A/N: It took me a lot longer to reach this point than I had originally planned, but here we are. If you've read The Gift you know what's coming and may recognize some of the dialogue in this chapter. Still, I hope you enjoy reading it all from Fíli's POV. Also, this is not the end of this story – a few chapters to go, still.
Day 192
The one hundred ninety-second day without his brother begins as all others have since Fíli and his company of Dwarves left Erebor to travel back to the Blue Mountains. A modest breakfast around the campfire, packing up their belongings, making sure that they did not leave any traces that would make it easy to follow them. And then they're on the move again.
Summer has finally arrived and appears to have made up its mind to stay, the days growing progressively warmer as they approached the mountain range. Today, the air is humid and the absence of even the smallest of breezes is turning everyone into a red-faced, sweaty mess which is not conducive to anybody's mood. When they finally reach the northernmost of the two unnamed rivers coming together as the Gladden a few miles to the east, a collective sigh of relief is breathed by the company under Fíli's command.
While most of his companions climb down the riverbank to seek some refreshment from the gurgling waters, Fíli comes to stand next to Dwalin, who is glaring at the mountains. With Dwalin, that does not necessarily have to mean anything, but still Fíli experiences quite a bit of apprehension when he asks, "How much further?"
"Not much," Dwalin grunts, to Fíli's immense relief. "If we wanted to, then I believe we could be on the pass in two hours' time."
"So... that is not what we want then, I presume?"
Dwalin gives a small shake of his head. "I would advise against it. Everyone's worn out and bound to make mistakes on the steep and narrow paths. It might be better if we made camp and got some rest – all of us, including you."
The last part is said with a knowing scowl in Fíli's direction. He has gotten even less repose than the others these past few nights, his incessant dreams making prolonged periods of sleep all but impossible. Fíli gives an absent nod. He doubts that he will be able to rest properly until they have finally made it into Eriador, but still he cannot argue with Dwalin's logic.
"Alright, then. This will also give us some time to scout the area and make sure that we are not running headlong into another ambush."
"Precisely," Dwalin returns, his lips twisted in distaste at the memories of the misfortunes that have befallen them in the past few weeks. The seasoned warrior has a tendency to regard every goblin assault as a personal affront, particularly if their circumstances force their company to retreat rather than see a confrontation through to the end.
A rustling in the undergrowth alerts Fíli and Dwalin to another presence, and they turn around to come face to face with a panting Glorin, his red mane plastered to his forehead with sweat. A rare grin lights up the usually so sullen soldier's face.
"You ought to come see this, Your Majesty."
Fíli and Dwalin exchange a look, but then Fíli shrugs and nods to Glorin to lead the way. The stout Dwarf does not usually approach Fíli directly unless the matter is very pressing indeed and so Fíli suspects that whatever Glorin is going to show him will be worth his time.
He's not wrong.
A slow smile spreads across his lips as he takes in the scene that presents itself to them after a short hike upstream. The source of the river, as it turns out, is a waterfall that descends from the mountain range looming above them, the water forming a shallow but wide pool before the current carries it away towards the Gladden. Some of Glorin's men have already stripped down and are wading into the water, laughing and joking as they do so. The area is densely populated with trees, the air in the shade provided by them pleasantly fresh. After days of traveling over what has been mostly rocky terrain, Fíli's senses rejoice over this most welcome change and he breathes deeply, inhaling the fragrant air. Maybe he will manage to find some rest tonight after all.
He tears his gaze away from the spectacle nature has put on display before him to find Glorin looking at him expectantly.
"It's magnificent," he says with a grin.
"Wait until I show you the best part," Glorin retorts and turns away from the water's edge, leading Dwalin and Fíli around it and towards the waterfall. The roar of the water is near deafening up close and Fíli's small sound of protest as Glorin proceeds to head directly into the waterfall is drowned out by the general amount of noise.
It is only when Glorin pokes his head back out to look at them expectantly that Fíli realizes that the head of his guard has not in fact walked into the water but has gone around it. He raises a quizzical eyebrow at Dwalin and, finding his friend none the wiser, shrugs before following Glorin.
Once his eyes have gotten used to the dim light, Fíli realizes that he is standing at the mouth of a large cavern concealed behind the waterfall. Advancing a few steps, the noise of the waterfall fades and Fíli is surprised how tranquil the large space appears. Glorin his standing in the middle of the cavern, a satisfied smile plastered across his wide face.
"What do you say, Your Majesty? There are more caves such as this one if you climb uphill for a bit. I've sent my most reliable scouts to investigate, but so far everything appears to be secure."
Fíli takes another look around. The air is fresh and the ground surprisingly dry. He nods. "We will make camp here tonight. Dori is convinced that there will be a storm later and if he's right, then we shall all do well to be sheltered in here. Go and get the others and bring them here, please. Then we can finally get some well-deserved rest. Ah, and Glorin—" his voice halts the stout Dwarf already halfway out of the cave, eager to comply with his king's request, "—well done. Your instinct and keen eyesight may well grant us all a good chance at a truly peaceful night."
Glorin inclines his head to hide what Fíli thinks must be a blush. "At your service, Your Majesty," he mumbles and hurries out of the cave.
Once he's gone, Fíli turns around to find Dwalin watching him, one corner of his mouth upturned.
"What?" Fíli asks.
"Nothing." Dwalin tries to put on an innocent face and, as might be expected, fails miserably. "It's just that if you keep going at this rate, our people at Ered Luin will follow you back to Erebor without even a moment's hesitation."
Fíli raises his eyebrows. "And why would that be?"
"Because you are a good king, of course."
As always when complimented on his ability to lead, Fíli has the impulse to object and barely manages to keep his mouth shut, hanging his head instead. His struggle must have shown on his face, for Dwalin adds with a laugh, "Someday you'll see it, too. What we all see when we look at you."
And with that he leaves Fíli alone to stare about himself in the large cavern, thinking that Dwarves are a decidedly sentimental bunch after all.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
It takes them a few hours to get everything set up at the caverns, but by the time when afternoon slowly blends into evening, everyone has found their place and a sense of peace and almost festive joy permeates their camp.
Fíli settles back against his bedroll, his legs propped up in front of him while he writes into his journal. Voices drift up to him from the lower caverns and he smiles to himself when he recognizes Bofur's singing amongst them. Once darkness has fallen properly, they will need to exercise more caution, but for the time being, let them have their fun. It's been a long couple of days, and they all deserve some respite. He might even join them later, have a drink, sing a couple of songs to take his mind off the worries that continue nagging him despite today's fortunate turn of events. For now, though, he intends to stay up here in one of the caves far from the ground and enjoy a rare moment of privacy.
Currently, the only other two occupants of the smaller cavern are Dwalin and Ori, the former of which is focused on cleaning his weapons while the latter is leaning over his own journal, no doubt chronicling their progress. Aside from the distant voices and the rushing of the waterfall in the background, it is quiet in the cave, and Fíli relishes this chance to untangle his thoughts and focus on the things he wants Sigrid to learn about his journey when, one day, she gets to read his notes. How he sometimes wakes from his dreams with the memory of her touch, her scent, her voice sending his heart racing, how every beautiful view he encounters on his travels makes him wish that he might be able to show it to her some day. How her unwavering belief in him makes it so much easier to bear the weight of the responsibility for those traveling with him.
He writes a few lines, feeling the tension in his shoulders and neck ease as he pours his feelings unto the page, his more sinister thoughts drifting into the background for now. But, alas, it is not meant to last.
A roll of thunder in the distance coincides with Glorin entering the cavern, his mouth forming a hard line beneath his bushy, red beard. Fíli closes his journal warily, shoving it underneath his bed roll as he makes to rise.
"What's the matter?"
Glorin gives a sharp bow before launching into his report. "My sentinels report suspicious activity further down the river. It is not enough to start worrying just yet, but I would like to request your permission to take my men to further investigate this."
Fíli nods. "Whatever you deem necessary." At that moment, a loud howl rips through the silence of the night, causing the hairs at the back of Fíli's neck to rise. What new atrocity was this, now? He turns to Glorin once more. "Instruct the others to remain inside the caves for now and to stay vigilant until we have heard back from you."
"Yes, Your Majesty. We will return as swiftly as possible."
Another bow and then Glorin has disappeared again, the force of his steps indicating his dissatisfaction with the situation. Fíli can sympathize – he, too, had hoped that they would be spared trouble for once. He turns to Dwalin, who has also risen, looking, as always, ready to throw himself into combat at a moment's notice.
"Get the others up here, please," Fíli says. "If we are not allowed to get some rest we might as well talk strategy."
Dwalin grunts in agreement and follows Glorin without further ado to fetch the remainder of the Dwarves from Thorin's original company. Glorin and his men are equipped with excellent skill with regard to scouting for locations where they can make camp, securing the perimeter and defending them against any threats that might lurk in the darkness. But when it comes to planning the steps of their journey and weighing their various options against one another, it is those whom Fíli has known the longest that he trusts the most, their shared history engendering a mutual understanding which he cannot hope to find with anyone else. Aside from Thad and Flad, possibly, but he knows better than to drag them away from their campfire and their bottle of mead – they'll come when he needs them. Right now, though, it is the counsel of the more experienced among his friends which he seeks to obtain.
While he and Ori wait for Dwalin to return with Bifur, Dori, Gloin, Nori, and Bofur, Fíli steps out from behind the waterfall to gaze at the lands below, now shrouded in darkness. The wind has picked up in force and the sky is hung with dark clouds. As he stares into the blackness below, Fíli experiences a sharp pricking at the back of his neck, his whole body thrumming in anticipation of some unnamed, future event. It's just the approaching storm, he reasons with himself, the air around him crackling with tension. And yet he cannot shake the feeling that something big is about to happen, something that will change things on a fundamental level.
xXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
The worst of the storm appears to have passed already when Fíli's meeting with his brethren is finally interrupted by one of Glorin's men, informing them that they have apprehended two individuals that were allegedly seeking to invade their camp. One of them, curiously enough, is reported to be a Dwarf of unknown allegiance.
"What would one of our own kind be lurkin' about in the woods for?" Bofur asks when the messenger has left again after informing them that Glorin will bring the prisoners to them within the hour.
"Plotting an assassination, possibly?" Gloin suggests with an eyebrow raised in Fíli's direction.
"Ah, come on, we may not be a race known for their genteel manners, but surely that would be a bit extreme," Bofur argues.
"I can think of a few clans that might hold a grudge," Dwalin grumbles. "You, Bofur, should know better than most of us what they are capable of."
Fíli feels several pairs of eyes rest on him as he frowns, his eyes fixed on the fire they have kept burning during their council meeting. Could this be the retribution by the Blacklocks Balin has been worried about for months? It's not altogether impossible, but still improbable at best.
"How would they even know where we are? We've strayed from our original path more than once," he reminds his brethren.
"Yes, and who is that other prisoner if it's not a Dwarf? Who would one of our own be travelling with through these lands?"
That question raised by Nori sends the others into a series of wild speculations as to the identity of Glorin's prisoner to which Fíli listens only halfheartedly. So far, the reports do not indicate immediate danger to him or his people. Still, that ominous sense of foreboding has him firmly in its grasp and he cannot shake the feeling that those prisoners are key to whatever is going to happen tonight. Which leaves the question how the presence of just two people could possibly affect the course of fate in a manner as meaningful as the tight sensation in his chest seems to suggest.
His musings are put to an end when the sound of several sets of steps echoes through the cavern. Fíli rises from his seat by the campfire to watch Glorin enter, followed by two Dwarves that are each holding onto one arm of the prisoner whom they escort into the cave.
He's wearing a cloak of some dark, rather flimsy-looking fabric, the large hood pulled far enough into his face to conceal it entirely. Other than his height – taller than Glorin's men, but not tall enough to be either man or Elf – nothing about him looks particularly Dwarven.
All of his attention focused on the newcomers, Fíli is dimly aware of the others forming a loose half circle around him and he takes a step forward to meet Glorin at the center of the cavern. At a gesture from the redhead, the two soldiers bring the prisoner forward, forcing him onto his knees with rather more force than Fíli would have deemed necessary, given the fact that so far he has not appeared to put up any sort of resistance. The prisoner remains slumped forward on the ground as Glorin's men step back and Fíli wonders if he's hurt. Glorin and his men tend to be a little too eager to carry out what they believe to be their king's wishes and Fíli resolves to have a word with his head guard about unnecessary displays of violence at the next opportunity.
Meanwhile, Glorin has taken up his stance in front of the prisoner and addresses Fíli in his most official tone. "My King, my men and I have apprehended this one not far from here, plotting how to invade our camp together with an elf-woman. Says he's a blacksmith from Bree, but if you ask me, I wouldn't believe anything that comes out of the mouth of a Dwarf in league with an Elf."
An Elf? That is a piece of news Fíli was not prepared for. It answers his unspoken question, though, why he is presented with only one prisoner when there are said to be two. Glorin's general distrust of their race would induce him to put any Elf found sneaking about in the dark into custody directly and not bring them before his king first. Also, this new development ought to dispel his brethren's concern about a Blacklock attack. Ásta's family would never consort with Elves, no matter how grievous Fíli's insult to her.
Intrigued and more than a little confused, Fíli steps closer to stand directly before the prisoner, Glorin moving out of his way with a little bow. "That may be so," he says to Glorin, "but he is a Dwarf nevertheless and as such deserves to be treated with a certain measure of respect." He looks down at the huddled form. "Rise. No harm shall come to you until your guilt is proven."
The figure in front of him does not react. In fact, the stranger appears to have frozen entirely once Fíli addressed him, his cloaked form as still and rigid as a statue.
"Oi!" Glorin kneels down next to his prisoner, grabbing him roughly by the neck to drag him up. "The King just gave you an order. Show some respect!"
"Leave him be!"
Fíli speaks without a second thought, an unexpected surge of protectiveness for this unfamiliar Dwarf coursing through him. He's never entirely agreed with some of the methods Glorin and his men like to employ, but since they usually get the job done rather efficiently, he has refrained from interfering. Now, though, the force of his indignation on behalf of the prisoner takes him by surprise – Glorin as well, it appears, for he promptly releases his hold onto the prisoner's neck and steps back.
Fíli steps a little closer still to the stranger who now barely appears to be able to hold himself upright.
"What is your name?"
Again, his question is met with silence, the only sign that it has been heard a visible tremor that runs through the prisoner's body.
Glorin, eager to make up for his little slip from a few moments ago, answers on behalf of the silent stranger.
"Says his name is Torlig, son of Thog. I've never heard of either, so unless he's—"
"It is not."
The voice which interrupts Glorin is so low, choked almost, that Fíli struggles to make out the words. The whispers of his brethren cease abruptly and in the silence which falls over the cavern, Fíli can hear the inexplicably fast beating of his heart in his own ears.
"What was that?" Surprise has robbed Glorin's voice of its previous harshness and he sounds genuinely confused.
"I said," the figure cowering on the ground speaks up again, more clearly this time, "it's not. My name. It isn't Torlig."
Upon hearing the prisoner's voice echo through the cavern, Fíli has stopped breathing. Now, the air rushes back into his lungs with almost painful force and he takes another half step forward, his knees threatening to give away.
"Show yourself," he hears himself say, even though he already knows what it is he will see when the prisoner reveals his face. Which does not make it any less impossible.
With excruciating slowness, the figure on the ground begins to lift his head, the flames from the torches and fires burning in the cavern gradually illuminating his features. Fíli's world grinds to an abrupt halt. It cannot be. It cannot – and yet it is his brother's face that he finds himself staring into.
The noise of the waterfall suddenly seems very loud indeed, or maybe it is just the sound of his own blood rushing through his body which Fíli is hearing. He can't speak, can't move, can only roam Kíli's familiar features with his eyes as the seconds tick by.
Tears are glistening on Kíli's cheeks, bronzed and a little weather-beaten like he, too, has been on the road for some time. His cheeks seem a little thinner, the shadow of his beard a little darker than when Fíli last saw him, but it is most assuredly him. Which does not make any sense at all.
Their eyes lock and Fíli remains transfixed under his brother's stare, incapable of any sort of reaction. Truth be told, he is waiting for the image before him to simply fade away into nothingness. Too often during those long months since the battle has his mind tormented him with visions of Kíli for him to trust that this is not another of those instances.
As he looks on, though, Kíli lifts trembling hands to pull back his hood, revealing his dark hair, longer than Fíli remembers and tied together at the back of his neck. A collective gasp echoes through the cavern and before Fíli has time to process the fact that either everyone else is having the same hallucination as him or it really is Kíli kneeling before him, Bofur is rushing forward to embrace the long-lost member of their company.
"Kíli!"
Still, Fíli is unable to move, the words exchanged between Kíli and Bofur barely registering with him through the haze which clouds both his mind and his senses. For weeks he has insisted that Kíli is still alive, somewhere, and even in the months after he accepted that they would not find him, he has been unable to shake the feeling that his and Kíli's story is not quite over yet. Now, though, that his intuition is proven accurate, he cannot believe what is before his very eyes. Many times he has imagined what it would be like to find Kíli again, to have him returned to his side. Now, though, he feels numb, paralyzed even, and entirely unable to comprehend what is happening.
Finally, Bofur asks the question that is most pressing at the moment – where has Kíli been, all this time? And how come he is here, now?
Instead of answering, Kíli raises his eyes to Fíli once more and in their depths, Fíli sees some of the helpless bewilderment he, too, is experiencing. There's also a fair bit of hesitation to be found in Kíli's gaze and something else, something darker. Guilt, perhaps?
"I—I don't understand," Kíli says. "I watched you fall. You died."
So did you, Fíli wants to say, but still the words won't come, the weight on his chest making speech impossible. All his grief, his tears, his nightmares – has it really been for nothing?
"Only he didn't," Bofur replies when Fíli does not answer. "Or at least he did not stay dead for very long – depending on how you look at it. Either way, it was a proper miracle. Earned himself a new nickname, your brother. Fíli the Deathless. Fantastic name for a king if you ask me."
Today, Bofur's mention of his invented nickname fails to provoke the usual eye roll on Fíli's part. What is being said does not really register with him, for it does not make much of a difference. He's alive still, and so is Kíli, when either of them thought that the opposite was the case. How such a thing, such a cruel misunderstanding, is possible, eludes Fíli as he continues to stare at his brother, who is now gazing at him with equal shares of awe and confusion.
Appearing to come to some sort of conclusion, Kíli finally takes Bofur's proffered arm and hauls himself to his feet, coming to stand in front Fíli. The rest of the cavern fades away as the brothers study one another. Fíli's eyes travel over Kíli's features, taking it all in with this curious sense of detachment that has dulled his perception ever since he laid eyes on his brother. Even as he watches tears well up in Kíli's eyes, his own eyes remain dry. Only when Kíli lifts his hand to place his palm over Fíli's heart, does he feel something inside him start to crack at last, his brother's touch thawing at the rigidness that has taken possession of him.
"It really is you."
Kili's words, whispered with heartbreaking tenderness, are what give Fíli the final push and then he's moving, grabbing at fistfuls of Kíli's cloak to pull him against himself, holding on so tightly that neither of them can breathe properly. He's not sure whether the sobs that send tremors through his body are his own or Kíli's, but it does not matter. Now, here, they are joined as one when he had already thought them separated forever.
Over Kíli's shoulder he sees Dwalin usher the other Dwarves out of the cavern but pays no heed to the curious and concerned glances they throw in his and Kíli's direction. This moment belongs to him and his brother only; there will be time to speak with the others later. Before he, too, leaves, Dwalin exchanges a last look with Fíli and it can only be accredited to the fact that in the last months he has spent more time than ever before with the older Dwarf that the slight glint in Dwalin's eye does not escape his notice. Having Kíli back – it changes everything, for all of them.
Alone at last, Fíli does not let go of his brother for a long time, and when he does, it is only to cradle Kíli's face in his palms so that he may look at him once more, a small part of him still not entirely convinced that this is not the most wonderful dream of all times. And yet Kíli's skin is warm against his fingers, the feeling of the stubble of his beard scratching against his skin too real to be a dream.
"I knew it," Fíli says, unashamed of the fact that his voice is breaking. "I just knew that you were too stubborn to die."
"I suppose I am." Kíli's laugh is exactly as he remembers it, and Fíli moves his thumb across his brother's cheek to catch a tear as it spills from his smiling eyes. A part of him wants to stay like this indefinitely, to bask in the joy that having Kíli with him brings. However, his mind refuses to make things quite so easy for him and after another few moments he finds himself growing restless with all the unanswered questions that Kíli's return raises.
"What happened to you?" he asks as he lays his hand on Kíli's shoulder, unwilling to let him out of his grasp just yet. "I was convinced that you had been taken by goblins and expected a demand for ransom any day. But nothing ever came. If it wasn't goblins, then who took you?"
Kíli shakes his head and Fíli is taken aback by the flicker of hesitation he watches dance across his brother's features. "No one took me."
"Then what happened? Where have you been?"
He prepares to listen to some wild tale explaining his brother's disappearance, but as he watches Kíli press his lips together and avert his eyes, it dawns on him that there is no such tale forthcoming. Kíli has never been very good at hiding his emotions, particularly not from him, and so it does not take Fíli very long to discern the guilty look on Kíli's face. Only why Kíli would feel guilty is beyond him – they both thought each other dead and while that has been a terrible misunderstanding, it is nothing that either of them could have helped, is it? Unless... unless, of course, it was not entirely an accident on Kíli's part that the world thought him dead for months now.
Frowning, Fíli lets his eyes drift from Kíli's face, properly taking in the rest of his brother's appearance for the first time. He already noticed the rather odd cloak when Kíli was first brought before him; now he sees that under this cloak Kíli is dressed in an outlandish assortment of clothes, consisting mostly of fine, dark fabrics that fit close to his skin and make him look taller and leaner than Fíli ever remembers seeing him. This outfit of his brother is completed by a pair of boots that do not look very substantial, soft leather and thin soles that would have made Fíli snort in derision under different circumstances. Now, though, he narrows his eyes as he tries to determine where he has seen this kind of clothing before and why on earth his brother would feel compelled to dress in it.
"What are you—"he begins and that is when things fall into place. He closes his eyes – this cannot be true. And yet it is the only explanation that makes even the least bit of sense. "Glorin said they found you together with an Elf... It's her, isn't it? You weren't taken. You left. You left to be with her."
He would have thought that he has gained a rather intimate understanding of what it means to be in pain after Kíli's disappearance. For a while, it was all that he ever seemed to feel – every single moment, every emotion, used to be laced with the pain of his loss, his grief, his guilt. But this – this is a new sort of pain altogether and the blow as which he experiences Kíli's betrayal nearly brings him to his knees.
"It wasn't like that."
When Fíli musters the strength to look at his brother once more he finds Kíli's eyes widened with both fear and sorrow, pleading with Fíli to believe him. He cannot.
"Was it not?" Fíli now relinquished his hold onto his brother and takes a step back. "Are you telling me you did not abandon your own people in the full knowledge that they would think you dead – that they would mourn you – to run after an elf-woman you conceived an ill-advised infatuation with?"
The venom in his voice clearly catches Kíli off guard and he stammers his response.
"No, I—well, yes, if you put it like that, but—" Fíli watches Kíli fumble for words even though he already knows that there is not much Kíli could possibly say to make this right. He's gone too far this time in his impulsiveness. "Listen, it is not that simple," Kíli tries again after a pause. "I thought you were dead – no, not just that, I watched you die. I was half-mad with grief and when I learned that Thorin had fallen as well, I... I just could not stay. I couldn't."
For a moment, the sudden mention of Thorin has Fíli's mind reeling. Why would his uncle's death drive Kíli away from Erebor, away from everyone and everything they have fought for? His mind flashes back to the days after the battle, to how he felt after waking up not only without his beloved brother by his side but also without his uncle there to guide him and he understands what it was that influenced Kíli's choice. Which does not mean that he can forgive him for it.
"You thought you would be made King and ran away from the responsibility."
"I am not cut out to be a king." Kíli's tone is desperate, pleading. "You of all people should know that. I thought that by removing myself I was doing what is best for our people."
"Don't you mean what is best for yourself? How awfully convenient that your decisions led you straight into the arms of that Elf you are so obsessed with." The words are out before Fíli has time to check himself, but then again, he does not really want to contain his anger. Kíli may think that he does not understand what his little brother has gone through after the battle, but he does. He's gone through it himself, after all, and unlike his brother he had nowhere to hide from the horror of it.
"That is not why I did what I did," Kíli insists, but Fíli is not even listening to him. Now that he has begun to allow some of his anger to rise to the surface, it refuses to be contained any longer.
"Do you think I felt ready to be King?" He thinks he's shouting now, but it's difficult to tell with the loud ringing in his ears. "Mahal, how many times did I wish I could simply escape from it all. But it is not that easy, not for me at least. I don't get to run off and fall into bed with the next best wench."
Fíli is not sure what happens next, the haze of anger clouding his senses making it a little difficult to keep track of things, but suddenly he finds himself being nearly choked by Kíli, his face twisted into a threatening snarl.
"Now be very careful what you say. That is my wife you are talking about."
Wait, what?
"Your wife."
Surprise has struck Fíli like a blow to his face and his anger has dissipated in its wake, leaving him to gape at his brother with what must be an excellent imitation of a fish.
"That's right," Kíli says, a little calmer but no less threatening. "Now you can call me all the things you like – and I probably deserve most of them – but I will not allow you to speak of her with disrespect."
"You are married to an Elf?"
"To Tauriel," Kíli confirms unnecessarily and Fíli bites back a sarcastic comment about how he would have bet his gold on Legolas, if anyone. Instead he allows Kíli to continue, listening more calmly than before. "But that didn't happen until very recently," Kíli now explains. "I did not leave to be with her – I left because I could not stay, not without you by my side. Fíli, I was so sure that you were dead. If there had been even the slightest of doubts in my heart about that I would not have—"
Kíli breaks off here and Fíli watches as his brother becomes lost in his thoughts for a few moments before giving himself a small shake, pushing away whatever memories have derailed his train of thought. "Well, we certainly wouldn't be standing here right now," Kíli says, lifting his eyes back to meet Fíli's stare.
Kíli may be many things, but he's not a liar. There must be a lot of things still that he has not told Fíli about his disappearance, but those that he has revealed are truthful, Fíli has no doubt about that. If only that would make it easier to accept them.
Overcome by sudden weariness, Fíli sighs deeply and frowns at the ground, unable to confront the raw guilt in his brother's eyes any longer.
"For all I know I was supposed to be dead," he admits. "For a moment, at least, everyone thought I was. But then... You heard them. They think it was a miracle. To be honest, though, I have no idea what happened."
"I do."
Surprise prompts Fíli to lift his head once more and he finds Kiki gazing at him with an expression of calm certainty.
"You do?"
Kíli nods, once, and takes a deep breath. Then he proceeds, with perfect sincerity, to tell Fíli one of the most fantastic tales he has ever heard, beginning with the Elvenking himself stepping in to save Kíli's life after he was mortally wounded atop Ravenhill, followed by Kíli's return to Mirkwood to live in the Elven version of a cabin in the forest, and culminating in some sort of soul-seeking journey to Lothlórien, of all places.
"For the longest of times after Thranduil brought me back I thought that something was... wrong with me, that perhaps I had been gone too far already and would never truly find my place in this world again," Kíli says after he has sketched those first months he spent in the forest of the Elves, living together with Tauriel. Fíli senses that there is something Kíli is not telling him, but he does not call him out on it. Instead, he finds himself sympathizing with his brother. Clearly running away from Erebor has not helped Kíli to escape those feelings that have plagued him, too, after battle. Those doubts about the validity of his claim to life, about his reason for still being here.
"But you overcame those feelings, eventually?"
Kíli nods. "I did. Galadriel – she possesses powers unlike anything I have ever seen, and she showed me things, things that had happened to me but that I had forgotten."
"What things?"
"I saw where I had gone after Bolg stabbed me. It was... it was a terrible place, desolate, barren, and full of despair. There was this—this wind that that made it hard to see anything, to hear anything, and I was just so afraid."
Fíli swallows, trying to hide his shock at his brother's words. He, too, has seen a place like this, in a dream, not so very long ago. Could it be that...?
"I soon realized, though, that I wasn't alone," Kíli continues. "There were others there with me that were trying to help me, to show me my way back because that was where I was apparently meant to be going. And—" he pauses to smile at Fíli a bit hesitantly, "—and you were there as well. I tried to bring you with me, tried with everything I had. But... but you were hurt and I... I lost you."
Fíli stares at his brother who is now gazing onto the flames of the fire close by, the faint pain of remembrance flickering across his features. "I was there, too?" Fíli asks. "In that— in that strange place?"
"You were," Kíli says. "When you just disappeared into thin air, I thought that I had failed in taking you back with me, but now I believe that I did succeed after all." His expression turns tender and Fíli feels a similar feeling stir in his hardened heart. "I got you out. I have no idea how such a thing is possible, but here we are, you and me, alive when we should actually be entombed somewhere far below that mountain."
"Sometimes I feel as if I am." Fíli cannot help it. Yes, he has been much better lately, having grown more comfortable in his role as king and looking towards the future with a spark of hope in his heart now that he knows Sigrid will be a part of it, somehow. Those memories of the days following the battle, though, they have torn open old wounds and left him feeling raw and open, darkness laying its claim on him once more.
He can feel himself drifting, threatening to slip back into old patterns of self-hatred and despair. He is anchored to the present, then, by a pair of strong arms being wrapped around him and finds himself leaning into his brother's embrace, the familiar comfort of Kíli's warmth too tempting to resist.
"I am sorry I wasn't there," Kíli says, the brush of his breath warm against the side of Fíli's neck. "I cannot imagine what it was like for you, taking Thorin's place. Can you ever forgive me?"
That is what it comes down to, isn't it? The question whether Fíli can find it in his heart to forgive his brother for his betrayal. For even after Kíli has explained the circumstances that have led to his decision and the consequences that he has had to live with, what he has done remains a betrayal, if not of Fíli directly then of everything they were raised to believe in. If it were anyone else, Fíli is not sure that he could ever hope to aspire to something even remotely close to forgiveness. But... this is Kíli. His brother – his reckless, impulsive, accident-prone baby brother, who loves him so much that he could not bear the thought of having to go on without him and turned his back on everything and everyone they knew instead.
He pulls back to look at Kíli and finds his brother's face wet with tears. This time, his own eyes mist over as well, and he makes to speak, the words that Kíli so clearly longs to hear sitting at the tip of tongue already. Before he manages to utter a single sound, though, a loud crash echoes through the silence of the night, and Fíli hears the all too familiar sounds of fighting.
Kíli is right behind him as he rushes to the entrance of the cave where they almost smack into Dwalin. He must have been standing guard outside or he would not have been able to get up here so quickly.
"A goblin attack," Dwalin reports. "They came out of nowhere. Apparently, these caverns aren't the only ones in the area."
Not this again. How much bad luck could one party of travelers have? "Tell me what is happening," Fíli demands of Dwalin.
"They are swarming the lower levels. Those of our men who could, have already relocated to the higher caverns. It would be best if you stayed up here for the time being until we have gained control over the situation."
Normally, Fíli would not take well to being asked to stay behind while his men are fighting for their lives, and Dwalin knows this quite well. The fact that he is suggesting it nevertheless, tells Fíli that the situation down below must be far from ideal indeed. This, paired with the fact that the emotional upheaval of the last hours has put him in a state where he is more likely to make mistakes than normally, make him somewhat inclined to comply with Dwalin's request.
He turns to look at Kíli and finds his brother's eyes widened with shock, all blood drained from his face.
"Tauriel," Kíli chokes out. "They put her in a cave down there and tied her up. She—she won't even be able to defend herself."
Fíli has seen his brother scared before, but never like this, not like his whole world is about to be ripped from him. And while his own feelings towards the red-haired Wood-Elf are more ambiguous than ever after the things he has learned today, there is barely any hesitation on his part before he nods grimly. "Then we will have to go and get her," he says, watching as relief washes over Kíli's face. "Come on."
As they brush past Dwalin, the older Dwarf reaches out his hand in a half-hearted attempt to hold Fíli back, but one look from his young king suffices to make him pull back. Fíli has just gotten his brother back and there is no way that he is going to let Kíli throw himself into a fight by himself. No – they're going to see this through together, and they're going to win, and then he's going to sit Kíli down and tell him that he's the biggest idiot in the entire world, but that, yes, he will forgive him, eventually.
Because that is what big brothers do.