AN – Sorry this took so long! I didn't have internet access for a while. Thank you so much for the review, favorites, and story alerts. Y'all make me so happy.

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I still own nothing. Enjoy!

Warnings: Mild violence, angsty Thorin.

First part is inspired by art from kaciart dot tumblr dot com / post / 42264776833

Greater than Gold

Chapter 3: Thirteen and Eight – Part 1

By Displaced Hobbit

In the end, the battlefield was a burning, smoldering mess. Bodies of orc and dwarf alike laid broken in the muck; eyes glassy and unseeing peer up at him from odd angles. He looked around to attempt to locate any of his comrades, but found himself alone. Only emptiness and death remained as the fires burned themselves off in the distance. His lungs are choked with smoke and his eyes sting, but still he searches, although he can no longer remember who had accompanied him into battle.

A strangled cry sounds from behind him, one that he could recognize instantly, even from the depths of sleep, and his blood runs cold. He whips himself around, sword drawn and eyes blazing, and does not believe what he sees.

"No…" he breathes in obvious disbelief, and Azog the Defiler's rumbling laugh rises up to meet him, dark and sinister. He should be dead! He must be! He'd killed him himself!

The beast has both of his sister-sons; one hand is latched around Fili's neck, holding him off the ground, even as the boy struggles valiantly to free himself, while his other holds his sword, skewered cruelly through Kili's shoulder, blood coursing from the wound in waves. It was Kili who had cried out, eyes wide with fear and pain, and a rage surges through him unlike any he has felt before.

"Release them," he demands in all but a snarl, sounding every bit like the king he is, but Azog merely smiles, clinches his fist tighter around Fili's throat and twists the sword in Kili's shoulder. His youngest nephew cries out in a way that is so utterly wretched and unlike anything he has heard from the boy before. Fili's struggles increase when he hears his brother, and he succeeds and scratching and clawing at the pale orcs hand, drawing rivulets of dark blood, but the beast's grip does not relent.

"Release them!" he cries out again, ashamed at the despair that clings to his voice, but his fear is stronger than his pride. The safety of his nephew's is his only concern.

The Defiler studies him for a long moment, too long for his tastes as he watches how Kili's blood is dripping, the pool of it growing wider on the ground. "I am feeling generous today, oh great Master Oakenshield," he sneers. "You may choose one to spare."

His stomach drops like a stone. Choose? He could never choose between them. Fili; calm, kind, gentle Fili, his heir, the lad who has helped him so dearly in all of the time they have been a family, who so fiercely reminds him of his own brother, who he couldn't protect. And Kili! Sweet, loving Kili who always brought a smile to his face and braided his hair and kissed his sadness away when he caught it, who was still but a babe that snuggled against his chest at night. Fili, who is his home, and Kili, who is his heart. He cannot choose between them.

His decision comes swiftly, and he thinks this may be what Azog really wants.

"I cannot choose," he mutters and throws his sword down with enough force to startle off Smaug himself. "You may take my life instead." It is a rash decision, he knows, and he will not be able to protect them afterwards, but he knows he cannot choose. He could never choose.

Kili is screaming them, begging him. "Uncle please! Please! Pick Fili! Pick him! Please, Uncle, please!" Fili stills and is wide eyed as he stares at his brother, not daring to imagine a world without him, and a self-satisfied smile pulls at the Defiler's lips. "I'll be alright," Kili promises. "I'm too little; I'm not important!"

A keening noise escapes from Fili as he tries to call out for his brother, or perhaps as he tries to plead his own case with his uncle. It tears at his heart to hear his youngest nephew say such things, to hear him belittle himself so.

"A most noble offer," Azog comments, sounding bored. "But I must refuse."

He wants to scream, wants to rip the beasts head off with his bare hands.

"You must choose one, or I kill them both." A wicked smile curves his lips. "And I am growing impatient."

"Uncle please," Kili calls again, much quieter this time, and he is alarmed at how pale the boy has become, at how much blood he has lost. It's too much. "Please save Fili," he murmurs, eyes drooping shut.

Fili is thrashing wildly now, shaking his head as furiously as he can in the Defiler's grasp. He cannot choose. He cannot loose one, and the survivor will never forgive him for what he has done. Whoever he chooses to save will despise him for all eternity, though never as much as he would truly despise himself.

"Time is running out," Azog taunts, and he tries desperately to find a way to save them both, to fell the Defiler before he can harm either of them. A whisper of a plan forms in his head, one that has the barest hope of succeeding, but it is all that he has. It is insane and the risk is too great, but he cannot fail them. He can't!

"Time's up," the beast sneers.

"Fili!" he calls out, arms outstretched. The blonde looks at him, horrified at his choice, eyes screaming with hurt and betrayal and hatred, and when Azog finally releases him and throws him at his uncle, he is screaming curses in Khuzdul, his voice hoarse from the Defiler's grasp. He hits the ground just as Azog yanks the sword from Kili's shoulder. The boy immediately sinks to his knees and cries out in pain, but when he meets eyes with his uncle, he looks oddly relieved.

"Comfort the boy as he dies," Azog commands.

The beast moves behind Kili and readies his sword to stab him through the back, to make sure that he sees, and he grabs at the dagger he keeps stowed in his bracer. He hurls it with as much force as he can muster, aiming for the Defiler's temple. His aim rings true, but it is too late.

Azog's sword is buried in Kili's chest before the beast even falls to his knees.

He watches, terrified at what he has done, as the pale orc finally falls backward, dead, his sword pulling out of Kili with a horrific squelching noise. His youngest falls forward and hits the ground with barely a sound and does not move again.

"No!" Fili is screaming, voice hoarse, and he scrambles up from where he's landed, not five feet away from his uncle, running for his brother, rolling him over and pulling him into his arms and begging him to stay with him just a little while longer.

He is sure that his own heart has stopped. How could he! How could he have let this happen? He trudges forward on numb feet, watching as Fili cradles his brother close and brushes his hair from his face. He collapses to his knees once he reaches them, heart twisting violently in his chest at his sees Azog's final act of cruelty. Kili is stabbed through his lung, not his heart, and his death will be prolonged and painful. He watches with muted horror as the boy tries to draw breath, as Fili tries to coach him along, brushing the tears from his cheeks and murmuring words of encouragement even as his own voice quakes and crumbles in the wake of his grief.

He isn't aware that he is crying until Kili reaches a shaking, bloodstained hand to swipe at his cheeks, and he catches the hand and presses a kiss to his palm, and brings his other hand to press against the wound in his chest. It won't help, he knows; the damage is too deep. It is futile to try and stop bleeding, but it gives him a small comfort to try.

"S'okay, uncle," he rasps, choking on his own breath and wetly coughing blood. "I asked you to."

He shakes his head, horrified. "I'm sorry, little one," he chokes out, voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry; I thought I could save you both. I was too late." He keeps murmuring apologies in between his sobs, watching as the light in Kili's eyes starts to fade. Fili starts to panic, his voice raising an octave as he pleads with his brother to live, to hold on, to not leave him.

The light fades away completely. Kili draws no more strangled breaths, coughs no more blood.

Fili looks up at him in utter disbelief, tears pouring freely from his eyes. He cannot form words past the lump in his throat, so he pulls them both close, clutching them to his chest as tightly as he dares. Fili screams his anguish into his shoulder and punches him with every sob, cursing at him every time he draws breath, and he can find no words to comfort him; he can find no words to comfort himself, so he holds them both close and cries in a way he hasn't since Frerin died.

Someone starts to shake him, to pull him away from his nephews, and he clutches the boys closer. Whoever it is will not take them from him. They shake him again, and, enraged, he throws out an arm as fiercely as he dares, pleased at the feel of hitting flesh and at the sound of someone falling solidly to the ground.

But it is for naught, and they are back not a moment later, shaking him almost violently, a distant voice that he vaguely recognizes calling for him. But he won't let go. He won't.

He wakes with a start, hands instinctively throwing the small body off of him with more force than necessary. Kili cries out as he hits the floor a second time, but is undeterred and climbs back into his uncle's bed as quickly as he can.

Thorin stares at him in disbelief and Kili grasps his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. "Uncle," he breathes, sounding comforting and terrified all at once. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real." In the dim light from the dying fire in the hearth, he is slowly able to make out his youngest nephew's face, eyes shining with unshed tears as he tries to understand what ails his beloved uncle.

He doesn't believe him. It has to be a trick. They boy had died, right in his arms, before his very eyes! Without thinking, he yanks the boy's sleeping tunic up, ignoring the boy's undignified squeal of surprise, and searches for the wounds, but he only finds clean, unblemished skin. Eyes wide with disbelief, he reaches up to cup the boy's face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

"You're alive," he breathes, and Kili only nods, his eyes betraying how confused and wary he is. He's never seen his uncle like this, so raw and terrified, and he doesn't know how to make it better. Thorin sobs out a cry of relief and presses a kiss against his forehead before clutching him close to his chest, the relief flooding through his system like a most powerful draught. The tears come hard and fast, and he knows he should be ashamed, but he can't be bothered to care because Kili is alive, and that is all that matters.

"I heard you screaming, Uncle," Kili explains, voice muffled against the solid weight of Thorin's chest. "I thought you hurt."

A dream – no, a night terror – but nothing more. His boys are safe and the Defiler is dead, can never hurt them. He sobs again and presses kisses into Kili's hair, thanking every deity he can think of that he is safe. He's never felt this unsettled, in all the battles he's lived through, all the horrors he's seen have never caused this numbness in his limbs, the absolute terror he'd felt when he'd truly believed that one of his nephews ceased to be.

Then he feels the crushing weight of his guilt. Dream or no, he'd gambled with Kili's life, and he'd lost. The memory of the light fading from those big, brown eyes that he'd adored since the boy was born flashes in front of his mind again, and he shakes his head to clear it away. For a long while he cries, ashamed at what he had done in his sleep, clutching Kili close and vowing over and over again to never let anything bad happen to the boy. He knows Kili is crying as well, in confusion and fear, he thinks, for he has never seen his uncle so distraught. He can feel the dampness against his neck, can feel how the boys hands have tangled in his hair like it is a lifeline.

It takes him a while to calm himself. "I'm sorry, little one. I didn't mean to wake you," he murmurs in a voice wrecked by his sobbing. "I had a dream that you were called away to where I cannot follow, far before your time." Admitting it out loud causes a fresh wave of guilt and sadness to crash over him. It had been his fault.

"I'm still here, Uncle," he murmured in a small voice that shook with tiny tremors. "And Fee is too," he added. "You can hear him snoring all the way over here!"

Thorin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him when he realized that, now that the rush of blood had faded from his ears, he could hear his eldest nephew faintly snoring from the room he shared with his brother. He pressed another kiss to the boy's forehead. "Aye, that you are, lad," he murmured, pulling the boy away from him so he can see his face. With a sigh, he brushed his thumbs across his cheeks again, wiping away his tears. "I did not mean to scare you so," he mumbles, and Kili smiles brightly, and a tiny bit of warmth seeps itself back into his bones, even as the boy's eyelids droop.

The dream has left him unsettled, and he already knows that sleep will elude him for the rest of the night. Even with Kili's assurances that both of his nephews are safe and sound and Fili's distant snores, he longs to see his heir, to see that he is truly well. To see him look upon him with love and adoration, instead of seeing his young face twisted in rage at him, at what he had done.

"Come now," he says, drawing himself out from under his furs and scooping the lad up into his arms. "Let's get you back to bed."

He intends to simply deposit Kili into the bed he shares with his brother and wish him a good night. Perhaps he will read the correspondences Balin has collected about Erebor and the dragon, to see if anything has changed, to se if there are any more signs that it would be safe to return. Maybe he'll go to the forge and get some more work done, even though business has been dismally slow as of late and he hasn't had any orders in days.

Instead he finds, himself lifting the furs and nudging Fili out of the middle of the bed, lying down himself. Kili sighs happily and snuggles against him without a thought as he tucks them in, but Fili grumbles lightly, not fully waking up.

"D'you have a bad dream, Kee?" he asks sleepily, even as he instinctively presses up against his uncle's side. He drags a hand, heavy with sleep, across Thorin's chest, seeking out Kili's own and grasping it lightly once he finds it.

"I did," Thorin answers, drawing one hand up to lazily card his hand through his eldest nephew's hair.

Fili's brow furrows in confusion, as if he cannot fathom the thought of his uncle having a bad dream, though he doesn't open his eyes.

"I hope you do not mind if I stay with you tonight," he adds, pressing a kiss against Kili's forehead. The lad had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had lain down, thumb lodged securely in his mouth. He is tempted to pull it free – the boy is getting to old for such things – but he can't bring himself to.

"Tha s'okay," Fili murmurs, before dropping off to sleep again, clearly contented.

It comforts him greatly to see them both well, to see that they are not angry with him, but sleep doesn't come easily to him, as he'd expected. His thoughts drift aimlessly for a while, though he determinedly turns them away from the dream and Frerin when they drift that way. He is largely unsuccessful in his endeavors, and he keeps seeing Kili's blood slipping away, Fili's eyes boring into his with hatred. His heart sits heavy with guilt in his chest, no matter how hard he tries to shake it. It was his fault. His fault. He had failed his nephews just as he'd failed Frerin. And Dis. And his father.

Kili wakes twice during the night from bad dreams, as he is prone to, though it is usually Fili who calms him and coaxes him back to sleep. Thorin sings him back to sleep both times, with lullabies that he remembers his mother singing to him when he was young, lullabies that he'd once sang to his brother and sister as well.

He vows to himself over and over again that he won't let that night terror become a reality, but a sinking feeling in his gut keeps telling him he will fail.

He wakes to the smell of sausages sizzling on the stovetop. Sunlight is peeking in from the tiny window in his nephews' room, and Kili's small frame is sprawled across his chest, hands tangled in his sleeping tunic to keep him close. Exhaustion must have taken him, though he doesn't remember falling asleep, and he doesn't feel as though he has rested at all. It comforts him greatly that there were no more dreams.

He disentangles himself from his nephew as gently as possible and tucks the furs back around him, kissing him lightly on the forehead when the boy furrows his brow in obviously displeasure at his uncle's departure.

Guilt chokes at him. Kili adores him, he knows. Balin points it out enough to him, but it's clear to anyone who can see that the lad loves his uncle and brother dearly. He is fiercely loyal to them both, even at such a young age, and he knows that Kili would do anything he asked of him, without question or hesitation. He often wonders if anyone loves as deeply as Kili does, feels things as deeply as he does. He thinks Frerin might have, but he squashes that thought as quickly as it comes. He'd failed Frerin; he would not fail Kili, no matter how similar he thought them to be.

He slips out of the room quietly, and is unsurprised to see Fili at the stove, poking at the cooking links of sausages in the pan. He flashes a bright smile at his uncle when he notices him.

"I hope I didn't wake you," he apologizes, but Thorin waves it off as he pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher. His throat feels tight from crying, and he knows his voice will sound wretched when he speaks.

"Mister Dwalin came by a bit ago," the lad continues, poking a few of the sausages with a fork and removing the ones that he deems cooked enough.

"Did he?" Thorin asks, pleased to her that his voice is not as wrecked as he thought it would be. "Have I slept that late?"

Fili shook his head. "No, it was before dawn. He was going out hunting, but he wanted to know if I could train with him when he gets back. He said you should join us, if the forge was slow again."

"And why were you up so early?" he wondered aloud. Fili flushed lightly, and didn't immediately answer him. "Fili?" he prompted.

"I missed Mum and Da," he answered finally, removing the last few sausages from the stove and dousing the fire from under the heating stone. "I just thought…I had a dream last night and I heard the lullaby that Mum used to sing to me, and when I woke I just wanted to see them, and I couldn't get back to sleep," he explained.

Thorin sighed, noticing the old book that lay open to the drawing of his sister on the table. "I am afraid that may have been my fault," he answered. "I sung one that I remembered from my own childhood to Kili to help him fall back asleep."

"You mean you remember it?" Fili exclaimed, excitement taking over his features. "I always liked it, but I could never remember the words."

Thorin smiled softly, and squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I will teach it to you, then," he murmured. "But I suppose we'll need to rouse your brother. He'll be cross if we let his breakfast grow cold."

Fili nodded, knowing far too well how Kili's temper tantrums could make for a rough start of the day. "I'll go get him, Uncle!"

He chuckled lightly as the boy all but ran back to his room to get his brother, before he focused his attention on the book on the table. He missed his sister dearly, and it was nice to see her face once in a while, even if the only way he could was through the sketch. He flipped over to the picture of her husband, and smiled fondly.

The boys were a perfect blend of their parents. Fili so strongly resembled the line of Durin, with the shape of his face and the blue of his eyes, though his hair coloring was all from his father. Kili was a miniaturized version of his father in appearance, russet eyes and all, but he had inherited Thorin and Dis' inky black locks. Fili had inherited much of his mother's spirit, was stubborn like his Uncle, and kind like his father. Kili was as loving as his father, and had gotten his mother's quick-wit and steadfast loyalty. Unfortunately, he was also prone to brooding like his Uncle.

He had just clearing the book from the table and returning it to it's proper place on the shelf (a low enough one, where both lads could easily reach) and was placing the plates of food on the table, when Fili returned with Kili settled on his hip, still looking very much asleep. Thorin couldn't help but chuckle. The blond started to deposit his little brother on a chair, but the boy just groaned and clung tighter to him. Ultimately, Fili just sighed and sat in his own chair, settling Kili on his lap and digging into his breakfast, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to dine with his brother asleep in his lap.

Thorin can't help the barking laugh that escapes him.

The last wisps of his dream fade away. He is still afraid that he will fail the lads one day, but he decides to focus on the time that he has with them now.

Hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 will be up soon.