AN – IT'S GREATER THAN GOLD'S FIRST BIRTHDAY, WAHOO! What a year it has been. Thank you all for coming on this crazy ride with me. I hope you like this chapter! It didn't come out quite the way I imagined it would (but when do they ever ammirite?).

I still own nothing. Enjoy!

Warnings: Mild gore/violence, references to battle/violence, panic attacks and nightmares, Fíli internalizes everything, Kíli thinks too much and work himself up, Thorin is emotionally constipated, and Uncle Dwalin saves the day, mild potty words, mild burn injury (but nothing graphic).

Greater than Gold
Chapter 18: Sixty-Three and Fifty-Seven
By Displaced Hobbit

"I feel like I've been writing these for days!" Ori laments with a dramatic groan. "Who decided people needed to have such long, formal titles, anyhow? Not the scribes; I'll tell you that for certain." He lets his head flop down to the desk with another long-suffering moan.

Kíli gives him a warm smile, even though his friend can't see it, pausing in his work on some vambraces he intended to give to his brother. "It's your own fault, you know," he teases lightly. "You volunteered. Actually, I seem to remember you begging Mister Balin to take you on as his scribe."

"Oh, I wish I hadn't. He's been running me ragged lately, with the patrol being out so much and all. I wish I had a break!" he complains, though only half-heartedly. "But I suppose that won't happen until this whole mess is over with."

"Mm," Kíli hums in agreement. "Do you think they'll be back today?" he asks hopefully, wondering if his friend has any inside information for him.

About two weeks ago, the dawn patrol had spotted signs of an orc pack camping far too close to their borders for anyone's liking. Thorin had immediately ordered round-the-clock patrols until the filth had been found and dealt with, even going so far as to require the patrolmen to serve twelve-hour shifts and to reside in the barracks until it was all over. That meant that Kíli had been on his own since then, and, naturally, worried sick for his brother and uncle. He still had a few more years before he could join the patrol, if his uncle even allowed him to, but he fervently wished he were out there, patrolling and fighting alongside them.

"I don't know. Mister Balin's had me running back and forth between the barracks and the wall, but nobody tells me anything," Ori grumbles, bringing him back to the present. "But no news is good news, yeah?"

Kíli sighs. "I guess," he murmurs, refocusing his attention to his leatherwork as he begins to attach a scabbard to one of the vambraces to hold one of Fíli's throwing knives.

"Your brother sure does love his knives," Ori comments with a chuckle before returning to his own work.

"He just likes to be prepared," Kíli replies, almost absently. "For anything."

They lapse back into a companionable silence, but Kíli finds that his mind drifts far too much for him to focus completely on his task. He wishes he'd made the vambraces weeks ago, so his brother could have them now.

Just in case.

Blood rushes through his ears and his hands are still shaking with adrenaline. The stench of death and orc-flesh is so strong that he thinks he might vomit. His head is spinning wildly, so he squeezes his eyes as tight as he can manage in an attempt to rebalance himself.

Is this what Kíli had seen, what he had done when he'd been so, so young?

He understood now, the nightmares that had long plagued his baby brother. Even behind his tightly closed eyes he can still see the ghastly sprays of blood as metal cut through flesh. Even through the rush in his ears he can still hear the screams. His stomach lurches violently and falls to his hands and knees, retching harshly and emptying its contents onto the bloodstained earth.

"Fíli!" he hears his uncle frantically shouting from behind him. He tries to take a breath to steady himself as he leans back on his haunches, but it tastes of rotten flesh and he chokes instead. A strong arm wraps around his shoulder, and he bonelessly leans into the warmth that's pressed to his side.

"Fíli," Thorin tries again, sounding much calmer this time. "Are you hurt?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm…I'm not hurt," he mumbles out, dismayed at the lump that's formed in his throat and the tears he peels prickling at the back of his eyes. "Uncle…"

"Hush, my boy," Thorin soothes gently. "It's alright. You're…this is hard, lad. I know. You will be alright," he promises as he gently pulls him to his feet. Fíli stays pressed gratefully against his side, fearful that the shaking in his limbs would keep him from staying upright on his own. With a soft sigh, Thorin starts to walk with him, leading him away from the small clearing-turned-battlefield.

"D'you think there's more?" Fíli asks, mildly panicked when they step into the woods adjacent to the clearing where they'd ambushed the orc pack.

"It is unlikely. Sit," he commands, once they've reached one of the many small streams that crisscross the forests surrounding the mountain. "Our scouts counted twenty-eight, and that is how many we've encountered. Drink," he instructs as he presses a waterskin to his lips, and Fíli does so gratefully.

"That…that was…awful," he grinds out, relishing in the feel of the cool water loosening the tightness in his throat and settling the churn in his stomach.

"Battles usually are," Thorin admits as he kneels next to him, reaching down to dip his hands in the water and scrub them clean. "You did well, though. Stayed calm. Fought hard. I am impressed. Come, wash your hands clean."

Fíli looks down to stare at the gore on his hands, horrified at the mix of blood and dirt. The revelation crashes down on him. "I've killed someone," he murmurs, a cold numbness thrumming through his veins. "T-twice."

"You killed something that only sought to bring you harm, that meant to kill you," his uncle reminds as he reaches for his hands, pulling him into the water and starting to scrub them clean himself. "It is…a gruesome thing to take a life, orc or not. It is not often pleasant, but it is a necessity. At least for us."

With a shaky nod, he leans forward, taking charge of cleaning his own hands, mindful of how much they still tremble. A moment later, Dwalin flops back down to the ground in a huff, cursing in Khuzdul under his breath. Fíli blanches at the large amount of blood he can see coming from the older warriors ear.

"Not to worry lad," he grumbles. "Didn't much care for that bit of my ear anyhow." As he starts to clear the blood away, revealing the jagged, torn edges, he realizes that Dwalin's ear had been bitten off, and he suddenly feels the need to vomit again, but is able to press it down.

"How many?" Thorin asks, tone somber and worried.

"Only four," Dwalin answers just as sullenly, casting a concerned glance toward Fíli. "Anfri, Madoc, Moran, and…" he hesitates and sighs. "And Telchar. I'm sorry, laddie. I know you liked him."

Fíli suddenly feels very much like crying. In the few short years that he'd been on the dusk patrol, he and Telchar had become rather good friends. They weren't too far off in age and both used the twin swords. They'd trained together, drank together…and he'd come to think of him as one of his closer friends. He bites the inside of his cheek to will the tears down, falling into silence and focusing instead on scrubbing his hands completely clean.

"Send the scouts ahead to notify their families," Thorin commands softly, eyes not leaving Fíli's face. "See to it that the orcs are burned."

Dwalin nods and hastily finishes cleaning himself before taking his leave. He squeezes a comforting hand on Fíli's shoulder as he departs.

"Uncle," Fíli whispers. "Uncle, I want to go home."

Thorin gives him an uncharacteristically soft and understanding smile. "I'll send you with the scouts," he says, knocking their foreheads together tenderly, and Fíli nearly sobs in relief. "Go; catch up with Dwalin. I'll not be far behind you."

He nods, getting to his feet quickly, anxious to leave the forest, one that he has many happy memories with his brother in. They've cleaned kills in the very clearing where the orcs were camped. How easy could it have been for one of them to stumble upon the orcs instead of the scouts, for all of his worst nightmares to come true? He shakes his head, trying to clear the unbidden images from his mind, just as he catches up to Dwalin.

"Uncle wants me to head back with the scouts," he explains at the warrior's bewildered expression, keeping his focus on his weapons master and refusing to let his gaze wander to the lifeless orcs.

"Aye, that would probably be best," Dwalin murmurs as he nods in agreement. "Let me write up a missive for you to take to my brother, then off with you."

The walk back to the settlement takes nearly two hours, and no one speaks. Fíli tries very hard to keep his mind from drifting to darker places, tries to keep his uncle's words in mind, but he can't shake the guilty feeling that's settled into his soul. He's killed. It was to protect himself and his fellow patrolmen; it was necessary.

He needs to get back to Kíli, needs his help, because Kíli's been through this before, even if he's never spoken of it. For years his little brother had always sought him out for advice, and now it was Fíli who needed it in return. He doesn't know what to do. He knows that Uncle and Dwalin could help, but he needs Kíli.

He hastily breaks away from the scouts the second they're back within the settlement walls, ignoring the strange looks he knows he's getting, resisting the urge to break out into a full on sprint through the halls.

"Fíli? Fíli, wait!" he hears Ori call from behind him. He doesn't turn back, but he does slow his pace a bit, allowing his friend to catch up.

"Where's Kíli?" he asks as soon as Ori is by his side. As an afterthought, he digs down into his pocket and retrieves the missive for Balin. "Here," he says as he presses the parchment into Ori's hand.

"He was helping Mister Bofur in the tavern a while ago," Ori says hesitantly. "Fíli…you're…there's blood all over you. What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he snaps. "We took out the orc pack. It's in the missive; get it to Mister Balin." He speeds his steps up again, glad when Ori doesn't continue to follow him, though he feels a bit ashamed with himself for losing his temper so easily and lashing out at his friend.

He finds his brother exactly where Ori had said he would, scrubbing dishes in Bombur's tavern with his back to the door. Since it was midafternoon, the tavern was mostly empty, save for one patron Bofur is speaking with in the far corner. His exhaustion gives him tunnel vision, and he becomes so focused on getting to Kíli that he doesn't hear they toymaker thrice call his name.

Kíli turns then, looking confused at first, before his face melts into some mixture of worry and fear and anxiety that Fíli's not seen before and never wants to see again. He hastens his steps, swiftly maneuvers behind the counter, just as Kíli's dropped the dish he'd been holding back into the basin. He reaches out and grabs his brother's arm with more force than necessary, before pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace, not caring about the blood and gore on his clothes. Kíli's arms are cold and wet, but once they wrap around him, relief floods him like a draught. "Nadadith," he manages to whisper as he clutches to him like a lifeline.

"Fee," Kíli murmurs, sounding so horribly worried that it makes him sick. "Fíli, are you hurt? Where's Uncle?"

"M'not…not hurt," he mumbles as he presses his face into Kíli's neck, relishing in the comfort their closeness brings. "Uncle's fine; he's coming. But…the orcs…and we fought, and I…I…"

"Shh," his brother soothes gently, and Fíli can feel how he relaxes once he's assured his family is safe. He's rubbing soothing patterns against his arms and back, as best as he can around the scabbards and his pack. His carefully constructed dam around his emotions starts to crack, and he chokes out a sob against his brother's neck. "Shh, nadad; not here. Come on. Let's get you home and cleaned up, okay?"

He nods, pulls away and tries to compose himself, but he feels his resolve slip when he's met with worried brown eyes. He can't even look at Bofur, who's hovering near the counter, but he does manage some sort of grumble on thanks when the older dwarf promises to bring them something warm for supper later.

He doesn't know how they make it home. All he knows is the swirling, vicious thoughts in his mind (murderer….murderer…) and the tumultuous churn in his stomach. It's only Kíli's hand on his arm that grounds him, but even that falls away as everything dims around him and fades to black.

They're teasingly close to home when Fíli stumbles and falls slack, yet he's thankful they are far enough from prying eyes. He just barely manages to catch him before he can hit the cold, unforgiving stone, biting out a curse when he sees that his brother is well and truly unconscious. He does his best to remember his training and stay calm, but he's right terrified to see his brother in such a state. For the first time in his life, he finds himself grateful for Dwalin's insisted extra strength training, as he's able to heft his older brother upon his shoulders to get him the rest of the way home.

He takes him straight to the washroom and places him as gently as he can manage against the wall, pulling his pack and weapons from him, concern growing at the fact that he was still out cold. He quickly crosses the room, finding a clean cloth and dipping it into the cool water waiting in the washbasin.

"Come on, Fee," he murmurs as he kneels in front of his brother, swipes the cool cloth along his brow, and busies himself with wiping away the dried sweat and traces of blood as best as he can. He's never seen him like this. He doesn't know what to do to help.

With a sigh, he presses his forehead against his brother's and takes a deep, steadying breath to force him to focus.

Once he's settles his nerves a bit, he sets about finding the tinderbox and lighting the wood to heat the water for the bath, though it takes him six tries to light the wood for how badly his hands are shaking. As an afterthought, he digs through a nearby cabinet and locates a small vial of lavender scented oil, remembering how Bofur had used it to help calm him down after his own foray into battle, and hopes that the scent would bring some comfort to his brother as well.

Maybe it will serve to calm himself down as well; his hands are shaking something fierce.

"Kee," Fíli gasps out from behind him, drawing him out of his thoughts.

His face softens as he turns to regard his brother. Fíli looks a wreck; his hair is a complete mess, face is pale and drawn with huge dark circles standing out in stark contrast under his eyes. "Oh, nadad," he murmurs softly, quickly crossing the small room to wrap his arms around him. "It's alright, Fee. It's okay. You're home; you're safe now."

Fíli chokes out a sob and all but crawls into his lap. It's such a strange role reversal that Kíli isn't sure what to do, isn't sure what will help his brother when he's in such a state. He tries to think of how Fíli always settles him back down, and settles on rubbing nonsensical patterns against his back and rocking him gently.

It's like something physically snaps inside of his brother, when he burrows even closer and begins to sob in earnest. Kíli knows that he would want for Fíli to let him cry himself out, so that's what he does. He doesn't offer any words of comfort, doesn't try to calm him down, just holds him close and lets him weep.

It doesn't take long. Kíli is sure his brother hasn't sleep properly in weeks, and if he'd come straight home after the mentioned battle, as he thinks he must have based on the state of his clothes, he's sure it's been days since he's slept at all. He slumps against him, a small, defeated noise wrenching itself free from his throat.

"C'mon, Fee," he murmurs quietly. "Lets get you into the bath. It'll help you feel better. I promise."

His brother just nods against his chest, though he is reluctant to let go of Kíli's tunic when the younger stands to finish readying the bath. He just sits numbly, staring straight ahead. Shock, Kíli remembers. That was what Oin had told him after his first battle. He shudders unintentionally before willing those memories back to the farthest depths of his mind. He adds the warm water to the bath, adjusting it to a soothing temperature, before adding some of the oil to it.

He returns to his brother, kneels in front of him and reaches for his arm, removing one vambrace and glove, then the other, his belt, and his ruined overcoat. It isn't until he starts to pull the bloodstained tunic over his brother's head that Fíli responds, dutifully lifting his arms to remove it. He starts to remove his chain mail on his own, so Kíli turns his attention to his boots instead. It takes a while before they are able to get him into his smalls, but Kíli is relieved to see that, aside from a few bruises, his brother is physically no worse for wear.

He pulls Fíli to his feet, grateful now that they're nearly the same height, as he is easily able to wrap an arm around his torso and lead him the short distance to the washbasin. Fíli swiftly drops his smalls before gingerly climbing into the basin, sighing with relief as the warm water washes over his skin and soothes him. Kíli lets him get settled, then fetches soap and a cloth for him to clean himself with. Fíli seems content to just relax in the warmth and leaves the soap and cloth to float aimlessly along the water, leaning back in the basin and letting his eyes slip closed.

Kíli kneels behind him and begins to work out the snarls in his hair, pulling out all of the clips and beads and unwinding the frazzled braids. Fíli hums in appreciation at the treatment, and once he's finished, Kíli is quite sure that his brother must have fallen asleep, as he's gone so still and quiet.

"How did you forget?" he asks a while later, voice utterly wrecked from his earlier crying, just after Kíli has settled himself in to keep watch over his brother, his back pressed against the basin.

Kíli chews on his lip for a moment, as unbidden images of orcs and death flood his mind. "I didn't," he says quietly. "It's still all there."

"But when we got home, you were...I don't know." He can hear the frown in his brother's voice. "I don't feel like I'll ever stop...seeing it. And I...I killed them."

"You didn't see me straight after. You can ask Mister Bofur...I...I couldn't be alone. If they left me by myself I panicked and I screamed and I tried to find them but I couldn't, because I was hurt," he whispers in reply. "I didn't sleep for days, not without Mister Oin drugging me. It was better when you and Uncle got home but I still...I still have nightmares," he admits. "Uncle told me once that he does too, so I don't know if it ever goes away."

He hears Fíli shift in the water, and sopping wet arms wrap around his neck as his brother adjusts and lets his chin come to rest on his shoulder. "You didn't tell me that," he says, sounding almost hurt, and guilt swells up within him.

"I didn't want…I didn't want to be a burden," he confesses, reaching a hand up to grip Fíli's forearm. "It...it's fine. I can manage it. They're not as bad as they once were." He squeezes his arm gently, as if in an apology.

"How does it get better?" he whispers. "I...I killed, Kíli. I...does that make me...am I a...a murderer?" he asks, voice full of fear and self-doubt.

"Am I?" Kíli asks in return, and Fíli starts in surprise.

"What? No! Of course not!" he says, voice filled with an emotion Kíli can't quite identify.

"Why not?" he asks. "I've killed...I kill more often than you, with my hunting."

"That's different," Fíli sputters. "That's...that's to keep us fed. To keep us alive."

"That's what you did," he counters. "You killed to live. You had no choice. Fee, it...Mister Bofur told me that sometimes you have to kill, or be killed. That you have no other choice."

"I...you're right. I just…" he stammers, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

Kíli shifts then, turns around, careful not to break the circle of his brother's arms. "You did what you had to do," he murmurs as he presses their foreheads together. "If they had come after me, or Uncle, would you have hesitated?"

Fíli shakes his head immediately. "No," he affirms. "I wouldn't have."

They sit like that for a while; pressed as close as they can with the basin in between them, Fíli quietly drawing the strength he needs from his younger brother.

"Help me with my hair?" Fíli eventually asks, and Kíli nods. In no time at all, they have him cleaned from head to toe, and when Fíli rises from the basin and starts to dry himself, he realizes that Kíli was right; he does feel better, if not wholly exhausted.

"Come on," Kíli says once he's pulled a clean, dry sleeping shirt over his head, reaching an arm out to help steady him. "Let's get you into bed. You look like you're dead on your feet. Are you hungry?"

As if on cue, Fíli's stomach gives a soft growl. "Sleep first," he murmurs, noticing how the room seems to swim around him. "And maybe some tea?"

Kíli settles him into bed, tucks his furs gently around him, brushes the hair from the right side of his face, and squeezes his left hand gently, offering him a small smile as he stands to leave. He's struck by how similar his brother is to their mother, without having ever known her. He remembers only a few things about her, but she'd always tucked him in the exact same way - furs, a brush of his hair, and a squeeze to his hand. He doesn't notice when Kíli leaves, and it seems like just a second later that a warm mug of tea is being pressed against his mouth. He can taste the sleeping draught that his brother has snuck into it, but he's surprisingly grateful for it. He wants to fall asleep as quickly as he can, keep the nightmares that he knows will come at bay.

The draught works quickly, and Fíli is asleep within minutes.

Kíli has to bite his hand to stifle the sob of sympathy that comes before he can stop it.

It's late by the time Thorin manages to return home. He'd gotten caught up in his duties as soon as he'd returned to the settlement, all but dragging Dwalin and the rest of their injured in to see Oin and the healers about their wounds, and personally offering his condolences to the families of his fallen warriors.

Everything sat ill within his soul. He'd seen the look in Fíli's eyes before the lad had departed, had known how traumatized he must have been. He was still too young to see such things, to partake in such things, prince and warrior or not. As his Uncle, it was his responsibility to have taken care of his eldest nephew after such an affair, but it was, yet again, another task he'd been forced to push on to Kíli instead.

He wipes a tired hand down his face. They've been robbed of so much, both of them. He wishes, once again, that he'd been able to protect them better.

He's more than a little pleased to see the fire in the front hearth lit and tended to, as well as the serving of stew left out for him, feels incredibly grateful for both of his lads. Even though his stomach grumbles in protest, he leaves the stew for now, decides instead to venture to the lads' room to see how they fare.

He is surprised to see them both awake, Fíli sitting up in the bed with his own bowl balanced in his lap, and Kíli sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, knees drawn up tight to his chest.

"Uncle!" Fíli calls, sounding wholly exhausted, but his eyes seem brighter and clearer than they were before he left. Kíli looks up and offers him a small, albeit tired smile.

"My boys," he murmurs fondly, crossing the room quickly to sit at the edge of the bed, reaching across to cup Fíli's cheek warmly and press their foreheads together. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," his heir murmurs. "Much, much better."

Kíli stands and stretches just slightly, reaching for Fíli's empty bowl and murmuring something about warming Thorin's before slipping from the room. There is something decidedly off about the lad, but he chalks it up to being the result of old memories being dredged up.

With a sigh, he scoots closer to his heir, wraps an arm around him and hugs him tight. "You're not hurt?"

Fíli shakes his head. "A little bruised, but I'm fine," he says. "How is Mister Dwalin?"

Thorin chuckles softly. "Grumpy," he admits. "None too please with me forcing him to see Oin, but he will thank me later."

Fíli has to stifle a small laugh, but his face quickly turns somber. "Did you go and see Telchar's family?"

He nods. "I did," he murmurs. "They are grieving him, but they were proud of his valor in battle. It did them well to hear that you were alright."

Fíli nods and chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "I…I will go and see tomorrow, I think. I want…I want to be there when they return him to the stone."

"Aye, you should be. You knew him well," Thorin murmurs. "Though I would give them a few days to grieve before you visit. He was their only son."

Kíli returns then, carrying a mug of tea with him. "The stew is almost warm," he explains as he hands the tea to his brother. "Do you want to eat in here?"

Thorin shakes his head. "No; I should let you sleep, Fíli. I will take my leave. It does my heart good to see you well." He gives Fíli another quick squeeze before he takes his leave, giving Kíli a nod of appreciation as he passes.

He has to fight the angry bite of jealousy he feels when he returns to their room, from the sight of Thorin freely embracing his brother.

It stings more than he'd like it to. He knows he's being childish about it, but his uncle has been steadily increasing the distance between them. When he'd returned home, Kíli had wanting nothing more than to run into his Uncle's arms and embrace him fully, to take comfort in physically knowing that his guardian was home and safe and well, but he doesn't. The last time he had, Thorin's arms had stayed slack at his sides, and that had hurt more than anything he'd ever felt before.

He'd told himself that it was because they were nearly grown, that they were no longer children and that he was silly for craving the physical comfort from his Uncle at his age. Thorin had been dodging any attempts that Kíli had made, and he'd been limited to the occasional awkward squeeze of the shoulder.

He knows he's being childish. He knows. Fíli's been through something awful, and he deserves to be comforted by their uncle. He doesn't deserve a mopey, childish little brother who sulks because Fíli is getting hugs and he isn't.

It hurts, even though he knows it shouldn't. It's far from proper for a dwarf at his age to be moping about hugs.

"Are you alright?" Fíli asks as soon as Thorin has departed their room. "You look awful thoughtful."

"Do I?" he mumbles, flashing him a small, hopefully playful looking smile, not wanting to burden his brother with his troubles, not when he needs him to be strong. It seems to work, as Fíli gives him a smile in return. "Are you tired?"

His brother hums in agreement. "I think I could sleep a bit more," he confesses. "Is that bad?"

Kíli shakes his head. "Of course not," he replies, immediately moving to help him readjust in the bed so that he's lying down, taking his swiftly emptied mug from him and setting on the nightstand. "Do you want me to stay?" he asks, genuinely not sure what his brother will want.

"Please?" Fíli murmurs, and he sounds small and scared and lost again that Kíli doesn't hesitate to crawl into bed beside him. He turns so they are both on their sides and facing one another, and Fíli tucks his head under his chin with a sleepy yawn. "Thank you," he murmurs a while later, words slurred with sleep, and Kíli is pleased to see that his tea was successful at helping him fall asleep. "Love you, nadadith."

"Love you," Kíli murmurs with a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep well, Fee."

Fíli's breathing turns deep and even quickly, but it doesn't last. He wakes seven times during the night, nightmares of the day's events chasing after him. Kíli stays awake and keeps a constant vigil, soothes him back to sleep every time, silently thanking Aulë that his brother is safe and sound, if only a little haunted by the battle he has faced.

He tosses and turns in his bed, as sleep continues to elude him. He's exhausted, and by all rights should have been asleep on his feet hours ago. With a sigh, he finally gives up, crawls out from under his furs and returns to their front room.

It's been two days since Fíli and Thorin returned for the battle, and, though his brother was noticeably sad, most things had returned to normal. Everything seems normal except for him, and he still feels mopey and confused.

He is a little surprised to see that Thorin is still up and sitting in their front room, watching the fire pensively. Something uncomfortable twists in his gut, and he finds himself longing for simpler times. He misses the sleepless nights where he would just crawl into his uncle's lap, and how Thorin would sing to him and stroke his hair until he finally fell asleep. Now, he felt like Thorin couldn't even look at him.

"You're up late," his uncle comments softly. "And you've seemed troubled these past few days."

"Just can't sleep," he murmurs softly, reaching for the leather vambraces he'd yet to finish for his brother and settling down onto the settee, deciding that a bit of leatherwork might be enough to distract him from his negative thoughts. He doesn't elaborate further, and pointedly ignores the questioning look his Uncle gives him.

"Are you well, lad?" he tries again. For a moment, Kíli thinks his uncle will get up from his own armchair and come to sit with him on the settee, but he stays where he is.

It makes him feel disappointed, but he quickly pushes it away.

"M'fine," he says quietly, not looking up from the leather in his hands. "Just tired, is all."

He chances a glance up and can see that Thorin is wholly unconvinced, but is relieved when he doesn't press the issue. He has no desire to admit to his childish thoughts, no desire to be scolded for such things, or to be reminded of his place as Thorin's second heir, as Balin often does.

Fíli shouts suddenly from their room, and both he and his uncle are on their feet, moving swiftly to check on him. His brother appears to be in the throes of a nightmare, kicking out around his sheets and fighting invisible demons. Thorin reaches him first, settles on the side of the bed and grasps his arms to keep him still, murmuring comforting words until he wakes. Fíli comes to with a sob, and Thorin leans down to press their foreheads together, strokes a hand down his cheek and pulls him close, soothing him as best as he can.

Kíli suddenly feels like an intruder, and that horrible jealous feeling pulls at him once again. Without a second thought, he finds himself fleeing from their home, out into the halls of the mountain.

He is more than a little surprised when he enters the forge first thing in the morning and finds someone already there. Kíli is positioned at one of the anvils, diligently shaping a rather large cauldron, with an assortment of completed pots and pans sitting at the front table, ready to be picked up.

"Have you been here all night?" he asks, startling the lad who clearly hadn't noticed his arrival. Kíli's eyes are rimmed red and he looks exhausted, and in an instant Dwalin knows he's been losing sleep again.

"Yea," the lad admits. "Just…couldn't sleep."

He gives the boy an uncommonly soft smile. "Are you doing alright? I'd expect all this has brought up some old memories for you, laddie."

"Yea; I'm…I'm fine," he says, turning his focus back to his smithing. "It was bad the first day but it's fine now."

Dwalin frowns just slightly. "But there's still something bothering you?" he prompts, sifting through the papers at the desk, choosing an axe to get started on.

"It's not a big deal," Kíli deflects. "Just…something I want to talk to Fee about, but I don't want to bother him with it right now."

He pats the lad's shoulder as he passes him and gets situated at his own anvil, noticing from the corner of his eye how Kíli's breathing quickens and it almost looks like he's fighting tears. Right. There is obviously something wrong, and he will get it out of the lad somehow.

He's mentally planning how to get the lad to open up when there's a curse and a shout from beside him, followed by the loud clattering of the cauldron and a hammer hitting the floor. Kíli is crouched on the floor, cradling his hand to his chest.

"What happened?" he asks, quickly dropping to his knees beside the boy and reaching for his arm. He lets out a curse of his own when he sees the angry red welt blossoming across the lad's palm. With a little more force than necessary, he hoists the lad up to his feet, pulling him to the washbasin and dunking the burned limb into the water.

Kíli lets out a sharp cry of pain and tries to pull his hand back, but Dwalin holds him firm. "M'sorry! It started to fall and I grabbed it without thinking and I'm…I'm so stupid! I'm sorry; I'm so sorry! I was just trying to help and I just…m'sorry," he babbles out before dissolving entirely into tears.

"Hush, laddie," Dwalin soothes gently. "We all make mistakes; it's alright." He pulls the lad's hand from the water, before fetching a container of burn salve and slathering it on to his hand. He bandages it quickly, and by the time he's finished, Kíli has cried himself out, and is leaning into his side, taking great, heaving breaths to calm himself back down.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, sounding so completely and utterly defeated that Dwalin feels it down to his very core.

"It's alright, laddie," he says, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Burned myself like that more times than I can count; it's nothing to fret over."

He feels the boy nod against his side, sniffling lightly as he brings his good hand up to his face to wipe it clean.

"You gonna tell me why you've been up all night making cookware and wound tight as can be?" Dwalin asks bluntly, but not completely able to keep the note of affection out of his voice. He truly expects the lad to shut him out – he's always been better at getting his thoughts out to his uncle or Bofur – so he's more than a bit surprised to hear the lad murmur something about Thorin under his breath.

"You what?" he asks, adjusting their positions so he can see Kili's face better. Normally, lads at this age with tears in their eyes would be worthy of his scorn, but this is Kíli, and he can't find it in him to force him to toughen up.

"It's just that…I mean, it's dumb; I always knew he would but…but it's just that…Uncle…" he stammers out, gaze sinking to his lap where he's idly playing with the hem of his tunic. "I mean, he…he prefers Fíli over me, now. Used to it felt like we were…we were equals, I guess? But he can't…he can't even look at me anymore." The lad sniffs again before shaking his head. "It's like I'm not even there."

Dwalin frowns, a hard crease forming between his brows. That doesn't sound like the Thorin he knows at all, but clearly there is something going on that he hadn't seen, or that Thorin had not mentioned at all.

"I'm being childish; I know," Kíli dejectedly murmurs a moment later.

Dwalin gives him a pat to the shoulder. "Good thing you've still got a few more years to be a child before you're grown," he says, fond smile coloring his words. "But that doesn't sound like your uncle; not one bit. He'd chase down the moon if it meant making you happy. There must be something else going on. You may just need to be patient with him."

Kíli frowns, clearly unconvinced by his words, but nods anyway. "I guess," he concedes.

"Now, when was the last time you slept?" he asks. "And don't you lie to me boy, or you'll get even more strength training sessions from me."

Kíli ducks his head in embarrassment. "Three days," he mumbles. "Since before you all came back."

"How many times do I have to –" Dwalin starts, clearly annoyed.

"Fee needed me," Kíli explains quietly. "And then…then I started to think too much."

Dwalin sighs before getting to his feet, pulling Kíli up to stand with him. "Come on; there's that big armchair in the back. I like to use it for naps, but I think you need it a bit more than me, laddie." The way Kíli sways in his steps tells him that he'll probably fall asleep in minutes, the physical exhaustion from his work in the forge and the emotional exhaustion of his crying fit seem to have caught up with him.

He's right, as Kíli is curled up in the armchair and fast asleep before he can even close the door.

He feels more rested than he has in weeks. The cots in the barracks had been terribly uncomfortable, and there were always the sounds of the other patrolmen snoring or laughing or drinking to contend with. With a contented groan, he stretches his arms above his head, relishing the way his body seems to open up and feel normal for the first time in so long.

His nightmares must not have been that bad, then.

He glances over to his brother's bed, frowning when he sees his uncle sprawled out across it instead.

"Uncle?" he calls, feeling a tiny prickle of guilt gnaws at him at the way his elder snaps awake.

"Fíli," he replies, sounding wholly relieved. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better," he answers. "I'm sorry if I woke you and Kíli again."

Thorin just shakes his head. "Nonsense," he murmurs. "We were both up already when your dream started."

Fíli frowns at that. "You mean Kíli didn't sleep last night either?"

Thorin shakes his head. "Well, I suspect he ventured back into the front room, since I appear to have stolen his bed. Has he not been sleeping?"

"No," Fíli murmurs as he pushes his furs off and starts to get ready for the day. "I kept him up the whole first night, before you were home, and he told me he couldn't fall asleep the night after that."

"I had thought something was amiss with him," Thorin says softly. "He did not want to talk about it, though."

"He said he was feeling really stressed out," Fíli confesses. "Like he felt a lot of pressure to…oh, it's not my place. I'll tell him to talk to you." Thorin frowns a bit at this, but it's more important to him to respect his brother's privacy. "I'll make breakfast today, to give him a break."

Thorin nods, and they depart the bedroom and venture to the front room, finding it strangely devoid of any signs of Kíli's presence. The fire has burned down to embers in the hearth, and none of the blankets on either the settee or the armchair have been disturbed.

"Perhaps he went to my room?" Thorin offers, but he looks just as worried as Fíli suddenly feels. He disappears back down the hallway, telling Fíli to go ahead and start preparing breakfast while he rouses him.

When he returns a moment later, looking visibly stricken, the worry Fíli feels escalates into full-blown panic.

"He's not here."

"What do you mean?" he cries out, alarmed. "Where else would he be?"

"Fíli, relax," Thorin says, raising his arms in surrender. "I am sure you're worrying over nothing. He may have gone to market to fetch some breakfast, or to the forge; I asked him if he would finish some tasks for me today."

"I need to know where he is," Fíli answers. "You may be right, I may be needlessly worrying, but I need to know where he is," he explains as he rushes back to his room, pulling on the first pair of trousers and tunic that he can find, before returning to the front room to lace up his boots.

"Fíli, you should rest," Thorin interrupts, placing a heavy hand on his arm. "He will be home soon."

"You don't get it!" he snaps as he wrenches free from his uncle's light grip. "He's spent the last three days taking care of me – of us – and taking all of the extra responsibility you've given him and working so, so hard but he's hurt because you can't even look at him anymore!" he snaps, not wanting to put all of Kíli's concerns out there, but too bothered by his uncle's flippancy about his disappearance to care.

"He…what?" Thorin stammers, clearly taken aback.

"You don't...it's like you've cast him aside. You avoid looking at him and you won't touch him and you've pushed him away and he hurts because of it, Uncle!" Fíli continues. "The only reason he works so damn hard all the time is for you! So that you will notice him again, clap your hand on his shoulder again…that you'll be there for him again!"

Thorin stares at him, open-mouthed. "He…I am simply trying to treat him as I treat you, to help him grow up. For him to be seen receiving such coddling would make others see him as weak, label him as a target. He has responsibilities – you both do – you are princes –"

Fíli scoffs at that. "Princes of what?" he bites out, unthinking.

It's suddenly like the world moves in slow motion, like he can physically see the words as they leave his mouth and strike his uncle straight in the heart. He's never seen Thorin's face positively crumple like that, never seen his uncle look so completely broken before. In an instant, all of his anger dissipates.

"Uncle," he murmurs with a huff. "I didn't…I didn't mean it like that. I-"

"No," Thorin interrupts, looking downtrodden. "You meant it. And you ought to. But I swear to you this, Fíli; you – and your brother – will have your rightful kingdom. You will live the life you were destined to. I will see it done."

If they're able to reclaim Erebor, Fíli wonders if he even wants it. He doesn't dare say that out loud, simply nods in acceptance of their Uncle's words.

"And if it is as you say, that Kíli is aiming to please me," he continues, "I will bet he spent the night in the forge. I will fetch him, since it appears that he has a grievance with me."

A tiny prickle of worry rushes over his skin. "Don't be cross with him," he whispers as Thorin tugs on his own boots and makes his way to the door. "You're…you're all he has. He just wants you to be proud of him."

"And I have failed him," Thorin murmurs. "I have failed him if he doesn't know that I am."

"I know, I know," Thorin grumbles at the harsh glare Dwalin gives him the second he steps foot into the forge. "Just please tell me he is here."

"In the back, sleeping," Dwalin grumbles. "You mind telling me exactly what's going on? Not that I don't mind coming in to seeing an entire set of cookware completed, but I'd rather than boy be happy."

Thorin looks behind him, eyeing the aforementioned cookware. "He made all of that?"

Dwalin nods. "Aye; it wasn't here when I left last night, and he was finishing this cauldron when I came in this morning," he explains. "Burned his hand, though. Too busy trying to figure out why you favor Fíli over him to focus on his work."

"What?" he has to gasp. "Surely he cannot think…"

"What's gotten in to you, anyhow? Now that he mentioned it, I can't remember the last time I saw you give him any sort of affection," his old friend continues.

"Balin suggested that I-" he starts, but is cut off by a rough snort of laughter from his old friend.

"No. No, you'll not be taking any advice from Balin on how to raise dwarflings," he snaps, speaking uncharacteristically harshly about his brother. "He may be a genius when it comes to diplomacy, but he has no clue how to take care of others."

"He took care of you," Thorin points out.

Dwalin shook his head. "Your Da took care of me; of both of us. Balin shut down, shut me out for years so I could grow up," he explains. "Now I know my brother, and I know his heart is in the right place, but Thorin…does it feel right to put that distance between you?"

He sighs and shakes his head.

"Then it's not."

"But he has a good point," Thorin retaliates. "There are many who would like to see Erebor fall completely to ruin. There are many who could take my affection for him, for both of them, and use it to be my undoing."

"I won't let them," Dwalin murmurs. "I love those boys, Thorin. I would die before I would see either of them fall."

"I cannot ask you to –"

Dwalin scoffs again, but gives him a wry smile. "You don't have a choice, Thorin. I mean it."

"Thank you, my friend," he murmurs quietly.

"Don't mention it," the warrior says easily. "Just get in there and hug that boy and tell him you love him, before he makes himself crazy thinking you don't."

Thorin doesn't hesitate; he immediately presses back into the small break room they'd added to the forge several years ago. Kíli looks so small and worn from where he is curled up on the armchair, and it tears at Thorin's heart to know that he's caused the lad such distress once again.

He almost doesn't want to wake him. With a sigh, he kneels next to the armchair, tentatively reaching out to brush some unruly chocolate strands from his face. Kíli's brow furrows just slightly, and it's just a second later that he opens his eyes.

Recognition dawns in them, and he flinches away.

"Uncle," he murmurs, hastily pulling himself up into a sitting position, mindful of his burned hand. "M'sorry. I can still work; I'll finish the rest. I promise."

"Hush," Thorin murmurs, before grabbing him and pulling him tight against his chest, one hand carding through his hair and the other squeezing him as tight as he dares.

He can hear Kíli's gasp of disbelief, feels it as he sags completely into his embrace, his good hand grabbing at the front of his tunic and holding it tight. He can't remember the last time he held the lad so close, and he hates himself for thinking that pushing Kíli away would do him any good. Hadn't he told as much to Fíli so many years ago?

"Uncle," Kíli murmurs around a sob, burrowing ever closer to him. Thorin is contented to just hold him, lets Kíli soak up all the strength that he needs from him. He's forgotten just how much like Frerin his little nephew has become, how much he needs the physical reassurance of touch.

"Look at me," Thorin demands a moment later, shifting his embrace so that he can look Kíli in the face. He hates that his nephew looks so unsure of himself, hates that he has let this distance grown between them. "You'll do no more work this week, do you understand me? You've done so much – I ask too much of you," he explains.

Kíli shakes his head. "But we're behind, and you said –"

"We will manage; I swear it. I need you to rest," he murmurs. "Dwalin and I will take care of everything else."

Finally, Kíli nods, and Thorin leans forward to press their foreheads together.

"I am sorry," he murmurs, voice thickened with emotion. "I do not say it enough that I am so, so proud of you, my boy," he whispers. "You are growing into a fine young dwarf, brave and kind…and I do so often take you for granted."

"Uncle, it's okay –"

"No," he interrupts. "No; it's not okay. Lineage aside, you are my son. I have raised you from your first breaths, and it should be me who shows you love first, it should be me who cheers the loudest for you and I've…I've sent that responsibility on to your brother. I've not taken care of you because I'd asked someone else to."

Kíli stares at him, wide-eyed at his confession.

"I've not done right by either of you, and I would promise to be better, but I don't know if I can," he admits. "But know this, Kíli, please, know that I love you, you and your brother, more than all of the gold on this earth, more than Erebor, more than anything. Even when I do not show it."

Kíli nods, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he throws his arms around his uncle. "I know," he whispers. "I know; I won't forget."

"Where did you receive this report from?" Thorin asks late that evening, after a long day of getting things sorted with Balin regarding his forthcoming treatment of his sister-sons.

"From one of the scouts we sent to Bree," the older dwarf explains. "Thorin, I know what this looks like, but it could be a trap."

"Or it could be true," he petulantly replies. "It could be my father. He may yet be alive."

Balin shakes his head. "I have a terrible feeling about this, Thorin. You cannot just up and leave."

"Nor cannot ignore the possibility of my father being so close," he snaps. "I will…the boys will understand. I must go. I must see if this is true."

"What about the quest?" Balin tries, desperate to talk him out of this mission to track down the dwarf that supposedly resembled his father.

"Continue to plan in my stead," Thorin answers easily. "I will send for Gandalf. I must see this through, Balin. If he is alive…if my father is alive, I must bring him home."

Aaaaand that's all, folks.