Chapter Thirty-Eight: Fili
T.A. 2894 Ered Luin
Fili is the only one awake when Frerin returns from his usual late summer trip. He's far earlier than expected, gone only four weeks instead of his normal six or seven. Fili is nursing a cup of hot milk, liberally spiked with some of his mother's whiskey (he isn't of an age to really be permitted to drink even if he is battle ready and on the cusp of finding a craft). He's exhausted but unable to find any rest. Kili is snoring away happily already, Thorin is away working and Amad has taken to bed with one of her megrims. Those have become more common since Adad died.
Fili can tell his uncle is in a foul mood. Whatever has caused him to depart the home of his old friend has left him in a temper than not even days of travel can ease. He's so like Thorin that Fili can see the family resemblance more clearly than ever before. He gets to his feet and goes to the cupboard, lifting down an earthenware mug and the same whiskey that is in his milk. At times like this he has seen Amad pour a cup for Thorin, perhaps it will help Frerin too.
"What are you still doing up?" Frerin grumbles as he takes his drink.
"Couldn't sleep," Fili shrugs and returns to his seat and his own mug.
"That had better be milk," Frerin grouses.
This high in the mountains even the hottest days don't sour the milk and it keeps well enough. Besides Thruta, their old goat, is usually good for a mug or two at this time of night.
"Mostly," Fili shrugs. Frerin's usually happy to let things go if they don't happen too often. His uncle hums but makes no reply, just scowls into his whiskey as though it has all the answers. "We weren't expecting you for several more weeks, Uncle," he says when the silence becomes too thick and Frerin's hands are holding his cup tight enough to crack it.
Frerin mutters something that Fili doesn't properly hear. He doubts, quite strongly, that he was supposed to. He waits, remembering Amad telling him that sometimes it's better to wait for answers than to push for them. Finally, his uncle pulls a cloth wrapped package from his pack and sets it on the table. Fili opens it and sees that it contains a little glass ink well with a silver lid and a silver pen that obviously matches. It's a remarkably delicate set, not something that Fili would normally expect to be gifted or even purchased by another dwarf. Frerin must have paid a great deal for it, it's exquisite work even to his youthful and untrained eyes.
"Who was it for?" He asks, but suspects he knows the answer. He has overheard enough conversations between Amad and Frerin.
"The daughter of a very close friend," his uncle sighs.
"Not that good of a friend," Fili scoffs, "not if they would send you straight home without allowing you to give her the gift."
"Her father," Frerin spits the word with such venom Fili is surprised that the table doesn't catch fire, "is the one who sent me away. Had Bella been there – It matters not. It is a problem of my own making. Go to bed, Balin will be displeased if you're tired and distracted during his lessons tomorrow." Fili begins to do as he is told, though he dislikes the thought of leaving his uncle alone.
"What will you do with it?" He asks, nodding towards the set.
"Destroy it, it has no use to me now," Frerin sighs.
"Let me take it?" Fili asks.
It's too well made, too beautiful to destroy and perhaps, one day, Frerin will be in a position to make a gift of it anyway. Something about it calls to him, though he can't think what, and he is oddly relieved when Frerin nods and allows him to take it. He clutches the cloth wrapped treasure to his chest but nearly drops it anyway when his uncle speaks again.
"Learn from my mistakes," Frerin says softly. "Don't love that which you know you cannot have. And if you do wake one day and find you love it anyway, walk away and never look back."
T.A. 2941 Erebor
Fili hasn't thought about the inkwell and pen in years. It's still tucked at the back of one of his drawers at home, wrapped in its cloth with the first blade Kili made for him (before Kili realised his skills lay in jewellery and not in following Thorin's footsteps). Life in Ered Luin has never been easy and some things are simply too precious to dispose of even if one day something better made or suited to the user comes along. Now, knee deep in gold, Fili looks at the ridiculous solid gold pen covered in chips from various gems and remembers the simple and exquisitely made little set that Frerin had nearly destroyed. There is no question about who it had been made for, now that he thinks on it, the intended recipient had obviously been Bluebell.
He drops the pen in disgust, such a thing would feed a family in Ered Luin for weeks. Yet here it sits, its previous owner either dead or working as hard to survive as any other. Even to his eyes, the eyes of a dwarf, the wealth gathered in this room is obscene. Kili and Ori agree, but the older dwarves all tell them that they are too young to truly appreciate it. In a few years, the others say, they will be old enough to understand the drive in all of the children of the stone to delve and craft and keep.
It has been three days since Smaug left the mountain.
On the first day they search frantically, aware that they only have limited time to find the Arkenstone before Smaug returns. Only Fili suspects that they will not find it in the treasure chamber. He and Kili are quick to sneak away as soon as Thorin is distracted. They need to rest, and someone will need to relieve Balin and Bifur later (or that's the agreed excuse). In reality they just can't find it in themselves to search through the seemingly endless piles when they are so exhausted. Fili also, quite desperately, needs to see Bluebell and ensure that she is truly well.
On the second day there is an air of tension in the stone, as though Erebor is waiting for something. Fili and Kili are on watch, relieved to be out of the treasure room where Thorin has begun pacing and barking orders. Only those on watch and those resting from it are exempt from his desire to find the Arkenstone and Fili has noticed a pallor to Thorin's skin and a sheen to his eyes. He tells himself that he's simply tired and that these first causes for concern are imagined. Legolas and Bluebell watch with them, the elf scanning the horizon constantly for any sign that Smaug has attacked Mirkwood. In Fili's opinion that would be doing the elves a favour, better to burn the place to the ground and start over.
The raven that joins them is the largest of its kind that Fili has ever encountered, even the few who reside in Thorin's halls in New Belegost are somewhat smaller. It tilts its head, black eyes piercing as it stares at them all. It stares at Bluebell for longer than it does the others, even Legolas, then bobs in a way that could be a bow.
"You have finally come," it croaks, "good." Then it turns to Fili. "You will do well." It ruffles its feathers. "I bring news for the King Under the Mountain."
"Fetch Uncle and Balin," Fili tells his brother softly.
"See if you can find something for our friend to eat as well," Bluebell adds.
"Have you news of the Greenwood?" Legolas asks the bird. Its expression becomes haughty, if a raven's face can truly show such a thing.
"I will speak only with the King Under the Mountain."
The wait that follows is tense, though Fili knows that it can't be helped given the distance that Kili has to cover, and Legolas resumes his watch of the skyline. Finally, Thorin arrives wearing a fur coat that Fili has never seen and more wealth than even the wealthiest lords in Ered Luin would wear at one time.
"The dragon is dead, my king," the raven says. "Slain by Bard of Girion's line. His carcass lies at the bottom of the lake. Erebor is yours once more."
Thorin's face lights up with a joy Fili has seen only a handful of times (most recently when they discussed his betrothal) and he declares that they shall rest and feast now that the search is not so desperate. Exactly what they will feast on Fili doesn't know, but Thorin seems too pleased with the decision to hear his mutters. Bluebell, Kili and Balin watch him leave with worried eyes. Fili watches as Bluebell's hand drifts to her bodice and the way the swell of her breasts seems more pronounced.
He has kept careful control of his Stone Sense since the door was opened. The mountain has been screaming for his attention, desperate for him to know her and yet equally eager to be rid of all of them. That conflict hits him hard when he relaxes his control and he pushes it to one side so that he can focus on Bluebell. He has only opened his sense the tiniest amount but it's enough to feel the otherness about her. The pinprick of angry, loving, malicious, lonely, furious, caring, desperate, envious, longing, cruel, kind that she carries.
Bluebell has the Arkenstone.
On the third day he has opportunity to confront her about it.
"I know you have it," he says when he finds her alone in a corridor near the treasury. She's sat on a stone bench, her bandaged feet swinging. "I can feel it. It's-"
"Awful," Bluebell finishes. "It's screaming, it's so angry. It hates us. This is no ordinary stone."
"It's the heart of the mountain," Fili reminds her and wonders if that name might not be more than a fancy notion of miners and previous kings.
"I've never heard anything like this, Fili," she disagrees, "I shouldn't be able to hear it at all. I think it wants me to." Which is a worrying thought.
"Can I see?" He asks. He should tell her that they need to hand it to Thorin, now, but her words concern him. If she can feel it so clearly without his help what would it do to a dwarf, even one with as little Stone Sense as his uncle?
Bluebell eyes the corridor warily, but Fili knows that Thorin is distracted by the gold and the search for the Arkenstone. He likely won't emerge for some time yet. Retrieving it involves unlacing her bodice and Fili steps closer, resting his hands on her, now, too slender hips to hid her from view. Any of the others, at a glance, might assume that they were interrupting an intimate moment, something there has been too little of in recent days.
The Arkenstone is breath taking, he thinks when she reveals it. There truly isn't another like it, though the swirls of colour through it remind him a little bit of an opal. No opal shines like this, though, with a soft light that bathes both of them in moving colours. They are familiar colours, he realises, the bright silver white shine of mithril and the hot glow of a working forge, swirls of rich green like the pastures of the Shire and indigo like the fire of Bluebell's eyes. It dances before him and he finds himself reaching for the stone without thought until heavy footsteps begin to approach. Bluebell gasps and tucks it back out of sight, pulling her laces tight as Frerin rounds the corner.
"There you both are," he says, his tone grim. "Bluebell, I think you ought to take a look at your mother, she's asking for you. Fili, you need to go back to the treasury and help with the search, unless you two know something that I don't?"
Both shake their heads and Bluebell darts away with as much speed as possible on her injured feet. Fili follows, turning to make his way to the treasure chamber when Frerin takes hold of his arm and stops him.
"Be careful, Kidhuzurâl," he says softly. "Thorin isn't himself and I fear he will become worse as time goes on. It may be that in winning back the mountain we have lost my brother."