Day 90

Ninety days. Fíli cannot believe it has been three whole months since he last saw his brother. Three whole months since everything fell to pieces. He still waits for Kíli to poke his head around the corner every minute, that boyish grin of his inviting the conclusion that, once again, he has been up to some kind of mischief.

Every time he turns his head though, expecting to be met with his brother's face and finding nothing, the image of Kíli that seventy-nine years of being perpetually together has etched into his memory becomes just a fraction more vague, his visions of Kíli growing a little less tangible with each day that Fíli has to make it through without his brother at his side. And this terrifies him in ways that words cannot describe.

The three weeks since he has officially become King under the Mountain have kept him even more tied up than the weeks leading up to his coronation, therefore not allowing him much time to meditate on such matters. At night, left alone to grapple with his demons in the dark, his fear of losing this last, vital link to Kíli through his memory of his brother's antics, his particular ways of saying and doing things, the spark in his eyes, will clutch at his heart, squeezing it until he finds himself crying out his brother's name into the blackness surrounding him, begging to be heard.

Tonight, Fíli is determined to not let it come this far, even with the date marking a quarter of a year since he's lost Kíli. He will not sleep, that he can say with certainty, but that does not mean that he has to allow himself to be reduced to the crumbling mess so many nights in the last three months have found him in. The fire in his hearth he has kept burning brightly, bathing his quarters in both light and warmth while outside one of the fierce storms that have characterized this winter is raging, the howling of the wind louder up here in the mountain than in any other place he has ever stayed in.

He has just settled in his favorite chair with a glass of brandy, intending to have a look at the latest version of construction plans for the eastern part of the mountain, when a knock on the door echoes through his room, startling him.

"Come in," he calls, not bothering with formalities at this time of day. While he would not mind a bit of distraction, he fervently hopes that whoever is at the door is not the bearer of bad news. He's not sure that he has the stomach for those today.

To his utmost relief it is Dwalin who sticks his head through the door a second later.

"Am I keeping you from anything of vital importance?" he asks, stepping into the room when Fíli beckons to him.

"I almost wish I could say that you are," Fíli returns, leaning back in his chair once more. "But the sad truth is that I'm just going over the same things others, more capable than me, have been over more than once already to keep myself occupied."

"I thought that you might be," Dwalin says, "given what day it is." He settles down in the chair facing Fíli's with a sigh. "Three months. There were times when I did not think we would make it this far."

Fíli raises an eyebrow. "I thought you never doubted me," he teases, recalling their conversation before his coronation.

Dwalin's lips twitch in one of his rare smiles. "And I did not," he says. "At least not as much as I doubted everyone else. Myself included."

The older Dwarf's smile falters a little and as he gazes into the flames roaring in the fireplace, Fíli can see that it's still there, his pain over losing Thorin. Maybe it's not as sharp, not as raw as it used to be in those days following the battle, but it's still there, a constant companion that might take the form of fond memories on good days and bottomless longing on bad ones. Fíli knows it well, this companion, for it is whom he shares his every waking hour with.

"We have come rather far indeed, I should say," Fíli forces himself to say, as much to remind himself of that fact as to console his obviously troubled friend. "I think—I like to think they would be proud of us."

Dwalin tears his gaze away from the fire and looks at him, his eyes glistening in a manner that causes Fíli's throat to close up. "Aye, they would be, wouldn't they?" A blink and a slow exhaling of breath and then the vulnerability in the Dwarf's eyes is gone, his usual shields back in place. He hefts himself out of his seat to tower above Fíli. "Come then, on your feet. We're going to go do some sparring."

Puzzled by the unexpected turn in their conversation, Fíli hesitates. "Now? I'm not sure if that is such a great idea..." He glances at his right leg in dismay.

Dwalin, following his line of sight, grunts. "Nonsense. I haven't seen you use that stick of yours for weeks. If you're looking for a way to weasel your way out of fighting me, you're going to have to find a better excuse."

Fíli glares at Dwalin. "I'm not scared of fighting you."

Dwalin smirks. "Prove it, then."

Fíli's grumbling as he, too, gets up and goes through the familiar but long-neglected motions of preparing himself for a session of sparring is rather half-hearted. Dwalin is right, of course - there is no reason for him to avoid some physical activity, his healing having progressed exceedingly well in the last few weeks, a fact he has Óin and, he suspects, Sigrid's assistance to the Dwarven healer to thank for. The only real reason why he is still reluctant to resume this once beloved routine of his is the fact that Kíli is not here to do it with him. Many times during the last months he has watched Thad and Flad engage in one of their practice fights and each time it was as if a rock sat in his stomach afterward, making it hard to breathe.

If anyone were to sympathize with those feelings, it would probably be Dwalin, so there is no other partner better suited to finally overcome his reluctance and take up his arms once again. His knives slide into their various holsters with practiced ease, the feeling of their slight weight on his arms, his torso, his legs calming him and soothing any doubts he might still have held. He eyes his sword, the one he chose from Erebor's expansive armory, with weariness. Then he picks up Kíli's blade instead, twirling the sword in his hand once. It's lighter than his own, suited to Kíli's more agile style of fighting. He slides it into the sheath at his belt, deciding that in this way, at least, Kíli will be with him after all.

He turns to find Dwalin watching him. "Ready?" the older Dwarf asks.

Fíli nods. "Let's go."

An hour and a half later finds Fíli panting, a fine sheen of sweat coating his skin and causing his hair to stick to the back of his neck. He revolves slowly on the spot while Dwalin circles him, looking for a weakness, a chance to launch his attack.

"Come on, old man," Fíli taunts him, "I haven't got all night."

He regrets his choice of words immediately, for Dwalin throws himself at him with renewed vigor and Fíli's sword quivers under the force with which Dwalin brings his axe down. Realizing that he does not have the strength to keep this up for much longer, Fíli pretends to be forced to his knees by the attack and then ducks and rolls to the side, jumping up once more as soon as he is out of Dwalin's reach.

"Careful there," he pants, "I don't fancy adding 'The Headless' to my long list of silly nicknames."

"You be careful about who ye're insulting then," Dwalin growls, still looking rather murderous.

"Alright, alright." Fíli lets his blade clatter to the ground and raises both hands in defeat. "I confess myself to be utterly unable to defend myself against your superior strength and skill, Master Dwalin, and surrender." Once Dwalin has lowered his axe, he adds, "Must be those ancient techniques that keep catching me off guard.

The axe is back in Dwalin's hand in the blink of an eye and Fíli yelps in a manner not very becoming of a seasoned warrior as the older Dwarf proceeds to chase him around the deserted training area, the hunt ending with Fíli sprawled on his stomach and Dwalin perched on his back, holding him in a headlock. Fíli kicks his feet, trying his best to throw Dwalin off, but it's no use.

Dwalin's barks of laughter at his young king's futile attempts to free himself and Fíli's accompanying grunts are silenced abruptly when the door at the far end of the room opens, a lone figure standing on the threshold. It's Ásta, the sparse light falling into the doorway from the outer hallway casting her mostly in shadow.

"Oh," she says sounding as if they had just run into each other at the market, "it's you. I heard noises and wondered who might be here at this late hour."

While Dwalin hefts himself off his back and extends an arm to help him up, Fíli has a second or two to think that it is quite a coincidence for Ásta to be down here in this rather remote part of the mountain when most of its other occupants have either retired to their private quarters or are enjoying themselves in one of the taverns. And indeed Ásta has developed a habit of showing up in the same places he is in, her surprise at seeing him not always entirely convincing.

Don't be unkind, Fíli chastises himself, you have certainly given her every reason to believe that you want her near. This is only the natural progression of things - it is not her fault that your own preferences would not be considered entirely... natural by your own kind.

"We were just finishing up here," he says politely while Dwalin busies himself collecting the weapons that got strewn across the room during their session. He has turned his back to them and Fíli has the distinct impression that he is trying to give them some privacy.

Privacy, unfortunately, is just about the last thing he currently craves where Ásta is concerned. Which is beyond foolish, really. Since that one, rather private moment on the night of his coronation, Fíli has found himself in a handful of similar situations with the Blacklock princess and all of those have been extremely pleasant. Or they would have been, were it not for a nagging guilt and an annoyingly persistent feeling of doing the wrong thing that overcome him whenever he and Ásta engage in more bodily expressions of their growing friendship.

In the last few days he has begun to avoid her altogether, running from her just like he is running from the realization that his heart is not tricked as easily as he had initially hoped it would be. He knew that this would be difficult, of course, knew it from the moment he first felt his heart give a little jolt at the though of a certain Bowman's daughter, but he would have thought himself capable of a larger amount of self-control.

Ásta would be a fool not to notice his sudden reticence. Fíli has no way of knowing what she makes of it, given that he barely knows her, after all. What he can say, however, is that his behavior has the opposite of its intended effect in the sense that Ásta has now become prone to seeking his closeness in more public settings, forcing him to either acknowledge his preference for her as a suitress or to risk insulting her rather gravely in front of the whole world to see.

As she is doing now, sauntering over to put a hand against his shirt clad chest, the neckline gaping open to reveal rather more of his bare skin than usual. Her fingertips trace the smooth edges of Kíli's rune stone where it rests just above his heart.

"I would have come sooner and watched if I had known you were down here," she says, and the slightly suggestive tone of her voice sends a little tingle down Fíli's spine which, more than anything else, serves to irritate him. It's as if his mind, his heart and his body are in a constant state of war, one trying to triumph over the others and, in doing so, making him act like the biggest of fools.

Once again ignoring the demands of his body, he wraps his fingers around Ásta's hand and gently stirs it away from his chest, holding it chastely for a moment before releasing her altogether. "Another time, maybe," he says, ignoring the shadow that passes over her features at his words. "Please allow Master Dwalin and myself to escort you to your chambers – you never know whom you might run into at this time of day."

Dwalin turns sharply and for a moment he looks about to protest, but at a quick, pleading glance from Fíli he finishes gathering up their weapons and crosses the room to join them, handing Fíli a number of smaller blades. "Ready when you are."

Ásta looks dissatisfied with the whole situation, but allows herself to be guided out of the training area with Fíli's hand against the small of her back. The three of them begin their trek through the maze that is the kingdom under the mountain in silence, none of them entirely comfortable.

"Should we go riding tomorrow?" Ásta asks once they have ascended to the higher levels once more and are nearing the portion of the mountain where their guests from Rhûn have their quarters.

"I cannot, I'm afraid," Fíli answers. "I have a council meeting in the morning and am expected to approve the final stages of construction work in the forges in the afternoon."

That latter part is a half-truth only – while his presence will certainly be appreciated during the inspection of the forges it is by no means mandatory with other, more specialized members of his council already having been appointed to the task. Dwalin knows this, too, of course, but Fíli is grateful that he does not even quirk an eyebrow when the lie tumbles from his lips.

Ásta looks resigned, her lips pursed. Immediately Fíli feels sorry for brushing her off like this – again – and adds, "The day after tomorrow, maybe?"

She smiles then, but it does not quite reach her eyes. Too often has he canceled their meetings at the last minute already. "Until then," she says, turning to him. For a moment Fíli thinks that she might kiss him, but then she glances at Dwalin and merely clasps his hand in hers for a moment, her fingers warm and firm against his. She steps back and bows her head in Dwalin's direction. "Master Dwalin."

And with that she turns and slowly advances down the corridor, disappearing in the shadows before too long. Fíli looks after her for a few moments, hating himself for making something that could have been a good thing so uncomfortable and complicated. But in Mahal's name, he cannot seem to help himself.

He turns to find Dwalin gazing at him, his expression unreadable. "Come on," the older Dwarf says gruffly. "Let's get you to bed."

Their journey back to Fíli's rooms is also conducted in silence, but it's much less strained than when Ásta was with them. Still, Fíli can sense that there is something troubling Dwalin. Suspecting that it has something to do with his less than honorable conduct, Fíli eventually stops and turns to face his friend. "Out with it, then," he says. "Whatever you have on your mind, I'm certain that I deserve to hear it."

Dwalin arches an eyebrow but says nothing at first and Fíli has the distinct impression that he is weighing his next words carefully. "As king," he finally begins, "you may find yourself in a position, from time to time, where your own... desires are at odds with what your people want and expect you to do."

Fíli frowns. How much exactly does Dwalin know about his desires? "You do not need to remind me of my obligations with regard to choosing a wife," he says aloud. "Trust me, that issue is never far from my mind."

Dwalin holds up a hand. "Won't you let me finish, lad. What I was going to say is that I know you feel cornered with all those decisions being forced onto you. And that it is alright for you to feel this way. And, well... " He stumbles a bit here, clearly not entirely comfortable with this topic, but composes himself rather quickly. "And to want certain things. The question is, how do you handle wanting to do one thing while being expected to do another."

Fíli merely stares at Dwalin. Unless Balin has discussed the matter with him – which seems unlikely – he cannot imagine that Dwalin knows anything about what has transpired between him and Sigrid, much less how she has haunted both his heart and his mind ever since. Still, what Dwalin just said describes the dilemma he has found himself in over the past few weeks with uncanny accuracy. "I believe I understand the protocol rather well when it comes to that," he says evasively, not daring to look at Dwalin directly, for fear of what truth his friend might read in his eyes. "I'm allowed to want, but not to have."

If Dwalin is at all curious about what it is precisely that Fíli wants, he does not let it on. "If that his how you wish to see it," he says brusquely, "be my guest."

Something in his tone makes Fíli look up. "You say that as if I had a choice."

"You do," Dwalin says simply. "We all do. The question is, what do we do with that choice? Are we brave enough to make the unpopular choice or do we let our circumstances dictate which path we walk?"

"This is not merely a matter of choice, though, but of responsibility," Fíli argues, pinching the bridge of his nose in an unconscious imitation of Balin. Somehow, this conversation is giving him a headache. It feels too much as if they are dancing around the heart of the issue, both of them playing their cards close to their chests.

Dwalin sighs, looking as tired as Fíli feels. "I know you have dedicated yourself solely to your role as king. Mahal, it was me who asked you to do so, all those weeks ago. And now I find myself fearing that you will lose yourself in it, like Thorin did for a little while, all those months ago."

"That was different," Fíli counters, thinking of the treasure horde which poisoned his uncles mind. He would gladly part with every coin, every gem under this mountain if it meant peace for his people.

"Was it, though?" Dwalin asks, his expression grave. "Thorin believed that he had our best interests at heart and was willing to pay a heavy price for his actions. Do not confuse guilt with responsibility. And do not sacrifice yourself for what you think is the greater good where maybe it is not necessary."

Fíli gapes at him. This sounds almost like Dwalin telling him not to marry Ásta unless he really wants to – which cannot be right, can it? "Balin believes this to be quite necessary indeed."

Dwalin grunts in agreement. "My brother means well – in this matter, though, I believe he judges with his mind rather than his heart."

"And you do not?" Having those more personal conversations with Dwalin is all very well, but hearing the often ill-tempered Dwarf speak of using his heart rather than his mind – or, even more likely, his axe – still strikes Fíli as a bit outlandish.

"I do not want a king who is broken, bitter," Dwalin answers without missing a beat. "You may not feel that way now, but you, too, deserve happiness. Maybe even more than most of us, considering the weight you carry upon your shoulders."

Fíli takes a step back and leans against the cold wall, resting his head against the stones. He closes his eyes. "I cannot make that my priority."

"And I would not ask you to," Dwalin returns with an impatient scowl. "All I ask is that you do not sacrifice yourself just to make a point. Just because you feel guilty for still being here, with the rest of us."

Dwalin's words hit rather close to home and Fíli does not even bother denying the truth behind some of the things said. Opening his eyes again, he stares at the high, vaulted ceiling for a few moments before returning his gaze to Dwalin. "You know that Balin would kill you if he ever found out about us having this conversation."

Dwalin smirks, but Fíli does not miss the justified flicker of apprehension in his eyes. "Let me handle my brother."

Seeing that everything that ought to have been said between them – and a lot more – has been discussed, Fíli pushes away from the wall again. "You gave me much to think about."

Dwalin bows his head in one of his rare, but always entirely sincere displays of servitude. "I hope I did not add to your burdens by speaking so boldly. I do mean well."

At this, Fíli steps forward and clasps his hand on Dwalin's shoulder. "I know you do. And I hope I shall not live to see the day where you dare not speak your mind in front of me, my friend. For that would be a sad day indeed."

Dwalin holds his gaze for a moment and then inclines his head, reaching up to briefly - mind you, very briefly - pat Fíli's hand before moving away to continue on their path to the royal quarters.

As Fíli follows his friend through the tunnels his footsteps are measured while his mind is in a whirl. Even though his heart has been protesting this all along, he has so far not doubted that he would have no choice but to follow his duty as laid out by Balin. What if it's not that simple, though? What if, by blindly complying with what others believe to be the right thing, he will endanger the safety of his kingdom rather than protect it? What if he does have a choice?

And what would that choice be? the part of himself that has been lost in the dark since the battle sneers. Whisking away the bowman's daughter to that mountain of yours and pretend that what is between you will stand a chance against the relentless scheming of politics?

His step nearly falters at the thought of bringing Sigrid into the whole mess that is his life, but then he rights himself again, squaring his shoulders. It is too late for such wild fancies anyway – his efforts at forging the foundation for a union with Ásta may not have been successful with regard to convincing his own heart, but they did certainly manage to drive Sigrid away from him. Remembering the look of hurt and betrayal in her eyes on the night of his coronation, Fíli feels confident to say that this ship has sailed. And that's probably for the better, no matter how much it hurts him still to think of her and what could have been, in another life.

No. If he does indeed choose to heed Dwalin's advice, the tender spot in his heart which belongs to Bard's daughter cannot be allowed to be the deciding factor.

But then, what ought to be that deciding factor instead? The vague feeling of wrongness that overcomes him of late in his interactions with Ásta? His reluctance to become trapped in an arranged marriage? Marriages have been arranged for as long as anyone can remember, and while most Dwarven unions are based on mutual agreement and affection, the circumstances are certainly slightly different for the King of Erebor. Can he really allow himself to be so selfish as to absolve himself of the obligations his position imposes on him?

Questions above questions, none of which he will answer tonight, in the seclusion of his rooms, alone with his thoughts. Which is why, upon reaching their destination, he turns to Dwalin who is just about to leave. "Join me for a drink before bed?"

If Dwalin recognizes his reluctance to be on his own in his tone, he does not let it on and merely inclines his head dutifully. "Of course. Wouldn't mind a sip or two of that brandy you keep stowed away in there."

As Fíli holds open the door to his friend with a wry grin, he has a premonition that each of them will have more than a sip or two of the stuff before the night is over. Oh well, there's certainly worse ways to spend a sleepless night than drinking with a friend.

... to be continued...

A/N: Fíli is finally coming around, it would seem. Have some patience with him, the guy has been through a lot (at my hand, hehe).These are some crazy times for most of us – if you are currently on lockdown stay strong, stay patient, stay positive. Read some fanfiction to escape the madness of it all.