Heirs of What

| Part 4 |

-The Shadows Start to Fade-

Chapter (33) 'Forging Restoration'

Fili shifted his weight to roll off of Kili. His fingers went immediately to the fount of his pain and blood, closing over an angry, gaping wound in his shoulder that separated the muscle to the bone. Bright crimson persisted against his palm until it found freedom between his fingers and seeped out. But beyond his clenched jaw, Fil did not at all heed his injury and instead turned back to his brother. Unlike his sibling, any energy Kili possessed had evaporated with the slightest exertion and he remained where he fell, his consciousness a vague thing, and saw the world move around him without the ability to respond to it. He hurt. Almost everywhere. But it was his weariness that pulled him towards oblivion, a thorough, rooted exhaustion that felt somehow as more than a spent body. Some resembles of a spent spirit that made Kili shake. He felt certain he should not allow sleep to consume him, though far less sure he could stop it.

It was the warmth and strength of his companions' hands that tethered his consciousness in the end, keeping him awake though still unable to do anything beyond lie there. It was Thorin's hands that cradled his head while Fili leaned over him, concern drawing his eyes wide. A memory, more vivid than the physical word could form itself in Kili's state of near delirium, stood with a certain similarity next to the present. He was reminded of his poisonous fever back in Lake Town, his weak, disordered madness, and his brother's concerned face peering down at him now both alarmingly familiar and equally soothing.

The others pressed in around them, all desperate to offer aid though none getting very far in giving it. They were speaking, maybe to him though he could hardly hear anything. They should have known better than to expect an answer. It was Gandalf who finally shouldered his way between them and placed one hand on Kili's forehead and the other on his chest.

"He needs attention," the wizard concluded. "But not here. We need to abandon this valley and return to the high ground before those creatures have a mind to come back." With little effort Gandalf gathered Kili in his arms and rose, leading them back up the way they had come. Thorin hoisted Fili up with him, keeping a firm hand on his injured nephew as they followed closely. Fili had no intention of allowing his brother out of arm's reach and, in truth, neither did Thorin even into the capable hands of the wizard.

Descending the lowland had seemed to Fili only a few steps, a mere moment. It had taken no thought or time worth noting to rush towards his sibling, a pull in his core erasing all effort and making the action an inevitable one. Reversing the course, however, and trekking back up seemed impossibly difficult and time consuming. Fili's fears for his brother swelled with his eagerness to hear him speak again, his pain increased with each pulse that raged in protest of his wound, and his legs grew heavy with blood loss.

Finally they reclaimed the top of the ridge surrounding the valley and found welcomed relief in the rich earth and grassland just beyond the edge. Easing Kili into the warm grass, aglow with the afternoon sun, Gandalf got to work assessing his injures and what might be done for them.

Fili was in step to go hover as near as he possibly could when he was seized about the forearms, causing his damaged shoulder to scream, and veered away from his sibling by Oin.

"I need to take a look at that wound," the old healer said.

"Later," Fili mumbled in protest as he pulled towards Kili. "I need to- "

"No," Oin insisted. "What you need is to listen. You're losing a lot of blood. Already your face has grown colorless. Let me treat you."

The dwarf prince shook his head. "But, Kili…" he nodded in his brother's direction, not at all content with the idea of parting from him at all. But despite his objection, he could hardly deny the weakness that made even his protest limp.

"You'll be no help to him like this. Come here," the healer said gently as he sat him down and removed Fili's hand from where it had remained clamped over the cut. He said not a word as he examined the wound, his eyes and hands moving with a skill gained only with ample experience. But Fili had known Oin his entire life and knew by the tight press of the older dwarf's lips that his injury was a serious one.

"Well?" he asked, the inquiry about his own wellbeing coming even as he looked in Kili's direction, straining to see what was happening. The overwhelming discomfort in his shouldered only increased his agitation and impatience.

"I need to stop the bleeding. But once it is cleaned and dressed, as long as there is no infection, you are in no danger of death."

"What then?" Fili said, knowing he was not lucky enough to have been afforded only good news.

"This is not an injury that will heal quickly, lad. It is not beyond recovery but close to it. With proper care you will mend well enough. But it will take time and attention. If you wish to regain full strength and fend off infection you must look after yourself."

"Ok."

Oin began cleaning and binding the wound, being as gentle as he could and easing his assault on the laceration every few moments to give Fili a bit of relief from his suffering. He shook his head gently as he watched the younger's eyes cast again at Gandalf's back in an attempt to make out what was happening to his brother even as he trembled with pain. "I mean it Fili," he cautioned again, "you're no good to Kili burned up with infection or dead. I've seen lesser wounds than this take more than an arm. I think you'll find wielding those twin blades of yours is not easily done with one less limb."

That at last seemed to really gather Fili's attention, if only for a moment. The dwarf prince turned towards the healer quickly and studied his face to see if he had missed a joke. But Oin's words were in earnest and Fili pondered their weight for a few seconds before nodding gently.

"I understand."

"Just mind this wrapping and don't exhaust yourself with concern for your brother. You desperately need some rest. Try not to worry, for Kili is in better hands than mine."

The sincerity in Oin's reassurance still came short in convincing Fili. Despite the old dwarf's warning to think of himself a little and not overly exert himself at least until the color returned to his skin and the dizziness faded, the moment he was finished being treated he returned to Kili's side and found that his brother looked mostly unchanged. His eyes were closed now but his breathing was more steady. Deeper.

"How is he?" Fili wondered aloud, addressing Gandalf or Thorin or anyone who would answer.

"Resting," Gandalf told him. "I have tended his injuries to the limits of my ability. I believe his most serious wounds have been healed enough to save him, but he is very weak. We will know nothing for certain until he wakes. Even I cannot see what damage lies within. Have we any fortune, he will wake greatly improved, though his superficial injuries I had to leave to heal mostly on their own." The wizard glanced over Kili's still body as if to be sure he hadn't missed anything then gave a slight, content nod. "What he needs most now is sleep."

Fili nodded without looking away from Kili. "Thank you," he said hoarsely, his eyes wetting a little as he was once again overcome by the sight of his little brother. He looked so broken and vulnerable. So young. His battered body was a scathing marker of what he had endured. Fili knew his brother's suffering was not his fault. He knew he could not be expected to protect everyone he loved from every threat that might arise. He knew he could not claim ownership of all that had happened to Kili. He had done everything he could to stop him from being taken. He knew all of that. Still, looking at his sibling's brokenness, he felt like a failure.

And yet, he felt like he'd been offered mercies beyond his deserving, his shortcomings met by a miracle more forgiving than he could be towards himself. For despite failure to prevent all the pain and sorrow, Kili was alive and returned to him, and Fili couldn't imagine his gratefulness for that one thing ever fading.

"We'll need to spend the night here," Gandalf told them and several of the dwarves went to fetch wraps to cover Kili. Fili sat next to his brother, folding his legs beneath him. His left arm was hanging in a sort of sling fashion by the same kind of material that bound his wound, his right arm stretching forward so his fingers could hold his brother's hand. While not necessarily a comfortable position, he looked to all the world fixed there and beyond temptations to go lie down himself.

Thorin watched them with a knot in his stomach, his devotion for those two lads swelling so large in that moment as to choke him even as he stood there fearing their rejection. He had no way of knowing what Kili's reception might be when he woke. Thorin, with only a bit of effort, chose to ignore even the possibility that he would not. His youngest nephew could hardly be expected to react any certain way, the lad's haste and impulse some of his most distinct characteristics. But Thorin knew that even if uncertain, Kili's anger and rejection would be well deserved. A dismissal would be nothing more than a returned notion the Mountain King had no right to resent. There was a chance, of course, that Kili would not be angry with him, or at least not remain so. But even then Thorin could not expect to escape his nephew's hurt feelings and decided that he could not fairly hope for anything beyond distance from Kili.

Fili's feelings, Thorin was almost sure, would be more certain and most definitely angry. Prior to recovering Kili, their shared grief and desire to avenge him had become a somewhat neutral ground, a sort of desperate foothold to bridge the chasm between them. But the moment Kili was found alive that changed. Suddenly it was their determination to save him that brought the two of them, uncle and nephew, as close as they had been since the shores of Lake Town. In at least synchronized effort if not sentimental bond. Now, though, with Kili next to him again, Thorin knew Fili didn't need him. He could not be more thankful for this unexpected blessing. But the sudden shift left him afraid that without the need for comfort or support, it would finally be the resentment due Thorin that would settle in Fili's heart. In placing blame for the harm that had befallen his brother, Fili need not look further than his uncle. Thorin knew the Fili's reproach would rightfully fall upon him and there would be nothing left to guard him from his heir's wrath. In following his sibling's lead, Kili would join Fili in shutting Thorin out and they would no more depend on their mother's brother who had failed them so utterly.

Or so Thorin feared most terribly.

He watched the two of them, hoping beyond reason that he might be spared their hatred in favor of the forgiveness they had previously always been so ready to offer. He would have to wait, he guessed, for Kili to wake and nerves to settle to find out. The wait itself seemed like a sort of torture. But he could not resent the peaceful rest that had finally appeared to take his youngest nephew.

He had stayed next to him while Gandalf worked, noting with rage and heartbreak each of Kili's visible injuries. Over most of his body was some mark of blood or bruise. Thorin had reared back a bit at the sight of the wound in the archer's abdomen when his thin, torn shirt was pulled away, sickened by the size and color and smell of it. A consuming terror in his chest wondered if Kili could really survive that. But then, with something akin to pride, Thorin realized he already had. The wound was not new. His nephew had already survived the initial attack and lived on.

Gandalf's healing hands had moved over Kili's body vaguely and beyond Thorin's understanding, the wizard muttering words so low and meaningless to Thorin's ears that they could as likely have been old folktales as incantations. At times Kili whimpered and his eyes fluttered open. But he never cried out or moved further. Even if pride had allowed a voice to his pain, his weary body did not. He didn't seem to have even the strength to flinch away from touches the Mountain King knew must set fire to his flesh. Even beyond awareness Kili had a kind of determined stubbornness set in his features.

Thorin didn't see wounds healing and yet, by the time Gandalf was finished, they somehow looked better. The skin around Kili's injuries was less pink and the rest of his skin less pale. His stab wound appeared less likely to bust open or seep blood any longer. And the muscles in his face seemed to hold less tension, his appearance a bit more relaxed.

It was Fili who voiced his own sentiments when he thanked the wizard, and Thorin stayed there watching his nephews with silence long after Kili had been settled into a bedding of wraps and Gandalf and the others had scattered to attend to their camp's most basic needs.

At last he approached, choosing to go stand opposite Fili, placing them on either side of Kili.

"He looks better," Thorin tried first, hoping Fili's brother might be the one topic he was willing to engage him in. The Dwarf King wondered then if his placement had been intentional, if he had purposely positioned himself so that Kili was between them, once more the focus of their attention and a safe buffer between he and Fili's anger. The fact that it was now a physical barrier only strengthened his hope that it would hold up to the weight of his failure.

"I thought so too," Fili agreed without bothering to look up. The Mountain King lowered himself into the grass next to Kili's limp body and only then dared to look Fili in the face. He looked tired. Maybe more than Thorin had ever seen him. And he looked the way wounded folks often did, pale and pained. But there was a brightness, an energy in his eyes that Thorin realized at that moment had been missing ever since he walked into Erebor and told him Kili had been taken. Not for the entire time since losing his brother had Fili looked the way he did now. Whole. His gaze no longer clouded by misery. Long lost peace at last returned. Actually alive again.

With an abundant pressure in his chest, Thorin realized something he had refused to see before. He had lost Fili just as surely as Kili at the mouth of Gundabad. Too much of Fili had died there to maintain the person, the life that had been. The Dwarf King realized he would never have seen the nephew he'd known again. Time, despite the lies Thorin had told himself, would never have brought him back. He'd been as dead as his brother. But in that moment, with a shuttering breath, Thorin realized he'd gotten them back. Both of them.

And he didn't deserve it.

"Gandalf said we shouldn't expect him to wake any time soon. You should try to get some rest yourself," he said once he regained his composure.

"I'm fine," Fili objected simply.

"How is your arm?" his uncle tried instead.

Fili shrugged, a movement his shoulder did not appreciate. "Oin says it should mend well enough. In any case, I'm better off than him."

"It is a good thing then that he is so resilient," Thorin said with a gentle smile, an attempt to reassure them both. Kili would pull through. He would recover. Fili looked up at him and met his eyes for just a moment too long. A judgement passing between them.

"When we were back there with the orcs I thought for a second that Bolg was going to reach his mark. For the first time I really thought I was going to die. You know what I was thinking? That it was alright. That if I was going to die, doing it to protect those I love is a good way to do it."

Thorin didn't answer. The mention of death coming from his nephew settled violently and uncomfortably in his stomach. Truthfully he didn't respond because he didn't think Fili would want to hear what he had to say; that dying with a cause was better that without, but neither could ever be anything less than atrocious. Nobility was still a nasty stand on which to die. Because it still left ruin in its wake. Thorin had comforted himself in the years following Moria with the belief that Frerin had died in defense of his kin and he would have chose that same death from among a hundred options. But Thorin still grieved. And Dis still grieved. And their hurt was still an ugly, endless thing that didn't seem to much care for just what had produced it. Thorin had learned that grief wasn't determined by what caused the end, only the life that was ended. And for that reason, it was left to the naive to believe an honorable death could soften the inevitable blow.

"Do you think that could have been what Kili was thinking," Fili asked him, "when he was sick, lying on Bard's table dying? Do you think he thought about what he had done, climbing up to pull that lever and free us on the river even at risk of his own life? Do you think maybe it wasn't just impulse that made him do it but loyalty too?"

Thorin studied Fili's face for a moment. His nephew, whether intentionally or not, was scolding him for his constant reprimands of Kili's recklessness and for his hasty chastisement . "You think I am too hard on him? That I pass judgement too quickly?"

"I think his heart is not quite as resilient as you believe. He is easily wounded by rejection. Why do you think he always worked so hard to gain your approval?"

Thorin had always thought it was a point of self-pride or competitive determination to excel. Excellence was a mark both his nephews had always strove for with little bidding. Their efforts had always seemed their own and unnecessary of much encouragement. But it took little for the Mountain King to call to memory the way Kili's eyes would always seek him out for praise or the eagerness with which he would beg for any chance to prove himself. Thorin wasn't a fool. He knew of course that both his heirs desired his approval. But he hadn't realized it was in fear of his disappointment, had he?

"He can't think my love for him is subject to his talents and worth in battle? He cannot think my affection for him to be so easily lost? He can't believe my rejection would come so quickly for so little, surely?" Even before the words had finished leaving his mouth, Thorin realized the inconsistency of them. He said those things with all the conviction with which they were felt but his past actions had already proven him otherwise.

"Couldn't he?" Fili said, meeting his uncle's eyes briefly before returning them to his brother's face.

"I," the Dwarf King paused as he looked between his nephews, noting the way the eldest refused to hold his gaze.

Fili understood that Thorin spoke with sincerity. He knew he and Kili were loved. But all his life Fili had felt the weight of the Quest hovering over him. Even if he did not know when it was to come he had known that it would. For there was no topic Thorin spoke of more often. Not always in depth. But a frequent comment. A look. It was evident always that Erebor was never too far from his uncle's mind. Whenever he was told of past battles Fili couldn't help but feel they were meant to prepare him for future ones. That every time he trained it was with one goal in mind, one inevitable outcome. He had always felt that with the Mountain owning so much of his uncle's attention and desires, at least some of his worth came with his ability to help Thorin regain it. There had always been a part of him, even if small, that believed if he was capable of helping him get Erebor back, Thorin would love him more.

Fili knew his sibling had always believed this too, perhaps even more so, though they had never discussed it. Kili had always wanted to be exactly what Thorin needed, his devotion to his uncle nearing reverence. He felt things more acutely than most, not excluding the need to be valued and respected. Maybe as the youngest he felt he had more to prove or at least had to work harder to prove it. But if a warrior was what Thorin need, it was a warrior Kili would become. He had always poured himself into everything, at least everything that held his attention, and his training was no exception. But as hard as he tried, Fili knew Kili never quite got the response from Thorin he sought. He never got the satisfaction of a goal fulfilled and recognized, his efforts never being fully appreciated because in the end all his training was only that. Training. It would take real struggles, real battles to prove himself. The Quest had been his chance at that.

But it hadn't gone as any of them intended.

"Fili," Thorin began again gently, "I have learned many things since leaving Ered Luin. Perhaps the greatest is my failure in conveying how much the two of you mean to me. How much you always have. You must know I care for you both. I have to believe the years I spent watching after you has left no room for doubt in that regard. But I have failed if you believe that to be the extent of my feelings. I need you to know my love for you and your brother had nothing to do with the two of you. It is a part of me, something in my heart. It goes beyond anything you are or have ever done. There is nothing you could do to change it. You have never been responsible for earning or keeping it. You could never lose it. You need not give me anything to deserve it. It is already there and can not be altered. From the moment you were born it was a permanent thing. Mine to hold and show to you".

Fili looked at first like he was unable to speak, the declaration one it took him some moments to really hear. Then, after a few seconds he nodded and looked at his uncle, this time holding his gaze. The look in Fili's eyes were softer than they'd been in a long time, something that reminded Thorin of the lad's youth. There was a sentiment held in that stare. One the Mountain King dared to hope might be reciprocity.

"It feels better than you know to hear you say that. I think it is something he will want to hear too some time," Fili said with a tilt of his head in Kili's direction. "When he wakes."

OOO

The smell was both sweet and bitter. The perfumed fragrance of the fields outside mixed with the harsh scent of the forge. Kili was sitting on top of the tablespace near the open doorway, one leg pulled up to his chest and the other dangling off the edge lazily. It was summer and the air was hot, more so with the heat of the flames. But the breeze was persistent and entered the forge liberally, keeping his face free of sweat. The same could not be said for Fili. His sleeves were pulled up to above his forearms, exposing dirty, wet skin. His shirt hug loosely around his waist allowing him to move without restriction as he worked. Sweat dripped down his temples.

Kili remembered this day, one he recalled clearly and with fondness. It was not long before their Quest, when Fili was fashioning his knives and his brother sat watching. He knew it was a recollection, something already lived in the past revisiting him in his sleep or unconsciousness or whatever state he occupied. It was a good memory, though, and Kili embraced it gladly. He longed to feel now the way he had then. But for some reason he could not return to the calm and contentment he'd felt.

He wanted to look at Fili. He had missed his brother so terribly for the duration of his captivity. Now he wanted nothing more than to ease the ache of solitude he'd felt and just spend time with Fili again. To hear him and joke with him. To talk as they had that day and just enjoy his company. But oddly his attention was fixed on the job in Fili's hands and he was drawn again and again to the sound of the metal being worked.

Fili was lowering the blade into the flames, easing it back and forth until glowing. He drew it out and set it on the anvil and went about beating the hot metal into submission, forcing it to take its shape. Kili watched the bright red ebb from the blade until there was only a trace of visible heat left. Then his brother would return it to the fire again to endure the process once more. He could see the metal yielding under the strain, caving to the hammer's fall, subject to its demands. It seemed there was no chance at denying the form it was resolved to forge. He could hear the quiver of the blade smashed between anvil and hammer. The clear, determined ringing noise coming again before the previous wail had died. The sound of the metal giving to the blows.

And as he watched he could not figure out why it mattered. Why he couldn't look away. Why each reverberating sound seemed to tremble inside him.

Until he did.

He was that blade being worked in Fili's hands.

He had been snatched up and tossed into the fire. The orcs had plunged him into the flames and let it sear him. They had burned away his strength, holding him in the heat until he was weak. His body had been wounded, beaten, and devoured by their cruelty. He'd been consumed by pain as surely as flames. It had risen up around him, growing more intense with every cut, every broken bone, every twisted limb. It had swelled until it engulfed all of his senses. They had held him there until he was limp and glowing, his brokenness a blinding, obvious thing.

Then they had begun to beat on him, driving out his hope one blow at a time. Each word and threat as forceful as the hammer's strike. They had worked to pressure him into submission, and mold him into the helpless prisoner they desired. The assaults had prevailed, determined to make him yield to despair. Their mental pounding continued with the aim of breaking his spirit and forcing him to cave under the fear of death. His and those he loved. Each hit came before the sound of the other had ceased, the abuse sickeningly persistence.

And then when his resolve began to harden again, when his fear began to faded as had the glowing from the blade, when he stood up to Bolg ready to face his death, they sank him into the flames again with a knife to his stomach, weakening him so greatly that when he woke red hot with pain he was sure he would no longer be able to deny the broken spirit they were forging in him.

The memories hurt so much and his heartbreak was so great that Kili began to weep, if only within the confines of his own mind. He had endured so much pain and hardship, so much fear and despair. As he watched Fili beat at that blade he could not help feeling like it was his soul set upon that anvil, suffering more than he could take. Maybe there was no objection, no denial, no stubbornness left in him. No more give. Maybe he was not strong enough.

Kili watched Fili examine his work, inspecting every edge and flat for perfection. He grinned in satisfaction and raised it high enough for his sibling to see. Then he carried it over to a tub of water and when he plunged it down into the liquid, a cloud of steam rose in answer. Kili felt the wind sweep down over the field and through the doorway, the mild, sweet air cooling his face and expelling the vapors. Suddenly he looked at Fili's face and it was so familiar and so good that he felt a peace settle over him, a comfort that quenched his pain.

He realized then that he had been lowered into the water too.

His kin had come and pulled him from the fire and removed him from the anvil. Loving arms had gathered him up and soothed his pain. Their concern had washed over him and cooled his loneliness. He had been dunked into their love and everything changed. The weakness was bathed away. And all the heat, all the pain, all the misery was forced to vaporize at the moment he touched the water. It could not follow him into the comfort of the soft liquid. It was repelled to a shapeless cloud until it thinned and was gone altogether.

And something else happened to Fili's knife in the water. When it was taken from so hot to so cold so quickly it changed. It was tempered.

Kili's strength and fortitude returned with the flood of water, the saturation of devotion. He was no longer brittle and broken. He was harder. Tougher. He was different. Not what he was before the flames and the hammer and the water, but a new thing. Something that could not be made without all three. He had indeed been forged. Heated and beaten and cooled.

He had been tempered.

With one more glance at Fili, the memory of Fili, Kili smiles softly and opened his eyes into reality.

Fili watched his brother's brown eyes widen, his cheeks still wet with silent tears dredged up in his tortured mind. But they did not look full of hurt, or no longer, and it was a smile Kili greeted his sibling with. One that had been so very sorely missed.