fili than before. Maybe it was nothing more than the desperation to find anything to help him through the next day. But Fili nodded, searching himself for the something that could anchor him, anything that would support him through his brother's burial.

OOO

No one seemed to know how to begin. How does one usher forth such a miserable affair?

Everyone was gathered, the complete though limited occupancy of the Mountain, and stood in the little light and warmth offered by the torchlight set around them. They formed a half circle around the bier with the lone blade in its center, with most of the dwarves standing to Fili's left. Dwalin had seen to the task of lighting the torches himself, trembling hands making his job a more difficult one than most circumstances would demand. He had kept his eyes from wandering towards the only stone table that wasn't empty, aware that the burial itself would require as much of his strength as he was able to conserve. Too soon he had returned to the chamber of tombs with the rest of Erebor's occupants for the very event he'd just as soon forgo, favoring a private goodbye should he get to decide. But he didn't and he wasn't the only one wishing to bid their youngest prince farewell.

In the end, as might be expected, it was Balin who stepped forward and spoke first. The old dwarf's entire body told of his bereavement. He hardly looked capable of leading the preceding, though no less so than any other. In the face of such heartbreak he did the only thing he could and used formality as a crutch. Employing as little emotion as possible, the white bearded dwarf began to recite ancient passages, giving a speech that Fili didn't hear. Grief was roaring too loudly in his ears.

There were rituals of old that were meant to be followed at burials. A certain order to a royal funeral. Particular words to be spoken. But for Kili they none seemed fitting. The youngest prince had never known any of these ancient rites and had never been too fond of propriety.

Rather Kili was messy. From his unconstrained locks to his always rumpled attire. From his unorganized thoughts to his unplanned actions, he was never one to look upon for a perfect or even good example of neatness or poise. Kili wore an air of amused disorder that seemed to leave him behind in a softer world in times of less sorrow and fear and pain. In a time when one didn't need to be so careful and closed mouthed and surefooted all the time. When it was alright to stumble because there wasn't a dragon or army watching for weakness and waiting for one's fall. A time that looked strikingly like the days of their childhood. Kili had never grown out of the things they'd loved as children, or rather the joy they found in simple things and the peace that enveloped their young lives. His messy, free spirited behavior only drew people to him, perhaps because he reminded them all the things and times they missed. He was living a life so fun-filled and free that it couldn't be weighted down by tight braids and straight garments and eloquent words and intentional steps everywhere he went. It couldn't be weighted down by too much solemnity and responsibility and obligation and the embellished finery his prince title offered. Kili ran too fast for such ties to hold him. He moved through life too quickly to be caught by anything that didn't chase after him with the swift legs of youth and enthusiasm. No, Kili was too excited by life for that. He had a messy air about him.

The only part of the memories Fili could see in a mind blurred by grief was the flash of a misbehaving grin always happier than the occasion called for. An occurrence so often and plentiful it had no place or time to claim it. Kili's smile was always something of a permanent nature and not one Fili ever thought he would have to live without. The recollection created an ache inside him, the throb inside his heart whispering of his ruin.

He knew he was being forced to walk the one path that found its way to his destruction.

Willing the tortures away, Fili caught a few of Balin's words, the old dwarf's quaking tone exposing his lack of composure acutely. "…But he believed in honor, loyalty, and bravery as much as any could."

Loyalty. The word sounded louder than the others. Thorin tensed at its mention, the reminder unneeded and heavy laden with guilt. He had never valued his nephew's loyalty as he should have. He had never believed it to be as shatterproof as it was shown to be. Only after it was too late, only after unforgivable mistakes and an abandonment that so contrasted Kili's own devotions had the Mountain King realized the error in his measure of his youngest sister's son. Kili was nothing if not faithful to cause, companions, and kin. Always. And now shame for his blinded failure to value the devotion that was never earned but given so readily would simmer in Thorin's soul forever. It would never quench.

"…And all who knew him, cared for him, are surely proud of who he was."

In an unguarded moment Dis let slip the first noise heard from her direction. It was only a breath caught in pain, a desperate attempt to keep the sobs in her chest from breaking forth. So flooded by emotion, she almost let them loose. She was so beyond proud of the son she had lost. Her sons had brought her pride their entire lives. Even when they did nothing, even when they were still too young to do anything most would deem great, she was proud. Because their character spoke in the quiet times when no action was needed and no valiant effort was ready to prove their worth. She saw it in the kindness of their smiles and the strength in their eyes. Kili's determination and earnestness had obtained her favor and pride when he was still a child. He had never had to beg for her approval or struggle for her praise. His integrity had earned it every day of his life. And Dis's pride for Kili was one of the few things that made his death survivable. Only barely.

"…We will never forget his aid and his sacrifice in giving us all back this home."

Was an unseen death, an unexpected death truly nameable among willing sacrifices? Fili wasn't so certain his young brother's ruin was a sacrifice as much as a failure. Sacrifice implied a conscious risk. Understanding the outcomes and their likelihood of occurrence. Knowingly forfeiting safety and assurance for glory and gain. Willing giving a life for a cause. But Kili didn't want to die. He never knew his demise would find itself in the muddied waters of Lake Town and his death at the hands of murderous orcs. It was Kili's belief in the impossibility of death that drove him to a quest no truly sane mind would agree to. While some were motivated by greed and lust, some influenced by sentiment and duty, and still others skewed by the promise of venture and grandeur, they had all been seduced by delusions into a journey with an unattainable end. The riches didn't mean so much once they were claimed. The home once known didn't look or feel the way it used to. And the adventure had been more painful than promised.

But Kili had never known he would give his life in pursuit of Erebor. Fili was certain of it because neither had he. The younger's death was only a sacrifice if his choice to join the Quest would not be altered by the outcome. Only if Kili had known what his end might be and decided it did not matter was his life a willing sacrifice. And Fili wasn't convinced that was true. Kili was too much in love with life to let it go lightly. He was not a coward and Fili knew there were things, causes, Kili was willing to give himself up for. For his family he wouldn't hesitate. For the weak and the innocent he would die. But for a mountain? Fili didn't think so.

And that made it hurt more. To know his brother didn't choose his crypt made the loss more painful. There was no peace in an unwanted, unexpected death.

There was no peace at all. This was not pain and grief. Not a stronger measure of the torments he'd known in small portions all his life. Those were nothing but the always forthcoming trails of life. This was something he had never known. A phenomenon he'd never expected he could live through. This was a death of his very own.

It was rather dark in the tomb far beneath the mountain. Dark enough that when he focused on the torches burning next to the stone table, Fili couldn't see anything else. Anything beyond the twitching fire glow was nothing more than a dark shadow at the edge of his sight. It was almost easy to forget then that he wasn't alone if not for the low hum of voices that began a song he forgot he was supposed to expect. Deep tones in an echo chamber of stone gave rise to words Fili couldn't bring himself to join.

"Somber tidings on crimson gales

Hearts are stilled in woeful trade

Sorrow comes at battle's bid

Earth they go from whence they came"

It was a funeral song. One the lone remaining heir of Erebor had heard only once before. At his father's burial they had sung the tune, the words unknown to the young dwarf who was witnessing for the first time death's triumphs. Then he hadn't known what loss meant, what it really felt like yet. He hadn't known the yearning for a resolution sparked by rage and grief. For some end to the delirious state of helplessness found in the belly of loss. For some way just to escape the torment. But there was nowhere to go, no place to hide from this misery. The song being sung may have well been meant for Fili he decided.

He was dead. Or had died to be reborn of a different spirit. No longer was he Fili of the Blue Mountains. Or the prince of Erebor. Now he was a mangled soul and grief worn heart. He didn't care if it made him weak. If collapsing under his brother's death made him weak, weaker than his uncle or his own mother, he didn't care.

"…Silence rein on moonless nights

Nary fall to the carver's tune

Weeping cease ere morning rise

Earth they go from whence they came"

There was something haunting and ancient in the song's sound. The voices that sang it, their owners lost in the shadow of firelight, rose and fell together with too much precision, too much practice. Most of the old dwarves present had sung the song a few times too many. Fili didn't like the way the words woke a burning in his chest as they were hummed out around him. Or the way they made his hands feel weak like they couldn't pick the knife up from the table and hold it if he wanted them to. Body bound by sentimental words, meaning elusive and unneeded in a soul marring tune.

Kili had never felt like a weakness before. He had always felt like the pulse behind strength and purpose. But with the younger's death came a second in all but body. Fili was left with a threadbare heart that's only resemblance to the old one was the tender places where memories of his brother lived. The rest was stiff and cold, painful and broken.

"…No more they deem the blades of strife

The carver's work in cold stone lay

Drums of old find their voice

Earth they go from whence they came"

Once Fili's father had made him a sword. A dull, smooth thing of wood gifted into the chubby and eager hands of a young child. The blond prince's joy was complete upon receiving the weapon, the perfect defense against the imagined horrors he battled daily. One day it broke. A weakness in the wood snapped, leaving a third of the blade on the ground. Fili had felt the devastation of that loss acutely, his blue eyes pooling with immediate tears. Joy snatched away in an instant. Kili's death felt like that. Like a future pillaged and robbed. Like every plan had been sowed in naïve faith, blooms seared to ruin by the fire burning next to his brother's bier. Devastation found at the bottom of a mountain crypt. Dreams ruined by a blade that couldn't save. Fili doubted it was truly possible to untangle the mess of grief his life was now. He was lost without direction.

A hush came with the song's end. At last and far too soon all that remained was a final farewell. Slowly and silently the occupants of the chamber pausing one by one next to the bier, a lowered head bidding gratitude or respect or goodbye. Fili wasn't sure. Soon only the Company and Dis, those nearest to the lost prince, were left to complete the task none felt ready to.

Nori was the first to approach the stone table. He hesitated but a moment before he dropped to one knee without prompt or warning and bowed before Kili's tomb. And then Bifur. And Gloin. And each one after the next even Bilbo.

Fili watched in surprise, moved by the gesture as unexpected as it was appreciated. He didn't know if it had been planned, or if in the moment of farewell it seemed fitting. Be it either, he was grateful for the act of respect granted Kili, and touched by the humble display of fondness that was neither demanded nor looked for. He couldn't hear what they said, or if they said anything, but he could see the tears upon most of their faces. Some paused for only a moment and others for longer. But they did not stop until every member had bowed before their prince and each one had said goodbye to their friend.

Then they too disappeared from the burial chamber and there was none left with Fili but his mother and Thorin.

The king of Erebor knew his time was next. He was not ready to approach his nephew's bier but Dis and Fili deserved to go after. They would be last. So Thorin willed his body forward, glad when he drew close enough to lean against the table, each hand gripping either edge of the stone, head bowing in exhaustion and sorrow. His shoulders shook with emotion as surely as his words when they were whispered.

"Kili I…I always meant to do right by you and your brother. All of this," he choked as he glanced up at the mountain above him, "I wanted to give it to both of you." It was fitting, Thorin thought, that he was standing in a tomb as he spoke of his desire to gift the kingdom to his nephews. It was all that he'd given Kili. Death. This lone dark and deep chamber was the only bit of Erebor his youngest heir would ever know. And not really even then. Only by a knife that was meant to embody his memory. Kili would never know any of the happiness or comfort once homed by Erebor's walls. He would never enjoy the safety and protection offered by its ramparts. He would never benefit from the wealth the kingdom held within its depths. And Kili would never watch his brother claim the throne that had always been meant for him. Thorin's youngest nephew had been cheated out of all the rewards Erebor possessed. All the ones he had died for. He deserved so much more than he'd been given. And the king beneath the Mountain trembled in grief and guilt, knowing his was the blame.

"It was my fault…and I'm sorry," he whispered, burning tears overtaking his vision. He felt incapable of supporting his own weight and wondered if he might fall. But he wouldn't. He never collapsed completely even when he deserved to.

"I failed you nephew. It is too late to amend what I've done to you, I know that," Thorin's soft words broke as he spoke them. "But I swear to you I will spend the rest of my life doing right by your brother. Whatever Fili needs…I promise I will be that." Thorin knew the only attempt at solace for his wrongs was a promise and commitment to Fili now. His nephews' concerns were never selfish. They had always cared for one another more than they did themselves. And so a promise to look after Fili meant more than begging for forgiveness. It was the only possible rectification for his wrongs.

Thorin swallowed as hot tears burned their way down his face. "I should have showed you more," he gasped a deep, silent breath before finishing, "but I always loved you, was always proud of you."

He did not look back at his sister or nephew as he left, unable to stand the hurt on their faces.

By all standards Dis had the right to go last if she wished. She was his mother and Fili knew his turn was next, though he wasn't certain his limbs would move him should he bid them to at that moment. Dis, however, knew better. She didn't for a moment doubt who would be left alone in the end. She knew it would be Fili. It had to be. So as soon as her brother stepped away from the bier Dis approached before Fili had the chance to move, offering her son the only kindness and comfort she was able; the chance to grieve alone.

In a moment that came much too soon and far too quickly Dis was standing before her son's tomb, attempting to conjure forth a goodbye she'd only ever feared she would deliver. This was a moment she'd never thought she would be able to bare. And yet there she stood, numb as surely as she was on fire, allowing duty to control her actions when her mind refused to and her heart could not. Perhaps the only motivation she had left was the sentiment she'd shared with Fili the day before. Kili deserved a goodbye.

But how could she?

He was too young. Kili was always too young. But he always got away with it because his brother did and he had to follow. He was too young to spend the whole of the afternoon adventuring in the hills and woods and fields laying just outside their door without a single nap to resupply his constant exertion of energy when he was still nothing but a small child. He was too young to be spending a night away from home and mother the first few trips he took with his uncle and brother on trading routes to nearby settlements. He was too young to drink ale when he first did, swallowing as much as a grown dwarf did. He was too young to be done with his studies when he quit. But without the company of his brother there were no ties strong enough to hold him to books and lessons while his sibling roamed the countryside on errands. He was too young to face such trials. He was too young to be forced to fight so many. He was too young to die.

But life had never been fair to Dis of Erebor while death had always been far too generous. Her child was lost to her and she was sure there was no balm for the miserable ache in her soul. This did not feel like any of the losses before. This hurt so deeply, so terribly, that even Dis, who had known every other possible grief, hadn't known such pain was possible. She stared at the glinting blade, her head wagging gently.

"You foolish boy," she scolded weakly, halfheartedly. She only knew the most basic recount of her son's death, bare of all details. She hadn't wished to hear. But Dis knew enough of Kili's nature to know he had put himself in harm's way needlessly during the Quest. He had undoubtedly offered himself up to danger for causes only he saw value in. He was always reckless.

"I knew you wouldn't be careful." And yet she had let him go, had watched him walk away from her having nothing from him but a kiss on the cheek and a grin as he waved.

She had expected to say more. Perhaps remind him of her love. Tell him how much she would miss him. Recall her favorite habits of his. But both she and her dead son already knew those things. What good was there in speeches that couldn't ease the pain away? What words were there to express the grief of her child's death?

Dis brushed her fingers across the burial table, caressing the place his face would be. She wished that she could touch him again, even once more. To feel his hand. To stroke his brow. To smell his clothes. Just to have him for one more moment. But she was glad he wasn't there, that she didn't have to see him. She had seen the gray color of her dead father. And felt the cold skin of her brother. And saw the empty face of her husband. She didn't want to see her son like that. It wouldn't look like him, not without feeling shining in his eyes. Kili had always felt everything so fiercely. Each emotion an impassioned blaze. It would not look right with no feeling in his features.

She could not linger. She couldn't delay for she didn't have the energy to endure this anguish for long. Summoning the only strength she had, Dis whispered her farewell around the despair doing its best to choke her, "Goodbye my child." She couldn't see the blood splattering when it hit the ground after dripping from her gasping heart. But she could feel it. Dis leaned forward and placed a kiss on the cold stone where the forehead of her dead son should rest, enduring grief's blows in silence even as they rained down upon her like never before.

And then she left Fili alone.

Fili didn't move right away. For a while he just stood there until the quietness forced him to shift and he drew closer to his brother as he always knew he would in the end. Or nearer the only part of his brother he had left. As much as he disliked the sound of the empty burial chamber, as much as the sight of that forsaken blade troubled him, and as much as the cold stone of his brother's crypt destroyed him, Fili knew it was exactly where he belonged. The only place in the whole Mountain where he didn't feel completely lost was there, where his whispers of grief didn't seem entirely unheard and his words reached closer to the one they were intended for. He didn't touch the bier, unwilling to reach out to the permanent reminder of his brother's end even as he longed to draw as near Kili's memory as he could. Instead he stood before it, arms limp at his side and feet unable to be tempted from place.

He just stood there as his eye swept over the tomb's engravement again and again. They'd promised him that someday there would be a likeness carved and placed over the ghost of his brother's corpse. That was a lie. No likeness of Kili could be made of stone. It wouldn't resemble his obsession with enthusiasm at all. It would be better, Fili knew, to just leave the blade there and not attempt a construction that's premise was already failed. Maybe someone else knew that too. Maybe they knew the only crypt Kili should have was the one baring the blade and that's why they engraved the script on the edge of it. Fili hadn't seen it before. He hadn't even known it was there until he was close enough to read the new list of his brother's titles carved into the stone. He wasn't even sure who wrote them.

PRINCE KILI OF EREBOR

He was something in death that he never really had been in life. He had always owned the title. And yet it had never really belonged to him because Kili had not once set foot in the Mountain. But now his possession of the kingdom, in name only, was permanently marked on his grave.

WILLING WARRIOR

Perhaps too willing, too eager. Fili had always felt he needed to be extra careful to make up for Kili's lack of caution. But he was always proud of his brother's boldness. His unwillingness to allow fear a voice in his decisions.

HONORED HEIR

Fili and Kili had never just been Thorin's heirs. But the heirs of their people, of their futures and their hopes. Never in a showy displace had Erebor's castaways celebrated their heirs. But with quiet respect they had always honored their young princes.

LOYAL KIN

Loyal to a fault. Even when reason spoke against it, Kili would obey the demands of allegiance. His youthful judgement could be questioned. His quick temper. His haste. His stubbornness. But no one bothered questioning his loyalties because they were as sure as the Mountain base itself.

DEVOTED SON

As the only parent he ever knew, Dis possessed all of Kili's devotion. He had always delighted in displaying his affection for and dedication to his mother. With small gifts, kind words, and fierce commitment to her happiness and welfare, Dis's son had treasured her endlessly.

LOVING BROTHER

Kili didn't just enter the word. The world greeted him like it had been waiting. With favor, with beauty and charm, but mostly a good and pure heart. One that loved to laugh. And he had shared that heart most openly with his brother. Kili had always loved Fili most completely.

The prince of Erebor drew a shuttering breath, his body refusing to do any more than stand there and shake, his eyes teasing with possible tears.

"How am I supposed to do it Kili?" he finally asked. "How am I supposed to live without you?" A pallid face stared in waiting, like an answer was actually expected. But there was no answer just as there was no one to give it. There was only a single untethered soul seeking deliverance.

Purpose lost in the closed eyes of his baby brother. An empty, eternal hush found in the aftermath of devastation. Pending goodbyes never heard, never even uttered thrashing around in search of a place to settle.

"Tell me how, please," he begged. It was hard to breathe. This was worse than he'd expected. More painful than he'd imagined it could be. Every moment, every memory a white hot ember heaped in his heart. They were marks upon his life like grass stains from his childhood. Permanent reminders of joyful times. But they hurt. They felt like death.

One had been doomed to die while very much alive. The other to live dead.

"Please brother, I can't do this alone." Maybe he could but he didn't want to. And maybe he couldn't at all. He wasn't sure and he didn't know what he pleaded for. Some kind of mercy from his misery he guessed. Some sort of relief. He was sure he wouldn't find it in an empty tomb. Still, it's where he wanted to be. Just to be left to dwell in his grief for a while longer before others came and tried to fix him.

Soon he would let them try.

But right now he was shattering. The fault lines making their appearance in hollow blue eyes, in pale shaking hands, in silenced suppressed cries. Signs of the imminent collapse…

…Or cracks obtained in the fire, broken by the stress of the heat only to be returned a tempered resurrection of ruins.

At least this one didn't take six months...Still, sorry for the long wait. I hope you enjoyed this very sad chapter. I know there was really no action in this one, but I didn't want to rush through the funeral so I decided to dedicate an entire chapter to it. I promise, starting now things are going to pick back up and start moving faster again. Thank you for reading as always and for responding to the story/chapter in any way. I adore your reviews :)