He was small. Small but cunning. Stringy as an Elf, durable as a Dwarf and shrewd as a Man. Gnarlâg feared him.
It was foolish. The foshan was barely an hundred and twenty years old. A useless rabbit fit for guarding the snagas and little else.
But he had killed Bolg.
No one else would have dared.
No one else would have dared follow him, either, yet here Gnarlâg stood with the rest of their straggly army.
The mountain loomed overhead and Kazog's eyes gleamed.
"The men of Laketown rise early. Fetch us a boat and don't bother with the corpses. Richer game awaits."
Smaug knew they were coming. The mountain shivered under Dwarven tread. For a breath of man's life the land had been free: slowly healing after centuries of greed and tyranny. Now it was threatened once more.
Durin's blood. The stench reeked of avarice and thievery. Smaug had tracked them down through the years. The elders were dead and the young pup Frerin mauled and slain. The only one left was Thorin.
Smaug rumbled and the walls shook. How he despised that name. The epitome of Thror's voraciousness; Oakenshield would scourge the land and darkness would crumble Mirkwood's shores. Trade avenues would fly open and Erebor would become the harbor of slavers and orc-friends. Smaug had sensed it the moment the taint of gold reached his old mountain range.
Erebor was a hurricane surrounding the eye of malice.
Ruby wings sifted upright and Smaug shook himself, stretching out his neck. Too long he had lounged about his mountain, waiting for darkness to flee Middle Earth. It was time to put an end to Oakenshield's schemes.
"It won't be long, Thorin."
Balin's gentle presence was the only thing keeping him sane. Thorin nodded dully, focusing on the cavernous doors of the mountain.
"They'll join us soon enough. Fili will pull through. He's a strong lad."
"Is it enough, Balin?" Within these walls lay the kingdom Thorin had regaled to his nephew since birth. Gold like the shine of Fili's hair. Amber like the dark of Kili's eyes.
It would never be enough for Fili. He would guard it alone, and despair.
They put the lads together in one bed. Even in his fever Fili latched onto Kili's hand, while the younger slid closer until his head nestled under his brother's chin. They were one soul: severed and then renewed, never to part again.
"I've only enough athelas for one of them," Oin murmured.
"Kili's worse," Tilda offered helpfully. Sigrid quickly hushed her.
"Can you divide it between them?" Dwalin asked.
Dis hovered at the bedside, one hand splayed in Kili's dark hair. Mine, she tried to tell herself. My son. My little Kili.
She wanted to hold Fili instead.
Dwalin's hand was a comforting weight on her shoulder. Dis squeezed his hand absently, offering her silent thanks. Mahal, she needed his support in this time.
"Give it to…" She almost said Fili. Oin looked at her sharply and Dis blinked, shaking her head. "Divide it up," she finished. "Maybe there will be enough…"
She pushed Dwalin's hand away and walked to the fire, rubbing her arms. Figments of a dark haired bairn playing with the flames skirted at the edge of her vision. Dis rubbed her temples in numbed grief. What kind of mother was she, if she could choose between her children so easily?
I can't lose Fili. I can't!
Dis was forced to move aside as Oin set water on to boil. He crushed the leaves and cast them inside, waiting for the scent of kingsfoil to fill the room. It was heady yet … lacking, and Oin muttered something about Elvish spells.
"It's the best I can offer. I hear the Dúnedaincould do marvels with these plants, but … we'll see what happens."
"If it can hold off their fever for now, I can show you where to find more come morning," Bard offered.
Dis wilted in relief. She pressed a hand against her face, holding back tears as she nodded. "Your kindness will be repaid."
Bard shook his head with a grim half-smile. He pulled Tilda close and watched Bain scrub an old harpoon. "I have all I need."
Dis understood. All she wanted was for Fili to open her eyes. And the little one… There was innocence there, in the ragmop of Dwarf cuddled against her son. Innocence and warmth and love, wrapped up in the essence called Kili. She wanted him to belong to her.
Somehow I'll make you my son. Even if I have to create new memories. You'll be mine again.
Dis always tried to be a good mother, and a good mother never abandoned her children.
His clothing was on fire. Fili shouted and twisted, trying to throw off the scalding rags, but the fabric clung to his body and burned all the more. Icy water closed over his head and stole his air, and still the flames scorched his body. He tried to scream and no sound came forth.
He reached out, seeing Kili's dark hair, watching his brother drift listlessly away. Kili's eyes were closed. He was silent. He wasn't supposed to be quiet. He was supposed to be prodding Fili awake, whispering questions and asking if it was okay to feed apples to the deer, because they didn't have teeth like wargs did. He was supposed to be vibrant and alive, shivering but still okay because he was Kili and Fili had promised to take care of him.
"Kili…"
His brother was silent.
Fili screamed and grabbed Kili's hand, yanking the still Dwarf into his arms. Someone moaned and the fire returned tenfold. Blurry light and shadows cut through the water. Soft pillows cushioned his aching head and blankets trapped him in the inferno. Words ripped through his fevered mind and Fili cried out, squeezing his eyes shut again.
Something warm lay beside him, and instinctively Fili bundled it up. He didn't have to ask to know it was Kili. It was an illusion: a dream: a mirage that would run away when the fever broke. He didn't care. He held Kili to him and snarled when someone drew close. Kili's skin was like ice and he huddled against his brother, wrapping cold hands around burning skin. Fili was the summer and Kili the winter, and together they would find autumn again.
Fili held his brother tighter, ignoring Kili's whimper. No one was going to take his brother away.
Kili wondered if this was what spider poison felt like. He'd felt a spider bite before – often enough to recognize the effects. Ice dribbling down a limb or shoulder, and a lack of feeling that often resulted in an erred hammer stroke. He'd broken his hand one time and hadn't even felt it.
It must have been a pretty big spider to numb his whole body.
Just a nick…. He remembered hazily. Only a scratch. Not even enough to break the skin.
Poison. Someone wanted him disposed of. It must be a good kind, if he was paralyzed and numb and still awake. Orcs like their meat warm, but they wouldn't touch him if it would make them sick, too.
Kili wondered how long they would wait before the feast began.
He struggled, whimpering in terror as the bindings around his arms tightened. Fire licked his cheeks and he realized they had already begun. Alive. He was going to be roasted alive.
"Fee…"
The bindings tightened cruelly and Kili fell limp, unable to fight. At least the fire was warm. Warmth was good. Warmth brought back feeling where the spider bite had numbed him. Maybe if he had the strength, he would be able to wriggle away.
He wondered why he wasn't dead yet.
"The fever's lessening."
Oin smiled wearily. Hope eased the lines on his face. "He'll pull through, Dis."
Golden curls sifted through Dis' fingers and she could have wept. Mustering her control, she forced herself to ask without quavering, "What about Kili?"
Shadows darkened the healer's expression. "It's staved off for now," he said. "But I've never seen the like…"
Dis rubbed her fist over her brow, willing her heart to cease its frantic beating. Mahal save them all… she didn't know how much more of this she could take.
"Perhaps he just needs time." Oin tried to cheer her. "The wound was mighty terrible, and he was always frailer than most."
Baffled, Dis shook her head. Kili was never weak. He pushed and shoved his way through life, surviving where no one could and thriving when all else died. Even as a child, bullied by his stronger peers, he would find his way back and be smiling by the end of the day. Kili was strong. Stronger even than Fili. Stronger than her.
Mahal, she was beginning to remember.
Eyes wide, Dis swiveled around and put her back to Oin. The healer stuttered into silence and watched her concernedly. He tutted to himself and began to gather his supplies, deeming it best to leave her alone. Dis' nails dug into her arms as she stared into the fire, willing the memories to flood her mind.
For an instant, she had a taste. It wasn't much, but it was enough. The feeling was almost tangible and she clung to it, pleading for the familiar sense of motherhood to return.
Dwalin was right after all.
She had another son.
Little side-note: the Muses asked me to offer a wide selection of plastic ware and paper plates with this chapter, should anyone wish to donate cake. Poor things haven't been fed in a while…
Five days until Battle of Five Armies comes out in theaters! (Not counting the international premieres, which make me insanely jealous... jelly...)
Anyone who reviews with spoilers alerts will be toasted and fed to Smaug in the next chapter.
