AN – Ugh I am just glad this one is over. There's a lot of minor plot development, getting a few key details hashed out and setting some other things into motion, but not a whole lot else. I hate when I write something that feels like straight filler to me, but I hope y'all enjoy it!
And I have 6 more chapters planned before they leave for the quest, and, depending on everything that I decide to include, 6 more chapters during the quest, and the epilogue. Sooo, essentially we are only at the half way point here, WHOA.
I still own nothing. Enjoy!
Warnings: Potty words, anxiety, depiction of major character death in a dream sequence, violence and mild gore in said dream sequence, and I cannot write Gandalf because my words pale in comparison to Sir Ian's majesty.
Greater than Gold
Chapter 15: Forty and Forty-Five
By Displaced Hobbit
"Are you nervous?" Fíli asks quietly as his fingers comb through his little brother's hair, pulling out the sections by his ears to braid into the appropriate ceremonial plaits. He already knows the answer to his question, already knows that Kíli will lie and say he's not, but he's grown tired of watching the mounting tension in his brother's form all day, grown tired of the tightness around the lad's eyes, something that only happens when he is upset or nervous or both.
"No," Kíli replies quickly (too quickly, Fíli thinks) before fidgeting with his hands once more.
He laughs lightly in an attempt to calm his little brother as he starts to braid the fine brown strands. "It's okay to be nervous," he murmurs. "I was petrified for my fortieth." He had been, truthfully. Thorin had formally presented him as his heir to the entire settlement and had sent word to the other six kingdoms that the Line of Durin lay secure once more. There was a traditional feast, though much more muted that what it would have been in Erebor, and he'd been terrified the entire day that he was going to muck something up, that he was going to bring shame to his family without even meaning to.
Kíli makes a small sound under his breath. "Yours was a big deal; the whole settlement was invited. You're the heir," he huffs out. "I'm not…I'm not important like you are." There's a certain sadness tingeing his voice that Fíli's not heard often, and it makes his concern grow tenfold.
He tuts quietly under his breath. "You're important to me," he murmurs, barely resisting the urge to give a quick peck to his brother's cheek (according to Balin they're far too old for displays of affection like that anyhow). "And Uncle, and Mister Dwalin, and Mister Balin, and Ori, not to mention Mister Bofur…"
His brother swats at him, nearly causing him to falter in his braiding. "Okay, okay," he half-grumbles. "I've got your point. Finish my braids and make me look proper so we can go."
Kíli's fortieth was to be a much smaller affair, as he was only announced as the second to family and close, trusted friends, with a missive sent to the other kingdoms that there was a second son. There wasn't as much pomp and circumstance involved, but Kíli was ever aware of how a lot of people in their felt about him. Already to his fortieth, and he still didn't have any sign of a beard, just smooth, pale skin. He had grown quite a few inches in the last few years (was almost as tall as Fíli now, the little weed), but he was still slight of build and lithe, not to mention how some people still just could not get over how he used a bow (yet they bought his kills regularly enough).
"You're his heir too," he murmurs a moment later, just after he's finished the first braid and is starting on the second. "If something ever happens to me, then you'd be…"
"Shut up," Kíli snaps. "Don't talk about that."
"You have to know that," he continues anyway. "I mean, not that it's likely, but you're still one of his heirs, and you need to be ready…"
"Stop, Fee," Kíli interrupts. "Not now. Not today. Please."
Fíli glances to his brother's face, sees the sheen of tears that's already managed to gloss over his eyes, realizes just a second too late that he's said something he shouldn't have, that he's pushed too far. "Oh, Kee," he whispers, dropping the unfinished braid from his numbed fingertips before pulling him into a tight hug. "Nadadith, I didn't mean…I didn't mean anything by it."
Kíli's shaking just slightly as he presses his face against his neck. "I know," he whispers. "I just don't…I don't ever want to think about…"
"I know," he hushes gently. "I know; I'm sorry." He presses a kiss to his brother's temple, Balin's lessons on propriety be damned, silently cursing himself for being so dense. He'd not meant to upset him, not today of all days, when he was already under so much pressure and so obviously nervous even though he kept trying to hide it.
"It's fine," Kili replies, but his arms tighten around him. "I know…I know about that," he murmurs. "Mister Balin makes sure that I do but I just…I couldn't live without you or Uncle, Fee. I couldn't."
"Shh, I know," he whispers as he rocks his brother gently. He's impressed that Kíli has managed to keep his tears at bay, marveled at how much his little brother has grown in the last decade, without him really noticing. "You'll never have to, Kee. I promise." It's a promise that he doesn't know he can keep, but he means to, and he'll do his absolute best to, and that will just have to be enough.
The he remembers that Kíli will soon enough learn that he is a spare, and his heart sinks all over again.
"Relax, Kíli," Thorin murmurs softly from his right, gently reaching over to grab his hand to stop it from fidgeting with the fur-lined cuffs of the silken overcoat he wears. "You remember your lines, don't you?"
He nods, resolutely tucking his arms close to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fingers to give him something to do with his hands. He really can't help how his nerves claw at him, even though he knows that this ceremony is only happening for tradition's sake. He's wearing Fíli's hand-me-down clothes and his presentation in taking place in Bombur's tavern, for Aulë's sake, with only his family and friends that are close enough that they may as well be family, but still…
"This is but a small affair," Thorin reminds, just as he places a warm hand on his shoulder to squeeze him tightly. "You've nothing to be nervous for."
"I know," he half-whispers. "I just…I just want you to be proud of me," he says, shoulders slumping as he sighs, sounding almost defeated. "I just…Fíli is always so good at the things you as him to do, and he's so smart and brave and strong and I'm…I'm…"
I'm not like him, goes unspoken, but Thorin hears it nonetheless.
"I…" Kíli continues, sounding more like a lost child than he'd like to, "I do my best to ignore it, Uncle, as you've said to, but I still…I still hear what people say about me…that I'm just a blemish on Durin's line, that you're fortunate…that you're fortunate to have Fíli because it'd be such a waste if you were stuck with just me…"
Thorin sighs, bringing his hand up to rest at the back of Kíli's neck and pressing their forehead's together, squeezing ever so softly in reassurance. "Kíli," he speaks gently, well aware of how tightly strung the lad's nerves are at the moment. "I would be happy to be 'stuck' with just you," he comforts, voice ringing with sincerity. "There is no one with a bigger heart, no one more loyal, no one I would rather have as my kin. Know this, Kíli, and fret not about it."
His uncle's words pull a small smile from him, one that is easily returned with another small squeeze to the back of his neck. It is enough to calm him down significantly, though he is still full of doubt. He knows he's not what the dwarrow expect nor what they want from their prince, from someone who could one day be their King (however small that possibility may be), but he knows he can only ever be himself, and tries to focus on that.
"Better?" Thorin asks a moment later, and he gives him a small nod in reply.
"Yes, Uncle," he murmurs, mustering up a less genuine smile than before. "Let's get this over with, yeah?"
Thorin chuckles beside him. "Yes, of course. I'm sure Bombur is anxious enough to get to the feasting portion of the evening." He looks the lad over one more time, smoothes the already unraveling braids back into their place, before returning to stand at his side, a warm arm slung about his shoulders. "Fret not, Kíli. You make me proud enough just by standing at my side," he murmurs, just as he steps forward to push the doors to the tavern open.
Balin is already standing at the front of the dining hall, the scroll containing the oath Kíli must make to his King and sign splayed out on a table before him, and Fíli and Dwalin seated calmly to his right. He catches sight of familiar faces, of Ori and his brother Dori, Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Oin and Gloin, and, unsurprisingly, a few of Dain's men, who he recognizes from the sigil emblazing the sleeves of their tunic and nothing else. It seems that Thorin had spoken true enough, that there were just a handful of those whom he trusted to know Kíli was named as his second.
It had been a surprise to him to learn that, on occasion, second sons were deemed unfit for rule, and were never named heirs. A small, nagging thought in his mind kept telling him that Thorin was keeping him a secret because he was ashamed of him, because he doesn't want the other realms to know that he has an heir so weak, but he knows, really, truly knows that isn't the case. Thorin keeps him secret to keep him safe, to keep their enemies from knowing his face and his name should they decide to turn on Thorin and do harm to the line of Durin.
Thorin stops them just before the table with the scroll and lets his arm slide free from Kíli's shoulders as he moves to stand beside his longtime friend. He starts to panic just the tiniest bit once he is left on his own, but wills himself to remember that he is among friends, that he is safe.
"We are here today to honor Kíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, as he celebrates his Fortieth Name Day," Balin announces in a clear voice. Kíli starts a little at the use of his full title, as he's heard it used for Fíli and Thorin many times, but never on himself. "It is the wish of Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, that Kíli be named as his second successor to the throne of Erebor," his tutor continues, with an expectant nod in his direction.
For a split second, he blanks on what he is supposed to say. Balin had spent days drilling the oath of allegiance into his mind for weeks on end, and it was written on the scroll that lay just before him on the table, but it would not do to dishonor Thorin so, to shame himself so, and he doesn't dare glance down. He starts to feel a tiny prickle of panic well up within him as he struggles to remember the right words, when he looks up and catches Fíli's gaze, sees him smile softly and nod in encouragement, and suddenly everything clicks.
"I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince or sovereign other than my King, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain," he says, his voice tremulous as it breaks over the word king. He shifts his gaze to his uncle, can see the warm smile in his eyes though his face remains impassive, and it gives him strength. "I hereby declare, on oath, that I will defend Erebor, the Kingdom Under the Mountain, its laws, and its sovereigns, against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of Erebor when called. I hereby declare, on oath," he continues, voice strong now, though his hands have begun to shake just so, "that I take this obligation freely and without reservation or coercion, so help me Aulë."
Thorin's lips crack into the tiniest of smiles, one that is all pride and warmth and affection. "And I shall have it," he accepts quietly, gesturing to where Kíli must sign his name to his oath on the parchment before him. His hands are still shaking terribly so, but he manages to sign his name (though with much less flourish than Thorin and Balin's have) without spilling the inkwell or smudging anything overly important. Once he finished, he stands to regard his uncle once more, shoulders square and straight.
"Kíli," Thorin addresses, his voice holding all of the authority of the king Kíli often forgets he is. "You are the second son of my father's daughter. I name you as my second successor, in that, should I fall, and should my heir, Fíli, son of Dís, fall," his voice breaks just the slightest bit, "the burden of the throne of Erebor will fall to you."
Dark, dangerous thoughts well up in Kíli's mind, graphic images of his uncle and brother maimed or dead or both, images that his traitorous dreams have shown him over and over again. He swallows thickly, closes his eyes tight to will them away, before taking in a deep breath and releasing it through his nose, determined not to show the level of distress he feels.
"Will you accept this burden?" Thorin asks once he's managed to calm himself.
There is a beat of silence, one where Kíli desperately seeks out the eyes of his older brother, but is dismayed to find Fíli's eyes fixed on the floor. "I do," he answers finally, gaze locked back on Thorin.
"Very well then," Balin cuts in, smiling just a bit as he does. "That about settles it. Lads, I present to you, Kíli, son of Dís, second prince to the King Under the Mountain."
There is a small smattering of applause for naught but a second until Bombur and Bofur burst into uproarious cheers, ones that make Kíli's cheeks go a little pink at the attention as he ducks his head away from them.
Thorin comes back around to his side of the table, to grasp his forearm in the traditional handshake to show that an agreement has been reached between the two of them, but he's only held onto Kíli's arm for a second before he is pulling him into a warm hug. He doesn't hesitate for a second to wind his arms around his uncle's sturdy form, or to press his face against his neck as soon as Thorin's hand reaches up to grasp the back of his head and hold him tighter.
"I am so proud of you, Kíli," he murmurs as he presses a ghost of a kiss to the lad's temple. "Thank you, dear heart. For all you have done and will do for me."
He's stunned into silence from Thorin's display of affection and admission of his emotions, so he settles on a swift nod and hopes that his uncle is able to understand. When they pull apart, he could almost swear he sees tears pooling at the corners of his uncle's eyes, but he turns his face away from him so quickly that he cannot be sure. He looks to Fíli again, but his brother is once again avoiding his gaze.
And while he celebrates the rest of the evening with fine food and better company, he can't help the nagging feeling that something is different now, that something has changed, and he knows it doesn't have a thing to do with his rapidly approaching adulthood.
The morning following Kíli's fortieth name day banquet is a lazy affair. The small family spends the majority of their time cooped up in their sitting room around a roaring fire. While the mountain kept them well protected from the weather outside, the bitter midwinter chill had still managed to seep deep inside.
Fíli diligently reads through some history texts Balin had left with him the week prior, insisting that he familiarize himself with the information contained within the tomes. Kíli sits close to the fire, shaving down some tree branches he'd collected before the frost into straight, solid shafts for his arrows, balancing their weight precisely with a practiced hand. The stone arrowheads Bofur had given him a number of years before, all but forgotten since the orc raid, sit beside him, ready to be attached to the bolts with thin leather string he'd made over the summer.
Thorin watches them for a moment, allows himself a small smile and a brief respite from the missive he is presently drafting to send to the other kingdoms, one that announces his second, but does not identify him by name or lineage, as a small measure of protection to Durin's line. He is content, he is, but there is something that he can't fully identify that weighs heavy on his heart.
Dís and Tíli would be so proud of their boys.
He sees so much of the two of them in those boys. Fíli is the perfect blend of the pair, with his mother's eyes and smile, right down to the fine lines that form around them when he laughs, and his father's golden blond hair and strong nose. Though many feel that Kíli has grown to strongly resemble Thorin, (and he has, with his coloring and the curve of his nose and the set of his brow), in his eyes, he sees his mischievous little brother, right down to the subtle quirk of his lips when he finds something interesting. He has his father's eyes, though, the depthless brown that had actually grown somewhat uncommon for the dwarrow of Erebor, as well as his wide, warm smile.
Looking at the lads draws his thoughts to his departed kin more often than he'd like to admit. He can't help but wonder what things would be like if the dragon had never come to the mountain. Tíli had been Dís's One, he would have found his way to the mountain in some way or another, and he could still have had his boys…he likes to think he could still have had everything, if it hadn't been for that blasted worm.
He takes a steadying breath, to steer him away from the growing anger he feels. He doesn't want to taint his memories of them with any more anger than he already holds.
He wonders how they would have acted at a ceremony such as this, wonders if Dís would have struggled to keep a neutral face or if she would have let the happy tears slip freely from her eyes. The can picture the warm, proud grin (Kíli's grin) that would have split Tíli's face wide, can see the ghost of his hand clapped on his eldest son's shoulder as they watched on.
Aulë, he thinks for the millionth time in the last forty years, how he would have love for them to be here still.
Kíli must have picked up on his souring, somber mood, for he silently scoots backward to rest his back against Thorin's legs, tossing a soft smile up at him as he does. With a gentle smile of his own, he reaches down to card through Kíli's hair for just a moment, just long enough to calm himself, in the barest gesture of thanks before they both return to their tasks, and Thorin forces himself to turn his mind to lighter thoughts.
They're relaxed; it's quiet, comfortable, and cozy, but such luxuries can never last for long.
There's a sharp knock at the door and Fíli all too eagerly slams the text shut, practically jumping from his chair to see who has arrived, especially since they weren't expecting any visitors, and Kíli lets out a small snort of amusement. He yanks the sturdy door to their halls open wide, smile coming to his face as he reveals Ori. The lad has only recently started his apprenticeship as a scribe, who, truthfully, spends more time acting a messenger boy than a historian in training.
"I've got a summons for Mister Thorin," he announces breathlessly. "From Mister Balin. He says it's urgent."
Thorin frowns as he rises from his chair, mindful of how Kíli is pressed against him, even as the lad grumbles his displeasure at being disturbed. "Did he say what it was about?" he murmurs as he reaches for his overcoat.
Ori shakes his head. "No, but…I did see some sort of tall folk being led in earlier this morning."
"Gandalf," Thorin greets with a small incline of his head. He nods to Balin as well as he makes himself at home in his cousin's study. Idly, he wonders where Dwalin has gotten off to, as he would have expected him to sit in on such a meeting. "You must have pressing news to have travelled this far in midwinter."
The wizard just gives him a wry smile from where he is settled in a too-small armchair, knees practically pressing against his chest in an effort to fit. "Truthfully, master dwarf, I was merely passing through these lands," he admits, a small chuckle passing his lips at their bewildered expressions. "Though I do have some news for you. Dain spoke the truth. You are being deceived."
He utters a curse under his breath. "How do you know this?"
"I have traveled to the Desolation of Smaug myself, spoke with those in Lake Town; they have seen no sign of the dragon, though they are far to wary to venture anywhere near the mountain," he explains. "They've not seen hide nor hair of the beast in nearly thirty years."
Balin frowns. "And you trust them to be honest with this?"
A mild expression of shock comes across Gandalf's features. "What reasons have they to be dishonest?"
"Lake Town is the closest any have ventured to the mountain since Smaug's reign began," Thorin grumbles. "They would be the first to enter the mountain if the beast were gone, would be the first to attempt to seize the riches of Erebor."
"And from the state of their affairs it is evident that they have not," Gandalf finishes for him, slightly exasperated and the rightful king's unwillingness to hear him out. "Thorin, I know you have distrust for those who are not of your own kind," he murmurs, "even old wizards who intend to help you regain what you have lost."
"I do not distrust you," he murmurs quietly. "I distrust those who wronged my father and my grandfather. I distrust those who sat back and did nothing while my people burned. I distrust those who have let the dwarrow of Erebor fall into this state – scattered, sickly, broken, and poor, motherless children weighed down by grief – I distrust those who looked on and did nothing, through all corners of this earth. No good deed among men or elf or wizard will ever change that."
Balin nods in agreement as they fall into a tense silence.
Gandalf seems to chew on the inside of his cheek for a moment before he speaks again. "Your stubbornness may one day be your downfall, Thorin Oakenshield. You mustn't forget that yours were not the only people Smaug took from that day. You have could have many allies, as there are many who wish to see the beast felled as you do. This does not need to be your burden; you not need to bear this weight on your own."
Thorin shakes his head. "It is my birthright, Gandalf. This is my quest, mine alone, and I will not share its spoils with those who looked upon our devastation and did nothing."
He sees the frustration in the wizard's eyes, but the old man does not push it farther, and they switch to more bearable topics for the time being.
He is freezing. Dwalin is working him to the bone, outside in the frigid air. Sweat is pouring off of him in waves, freezing against his skin, and every drop feels like icy fingers poking at him. His hands are numb with cold and barely able to hold on to his sword. They've been at this for hours, despite Dwalin's general dislike for the cold, and his weapons master shows no intent to ease up on him at all.
"Again," he barks, settling back down into his ready stance, before lunging at an ill-prepared Kíli and practically throwing him to the ground. "Come on, lad; get up!"
He heaves a heavy breath as he struggles to get back to his feet. "M'tired," he explains as he pulls himself back into a ready stance, narrowly dodging Dwalin's next blow.
"You'll have to learn to fight tired, lad," Dwalin explains as he makes another lunge toward him. His footing slips again and the warrior manages to clip his legs with his wooden sword and sends him careening face-first into the ground. "Up; again!"
Kíli just manages to roll over onto his back, sucking in great heaving breaths of air. "Need a break," he mumbles.
Dwalin finally takes pity on him, and drops his practice sword to the ground. "If you're in a battle there won't be any breaks."
"I know," Kíli snaps back, feeling his anger grow. He's fought in battle; he knows.
"And if you can't keep up, you might leave your brother's back undefended," Dwalin continues, heedless of the lad's mounting ire. "And then where does that leave 'im?"
"Shut up," Kíli nearly snarls.
He knows Dwalin is touching that nerve on him on purpose to get a rise out of him. He manages to get to his feet, but his hands feel too numb and cold to grasp his sword. It's Dwalin who lunges at him first, grabbing him around his middle and easily wrestling him to the ground. Kíli manages to use his smaller size and speed to his advantage and slips out from under him, deftly rolling to grab his sword and spring back to his feet, breath coming out in heavy pants that freeze in the air before his face. With a twirl that lacks any real flourish, he has his practice sword at Dwalin's throat.
"Yield," he demands, voice shaking with exhaustion and a little elation, because he's never managed to beat Dwalin in a sparring match before.
Dwalin gives him a look, and there's…something swirling in his grey eyes that Kíli can't quite identify. "I yield."
Kíli throws his sword off to the side, extends a hand down to help Dwalin back to his feet…
…and is promptly flung onto his back and pinned down by the hulking warrior.
"Hey!" he shouts, clearly affronted. "That's not fair!"
Dwalin chuckles lightly, but gets off him and offers him a hand to help him stand, but Kíli just bats it away and gets up on his own.
"You're enemies won't fight fair," Dwalin grumbles. "When you're in a battle, a real battle, lad, one that your life depends on…"
"I've been in a real battle!" Kíli snaps again.
"Yea, you've been in one shit-scared and you'd have gotten yourself killed in a heartbeat if there hadn't been anyone looking out for you!" Dwalin nearly roars in response.
Kíli shrinks back a bit and falls silent; he knows Dwalin is right.
"The battles that you face now…there won't be anyone looking after you," he continues. "You have to look out for Fíli and your Uncle. You have to protect them, whether you're tired or scared or cold or on deaths door yourself. It's your job. It's your duty."
He feels the rest of his anger drain out of him. He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. His duties aren't like Fíli's; he's not tasked with learning the history of Erebor, with learning proper diplomacy and etiquette. He's been tasked with learning military strategy, with learning how to fight and protect his people, starting with his brother and uncle.
"I…I know," he murmurs finally, shivering from the cold now that his anger has seeped out of him. "I'll be stronger next time, Mister Dwalin," he promises.
Dwalin suddenly looks older than he's ever seen. There's tightness in the skin around his eyes and he almost looks afraid, but Kíli can't imagine why he would. "Come on, lad," he murmurs softly. "Let's get you inside and warmed up. Your uncle will skin me alive if I let you catch your death out here."
Kíli follows obediently behind him, and they walk in silence before they slip back into Thorin's Halls. Even though it's only been a week since his fortieth, Kíli can't shake the feeling that everything is suddenly changing and spirally out of control. Thorin's meetings with the wizard, and the growing frustration he can see in the man who has raised him as a father would, Fíli's avoidance of his gaze, and the way his brother seems to stare at him when he thinks he can't see, and now Dwalin…
Things are definitely changing, he realizes, and he's not entirely sure it's all for the better.
He's gasping for air, but every breath he takes in is full of ash and soot and just feels beyond suffocating, like he'd be better off just not breathing at all. There's a horrible, terrible pain in his leg, and he hears lots of shouts, and the clash of metal upon metal. With a strangled, pained gasp, he manages to push himself up, sees his sword not a foot away from himself and grabs at it. It takes great effort, but he manages to pull himself to his knees at least to get a look at what is happening around him. The battle seems mostly finished, and it looks like they've won, by the sheer number of orc carcasses that little the ground.
'Good,' he thinks, knowing that he needs to get the wound in his leg looked at and treated as soon as possible.
"Move, Fee!" comes Kíli's panicked scream from his right. His brother sounds terrified, more scared than he's ever heard him, and he sluggishly turns his head to see him racing toward him, sword drawn, and eyes focused on something just behind his own head. He tries to follow the action as Kíli hurtles over top of him, body solidly impacting with that of a rather large orc who'd been just seconds from removing Fíli's head from his neck.
How had he not even noticed? He tries to get his brain to keep up with what is happening as Kíli grapples the larger form to the ground, lithe body overtop of the beast and pinning him down as he reaches down for his dagger. And then there's a terrible, horrible scream, and he sees a jagged blade protruding from Kíli's back. With a self-satisfied grunt, the orc pushes Kíli's now limp form off of himself, pausing only to retrieve his sword from the fallen dwarf's chest before sauntering back over to Fíli.
His mind finally catches up. With a snap, he realizes what has happened, what he has let happen.
"Kíli," he mumbles out, feeling numb and horrified by his brother's still form. "Kee!" he screams out.
The orc spits something at him in the Black Speech, a wicked grin splitting his mouth as he lines his sword up at his throat.
He needs to move, he has to move, Kíli is dead because he tried to defend him and he can't even move to save his own hide, and Kíli is dead, dead, dead, his sweet, precious baby brother is dead because of him…
He wakes with a strangled scream that has Kíli practically falling out of his own bed in his haste to get to him. Fíli can hear himself taking in great, gasping breaths of air, and feels himself flinch away from Kíli's touch once his brother finally reaches him.
"Fee, hey," Kíli calls, hands held uselessly in the air in front of him, not wanting to touch his brother if it only serves to upset him further. "Fíli, nadad, it's alright," he soothes, heart clenching as his brother curls up into ball at the head of his bed, his knees hugged tight to his chest as he tries desperately to calm his breathing. "It was just a dream, Fíli," he soothes again. "You're alright; you're safe."
When his brother speaks, it sounds small and scared and desperate. "Are you?"
Kíli blinks owlishly at him. "Am I? Of…of course I am," he whispers as he sits gingerly on Fíli's bed, laying a tentative hand on his brother's shoulder, the pressure in his chest lessening just a little when he doesn't pull away. "Don't talk crazy. I'm right here. I'm fine."
Kíli just sits with him quietly for a while, waits for Fíli's breathing to slow, waits for him to talk, because he doesn't want to press too much, but Fíli never has nightmares, and if he's honest with himself, it startles him down to his core.
"Come here," Fíli murmurs after he's considerably calmer, one arm extended to pull Kíli close to his side. Kíli follows without any hesitation, curls close to his brother and grasps his free hand for good measure. Fíli breathes out a heavy sigh before pressing a kiss into his dark, unruly hair, "I'm sorry," he whispers.
"It's okay," Kíli answers easily, but he can't help the small tremble in his voice, and that makes Fíli squeeze him just a bit tighter.
"Remember…remember when you said you couldn't live without me and Uncle?" he whispers, voice small and close to Kíli's ear. "Well I couldn't…I couldn't live without the two of you either. Especially you, nadadith."
Tightness lodges itself in his throat at Fíli's admission, and he's able to guess what his brother's night terror must have been about. "You'll never have to, Fee," he whispers back, echoing his brother's words from a few days before. "I promise."
"Are you positive?" Thorin asks, fixing his guest with an intense gaze, trying to gauge whether or not he should trust him in this. Nori may be a thief, but he has always been an honorable one, and he has always been loyal to his own kin. Though he's not yet reached his majority, is still but a child, truthfully, and may still be prone to childish mistakes.
Nori had only just returned a few days prior. He had been spending time in Gondamon, desperate to escape Dori's constant mothering and to make a bit of coin for himself. When he'd returned, he'd come straight to Thorin, had all but demanded an audience with him despite the lateness of the hour.
"Absolutely," the red haired lad confirms. "I saw the missives myself. They thought I wanted in. Apparently, drafting fake stories about dragons pays pretty well."
Thorin frowns. "Did they say who was behind it?"
Nori shakes his head. "No, they were very tight-lipped about that. I was with them for weeks, running errands, not writing the missives, mind you, and no one said a word. Got the impression that it was a man, though."
"Why is that?" he asks, a little impressed by Nori's skills of deduction, though he does well to hide it.
"The gold they paid us in, it was sent to us in wallets. Man-sized wallets, which I thought a bit strange, since we were all dwarrow," he explains. "But whoever it was, wanted them to be in Khuzdul, wanted them to look authentic."
"And these dwarrow that you were working with?" he continues. "Did they seem to harbor any…ill will toward Erebor?"
Nori shook his head. "These missives aren't going to just you. Seems like all of the dwarf kingdoms, save for the Iron Hills were getting them."
A crease pinches across Thorin's brow. "Why not the Iron Hills?"
Nori shrugs. "No one ever really said. Mostly I think it was because no one wants to travel that close to the mountain, but it could mean…"
"It could mean that Dain has been playing us all along," Balin mutters grimly, confirming Thorin's worst fear.
"Go back to work for them again," Thorin demands. "After the thaw. See if you can forge any new friendships, but do not mention my name, or that you come from these halls."
"Absolutely," Nori agrees, nodding curtly toward him. "But if I may ask for a small thing in return?"
"We will have you paid fittingly upon your return," Balin promises, and Thorin nods in agreement.
Nori chuckles just slightly. "No…my loyalty cannot be bought through coin," he admits. "I would have you…my brother is struggling to keep us fed, as many of us are…it's part of why I left, to give him one less mouth to feed. I would have you…I would ask you to keep them fed," he admits quietly. "Especially Ori."
Thorin nods in agreement. "I will see it done. Fret not for your kin," he murmurs. Nori bows his thanks before excusing himself from the study, leaving just Thorin and Balin behind.
"I think it is time we sent our own men to investigate what is truly happening," Thorin says, frown tight across his features. "We've gotten…we've gotten too many conflicting reports. I need to see with my own eyes, or with eyes that I can implicitly trust, before we are able to move forward."
Much to his surprise, Balin nods in agreement. Truthfully, he had been expecting more of a fight. "We'll prepare an envoy to leave in the spring," he declares. "Though I will ask that you stay behind. We will send Dwalin and some of his men. Our people need you here, they need to see you, at least for now, until we are on stable footing once more."
Thorin sighs, clearly displeased by this news, but nods in agreement nonetheless.
"When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end," he recites quietly. "Let us hope that his reign is over soon."
Thanks for reading!
Nadad = brother, nadadith = brother that is young. The oath Kíli takes is shamelessly based on the Oath of Allegiance that they make people seeking citizenship to the United States take once they are naturalized.