Here I am, Monday and all! I hope you enjoy this chapter, it was very difficult to write. With any luck, there won't be any typos to apologise for, but we know that I have little lucky with that.

Chapter Seventy-One: The Bittersweet Homecomings

Thorin felt all the strength drain out of him, and his tankard slipped from his fingers. It hit the ground with a clang, and ale soaked through his slippers, squelching uncomfortably between his toes, and with the sensation came the unbelievable thought that this was not a dream.

That standing in front of him, in a windswept and weary group, were his family.

But that could not be true, and his frantic heart told him as much as it raced like a hummingbird in his chest. The city was surrounded – there was no way in or out, and he had not heard from his kin in months.

And if they really were here, that would mean that half of them were not.

That his hobbits, and Bombur's children, and Soren and Bifur and Ori and Thorin's little Frodo and dear Kíli were missing.

Unable to breathe, he stood, grabbing the arm of his chair when his knees shook beneath him like they were made of water.

"Hello, Thorin," murmured Dís, her eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry that we did not write."

Thorin shook his head slowly, his head beginning to spin. Was this real? Could this truly be real? His eyes roamed over the group before him, and then he noticed that Fíli was carrying something. He lowered his gaze, and his heart stumbled.

Fíli was holding a stretcher – a stretcher that Kíli was bound to.

Barely able to breathe, Thorin swallowed, and tried to speak. "What – how – Dís?"

"Eagles," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "The eagles brought us."

Unable to bear it a second longer, whether it was a dream or waking life, Thorin surged across the room and seized his sister, throwing his arms around her and pulling her close. But as her arms wove around his neck and her face pressed into his shoulder, he felt something else.

Something very big, pressed between them.

He pulled back, though his hands would not leave her shoulders, and looked down.

Pregnant.

Dís was, heavily, pregnant.

Shock flooded through him and he took a step back, looking at Fíli, and then at his brother. He could see the tacky tracks of half-dried tears on his youngest nephew's pale face, but when he met Thorin's eyes, Kíli gave a weak smile.

The king's knees buckled.

Dís grabbed him before he could hit the floor, and as her hands tightened around his arm, Thorin's mind slowly started to accept the fact that this could be real.

"Where are the rest of you?" he rasped, taking in the way that Kíli was strapped and bound to the stretcher.

There was a moment of silence, in which Thorin's heart flinched, but then Bilbo, the ever-reliable Bilbo, spoke.

"Scattered," he said, and then he cleared his throat. "But alive, as far as we know. Except… except Soren. He – we lost him. A month ago."

"Soren?" Grief surged through Thorin like a tidal wave, and when he saw the look grief on his family's faces, his heart broke in two. "I – I am very sorry to hear that."

Fíli offered his uncle a weak smile, but there was a sheen of pain in his eyes, and then he glanced down at his brother. Understanding passed between them, one of those wordless conversations that Thorin could never interpret but loved to watch, on better days.

Fíli cleared his throat. "We need to get Kíli to bed, so the elves can get these restraints off him."

Elves? Thorin frowned slightly, but the look of fear on Kíli's face made sure that the king did not mention the two elves that he could see lingering just outside the door. Instead, he said, "What happened?"

"It's a long story," said Bilbo, putting a hand on Thorin's arm. "Let's get Kíli comfortable, and then we will tell you everything."

A part of Thorin wanted to protest, and demand to be told exactly what was wrong with his sister-son right here and right now, but he held his tongue and nodded. He wove his way out of the door, locking arms briefly with everyone that he passed, and led the way to Kíli's quarters, opening them with the key around his neck. He had carried the keys to all his family's rooms on a chain since they left. It made them feel a little less far away.

Now, he quickly lit the torches in Kíli's quarters and led the way to the bedroom, holding open the door so that Fíli and Bragi could hoist the stretcher up onto the bed. The two elves stepped in then, Tauriel, and another woman that Thorin recognised vaguely as one of Thranduil's healers.

They released Kíli slowly, carefully unstrapping his arms and legs, and his head and chest and hips and neck. Every part of Thorin's nephew had been restrained so fully, and a list of horrific reasons why spiralled through the king's mind. Eventually, the elves lifted Kíli from the stretcher and onto the bed, and Tauriel pinched his fingers, instructing him to tell her what he felt. When she was apparently satisfied, she lifted his tunic to reveal something that looked like hardened white cloth. She nodded, and then pulled the tunic back into place, and pulled the covers up over Kíli's chest.

At once the young dwarf wiggled his arms out from underneath the blanket, and Tauriel passed him a small vial of tonic, which he drained at once. Then, he held out his hand and reached out for Thorin. Pressing his lips together to keep them from shaking, the king took his nephew's hand in both of his own, and then looked to his sister.

"Well, there's no point us all staying here, if we might put others out of their misery," she murmured, looking to the crowd around the door. "Go home. Tell your families that you are safe, and how much you have done for us."

"Are you sure?" said Bofur, his voice oddly grim. Thorin glanced at the toymaker, and was surprised to see that his eyes were heavy and dark, and his hat was not on his head. "Is there anything else you need?"

Dís embraced Bofur fiercely, and then pulled away, shaking her head. "Your family deserves to know you are alive. To know what we know. We will be fine."

Slowly, Bofur nodded, and he embraced everyone in the room before heading for the door. "Come on," he said to the elves. "Let's find you a guest room."

Glóin and Nori left a moment later, and Ehren followed, though he lingered by the door.

Bragi and Vinca had not made to move. The young hobbit was curled up in the corner, her eyes glazed over with thought and her arms wrapped around her stomach. Bragi's eyes were closed, and it was only when Fíli put a hand on his arm that he opened them.

"I… I don't think I can go home," he whispered. "I – don't know how to tell them…"

Fíli engulfed Bragi in his arms, Thorin turned away, a lump in his throat.

"They will want to see you, Bragi," said Bilbo softly. "You are welcome to stay here, you are always welcome here, but I think that Ragan and Svana should hear this from you. They will want to see you."

"I'll come with you," said Ehren in a low voice. "For as long as you need me to be there."

Bragi took a slow, deep breath, and nodded, standing up straight. "Alright," he whispered.

Without another word, Ehren strode back into the room and wove his arm around Bragi's shoulder, leading him out into the hall. That left only Vinca, and she looked up with tears on her cheeks.

"If it's all the same, I would rather stay here," she murmured. "I do not want to stay alone in an empty home."

"Of course," said Dís at once, at the same moment that Bilbo said, "My old bedroom is all yours."

"Thank you," she said, looking slowly up at them. "I might go to bed. I – I do not want to hear everything again. Living it once was enough for now."

Thorin passed her another key from around his neck, and she hugged him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"It's good to see you, Thorin," she said. "We missed you."

And then she was gone.

"Right," said Bilbo, his voice shaking only slightly. "I'll go and grab another couple of chairs, Dís, you take the armchair. This isn't a standing up story."

"Just get two," said Fíli, moving to sit on the bed beside his brother, but Thorin released Kíli for a moment to take Fíli's arm.

"I am glad to see you alive, Fíli," he said, his tears trying to block the words. "I thought – Glóin will have told you about what Eyja said, and – I have thought the worst for three months, now."

Fíli's arms were around Thorin's neck before the king finished speaking, and Thorin held his nephew as tightly as he dared. Fíli was shaking slightly, and his hands wove into Thorin's hair.

They parted as Bilbo strode back in, dragging two armchairs behind him from Kíli's living room. Fíli sat on the bed beside his brother, and Thorin and Bilbo moved their chair's to Kíli's bedside. Thorin took Kíli's hand, and tried to clear his throat again.

"So," he said eventually, "what trouble have you got yourself into, Kíli Baggins?"

Kíli smiled sadly, squeezing Thorin's hand. "My back is broken."

A cold wave rushed through Thorin, from his head to his toes. "What?"

"I broke my back," Kíli repeated. "In a battle, two weeks ago. And what Eyja saw – that happened, too."

Horror-struck, Thorin looked up at Fíli, who pulled down his tunic to reveal an angry, red, scar.

"You're not starting at the beginning, boys," said Bilbo wearily. Then, with a sigh, he told Thorin of all that had occurred since Frodo's birthday party.

When he had finished, Thorin could not move.

He had almost lost both Fíli and Kíli.

Bofin, son of Bombur, had lost his legs, and was trapped in Rivendell.

Dís had risked her life travelling with a child in her womb.

Soren, son of Ragan, was dead.

Beorn, and his daughter, and his son-in-law, were dead.

The Beornings were displaced, and almost destroyed.

Thranduil, Thranduil, had been instrumental in delivering his kin back to him.

And Frodo – his little Frodo – had waltzed off to Mordor with the Ring of Power, with a gang of children, an adolescent dwarf, a couple of men, and an elf for protection.

"Uncle?" edged Kíli. "Say something."

Thorin shook his head slightly, and opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Finally, he managed a few words. "You were only going to a birthday party."

Kíli laughed, and Fíli grinned, and Thorin felt a surge of relief. They could still laugh, even if the sound was weary. They could still grin, even with their eyes heavy with grief.

"You should not have risked the flight to the mountain," he said, wincing internally when the smiles wiped from the boy's faces. "To see you is more joy than I could ever ask for, but if anything had happened on the way – it would have destroyed me that you took such a risk."

"But we didn't just bring ourselves," protested Kíli. "We brought food – those big bags the elves were carrying, and seeds! Thranduil's given us two fields' worth of seeds from a sort of corn that grows with almost no light. He said it could help feed everyone in the mountain if the stores run low. There's also bandages and healing tonics, and plenty of lembas."

"What on earth is lembas?" asked Thorin, employing every muscle in his face to prevent himself from sneering.

"Elven waybread. It's like cram, only thrice as filling, and four times as delicious," said Fíli. "What's more, Tauriel and Elbeth have agreed to stay until the siege ends, to help with the wounded. And with Kíli."

"Have they, now?" grumbled Thorin. That thought did not make him feel much better, although – principal aside – he liked Tauriel.

"You will not evict them from this mountain, Thorin Oakenshield," his sister snapped, and before he could defend himself she went on, "That would be nothing less than an execution, and they have both risked their lives to save your nephew. Tauriel has saved your family more than once-"

"I never said I would evict them," interrupted Thorin, scowling at her. "Nor did the thought pass my mind. But there will be folk here very unhappy about elves in the mountain. They've only just got used to the Menfolk."

She scowled back. "Don't scowl at me."

Before Thorin could snarl back, Bilbo laughed slightly. "Alright, alright. Dís, Thorin has a lot to process, and he looks like he hasn't been sleeping or eating enough. Be nice. Thorin, Dís is very pregnant and hormonal, and just as tired as you are. Be nice."

Thorin shook his head and rubbed his jaw, but he was too used to Bilbo talking to him and Dís like five-year-old siblings to be offended. They were acting like children, though he would never admit it aloud.

Instead, he looked at Kíli. "Are you in any pain?"

Kíli shook his head a little. "Not right now. Elves make good pain draughts."

Thorin ran a hand through Kíli's hair. "Well, I am glad for that. And, though I am still not pleased that you took so great a risk, I am glad that you are here. I have missed you, all of you, very much."

"I missed you too," murmured Kíli, closing his eyes.

"We should let you sleep, my lad," murmured Bilbo. "I know the flight wasn't easy for you."

"What're you talking about?" grumbled Kíli, his eyes still closed. "I loved soaring through the air without being able to move a single limb. Very liberating."

"I could do with sleep," murmured Dís, easing herself out of the chair. Bilbo and Thorin both got to their feet, and she smiled at them. "Goodnight, my darlings." She kissed Fíli's forehead, and then Kíli's.

"I'll come with you," said Bilbo, "unless you boys need anything?"

Fíli and Kíli shook their heads.

"I'll hit Fee if I need anything," said Kíli.

"I'm not going anywhere," Fíli promised.

Weariness hit Thorin like a truck, but he was afraid to stand up. He was afraid that if he slept, he would wake to find that this was a dream. He embraced his sister and kissed her cheeks, and he hugged Bilbo too, for good measure. After so long, and so much fear, he found affection far easier to give.

"Uncle Thorin?"

He turned, and was instantly hit by Kíli's gaze – weary and clouded, but imploring.

"Yes, Kíli?"

"You don't have to leave, if you don't want to," Kíli said. The shield of sarcasm had gone from his voice, and he sounded very young.

Smiling sadly, Thorin strode over to the bed and took Kíli's hand. "I think my days of sleeping in chairs are over, Kíli. My back will not thank me in the morning."

Disappointment flickered in Kíli's eyes and lashed across Thorin's heart. "Oh… alright. I understand. It's not very king-like to sleep in a bundle."

Thorin raised his eyebrows, and remembered reprimanding Fíli, Kíli and Frodo, and their numerous cousins, thousands of times for sleeping all over each other. Then he glanced at the side of the bed. There was certainly enough space for him to lie without hurting Kíli.

"If you tell anyone of this," he warned, "I will disown you."

At once, Kíli's eyes lit up, and Thorin knew that it was worth it. He extinguished the torches in the room, and then rested on the bed beside Kíli, close enough to let his nephew snuggle against him with what limited movement he had.

That night, despite all the new things that he had to fear, for the first time in over a year, Thorin slept soundly.

Bragi took a slow, deep breath, and stopped walking. Feeling much like he was caught in a nightmare, he turned slowly to face the door to Soren's parents' house. For years, in the privacy of their own home at least, he had called them his parents. Now, it felt wrong to do so. Selfish, presumptuous. All he felt was grief and shame. The ward should not have survived where the true son had not. It was so wrong. So, so wrong.

Ehren put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this now, Bragi," he said, but Bragi shook his head.

"Yes," he breathed "Yes, I do. You can go, Ehren."

"Are you sure?" Ehren turned him slightly, fixing Bragi with an uncommonly piercing stare. "Because if it will help you, I will stay all night."

Bragi grasped Ehren's hand tightly, and gave what sad hint of a smile he could manage these days. "I know. And I am grateful. But I do not think that I want an audience. I need to do this now, and I need to do it alone."

Ehren hesitated, and then squeezed Bragi's shoulder. "Alright," he said slowly. "I'll be at my parents, if you need anything."

"Thank you, Ehren. I'll see you tomorrow," he said. As Ehren walked away down the dark mountain street, Bragi sighed. Perhaps he would be seeing Ehren later this evening. He would not blame Ragan or Svana for wanting some time alone to mourn their son.

A tiny part of him, a part that sounded oddly like Soren, scolded him for even thinking that they would send him away, but he was too weary to listen. As the days passed, it had become easier to breathe through the grief that seized him, but now it was crushing his lungs as fiercely as it had a month ago. He took another steadying breath, raised his fist, and knocked on the door.

There was a long wait, and he lowered his head, knocking again. Another long, needling pause, and then the door opened, and there, with a lantern in his hand and his dressing gown inside out, was Ragan.

Sleep had clouded his eyes, and disgruntlement his face, but the moment that he saw Bragi, his expression changed.

"Bragi," he whispered, and he threw himself out of the door, engulfing Bragi in a hug so fierce that the young dwarf's tears broke free. "Thank the Valar. Where is Soren?"

Bragi opened his mouth, but he could not form the words. His eyes clenched shut and he tried to swallow back his sobs, but they broke free from him anyway, and his fingers sank into Ragan's gown.

"Bragi? Bragi, what happened?"

"I'm sorry!" Bragi sobbed, anguish racking through his body as fiercely as it had at Moria. "I'm sorry, Ragan, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"Why? Bragi-" Ragan pulled out of Bragi's arms and seized him by the shoulders. He looked pale and afraid, and Bragi looked away. "Bragi, look at me! Tell me, why are you sorry? Where is Soren?"

Bragi could not look up, not even when Ragan shook him. Instead, he stared at the floor, at the tears dripping against stone that Soren would never stand on again. The words broke from him in gasps and sobs, and tore at his throat like razors.

"He – he was shot. He – they shot him, Ragan, and he – he didn't – Ragan I lost him, I lost him, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Look at me!" Ragan demanded, and he shook him again, hard. "Is he dead? Tell me, Bragi, is my son dead?"

Collapsing in on himself, Bragi sobbed, and nodded. "Y-yes. I'm sorry, Ragan, I'm so sorry."

Ragan's grip eased from his shoulders, and his voice lowered to a rasp. "He's gone? Soren – he is really gone?"

Bragi could not say it again. He nodded, and Ragan gave a sob of his own.

"Oh, Mahal… Oh, my son… no…" With a gasp, Ragan flung himself at Bragi again, embracing him fiercely. "Oh, Bragi..."

"I'm sorry," Bragi whispered, but Ragan shook his head.

"No, lad, don't be sorry," he said, his voice shaking. "This is not your fault."

Shock shot through him, and it was Bragi's turn to pull away. "Wh-what? How could, how could you say that? You do not know what happened, Ragan-"

"Please, Bragi," the dwarf's voice cracked. "I know you, I know Soren. I know you would do whatever you could to protect him. You always have."

Bragi broke.

His knees buckled beneath him, and Ragan caught him, and every ounce of strength that stood between Bragi and his anguish crumbled. Crying like a baby, he clung to Ragan, and when he heard the footsteps of Svana coming to investigate the noise, he sobbed all the more. He did not hear what words Ragan said to his wife, but he heard her wail. He heard her sobs join his own and Ragan's, and he felt her hand on the back of his hair.

Even later, Bragi never really knew how long they laid there, tangled together in a mess of limbs and grief, but eventually he had no strength left to sob any more. Ragan was the first to stand, and he helped Bragi and Svana up. At once, she wrapped her arms around the young dwarf.

"I have had so many nightmares," she whispered, her voice shaking almost as badly as her hands. "I thought it would be both of you. I'm so glad you are home, Bragi."

"Come," said Ragan, his voice a croaking echo of itself. "I will fetch some tea. Then, Bragi, will you tell us what happened?"

Bragi nodded mutely. How could he not tell them? How would he not be ever in their debt, ever bound to whatever it was they would ask of him? He had returned, and their son had not. How could he ever look at them with anything other than guilt again?

Because they don't blame you, said the voice in his head, the one that sounded so achingly close to Soren. Because it is not your fault, and because they are your parents, too. Ward or son, it is all the same to them. It always has been the same to them.

He closed his eyes. He felt Svana's hands on his arm, trembling and gentle but there, guiding him into their living room. Leading him onto the couch. He sat when she did, and breathed in deeply.

"I truly am sorry," he said in a low voice, hoping that Ragan could not hear him. He did not want to irk the dwarf with repeated apologies. "I tried to watch over him, Svana, but I – I was too late. I'm so sorry."

She shushed him, but did not speak. Her tears were flowing freely, and she wrapped her arms around him. After a long moment, she whispered, "Please. I have been your Amad for so long, do not take that name from me now. I cannot lose both my sons, Bragi. I cannot lose you both."

Trying desperately not to sob again, Bragi nodded, and pressed his face into her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Amad."

"I know, pet," she whispered. "I know."

A few minutes later, Ragan returned, with a few more candles and a pot of steaming tea. He poured three cups, and then sat back, opposite Svana and Bragi.

"When you are ready," he said gently.

Bragi sipped his tea. It tasted sweet and light, like home in a cup, and just a little of the tension left his shoulders. Then, he began to talk.

Though his throat ached and his heart hurt, he told Soren's parents everything – of Gandalf and Nazgul and Rivendell, of the ring and Frodo's decision, of the frantic flight to catch him –

Of the battle at the gates.

And the burial of their baby.

And with everything that he had, he told them what happened afterwards. He told them of the Beornings plight, and their plan, and the battle that he had fought in mere weeks ago. He told them of Kíli's wounds, and of how they had at last flown to Erebor on the backs of eagles from the north east, high enough to stay out of range of the orcs.

When he finished, the tea was gone, and the cup in his hands was cold.

"Thank you for telling us this," said Ragan softly. "It… it couldn't have been easy. I – I am glad that you were with him."

Bragi lowered his eyes, but found the strength to murmur, "Me too."

Svana stood and swayed, and she spoke softly. "Excuse me." She turned, but then she stopped and turned back. She took Bragi's face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead, before pressing her forehead to his.

"I love you so much, Bragi. I am proud of you."

Then she turned, and went to the bedroom. Even with the door closed, the pillows did little to muffle her sobs. Ragan rose too, but only to move and sit on the sofa beside Bragi. "I know that it must have been hard to tell us," he said. "Thank you."

"Anything," Bragi croaked.

Ragan shifted uncomfortably, and through the grief on his face, Bragi could see concern. "How… How are you, Bragi? I know that you must be in as much pain as we are, but you… You have had a month, you say? How are you?"

"Forty-seven days," Bragi mumbled. He paused, and though he knew it was not his turn to confide, to seek comfort, he could not help but think of the awful memories gnawing at his mind. "I – it has been difficult. Can… Can I tell you something?"

"Of course," said Ragan, though his voice was raw.

"When I the monster went down, after… When Soren… When the water dragged me down, there was a moment when I wanted to let it take me. I wanted – I wanted it to take me away, to take it all away, but… A part of me knew that wasn't what he would want, but, a bigger part of me was scared. He must have been so scared…" Once again, Bragi broke into tears like a child, and once again, Ragan's arm wrapped tightly around him. "I'm sorry," he gasped, "I shouldn't, I shouldn't have, you've just found out and I must be strong and-"

"Shh. Hush now," said Ragan thickly. "This is our grief, Bragi, it belongs to the both of us. I doubt you were able to speak of this on the road. Listen, now. Soren is… Soren was my son. I love him more than can be said, and he will ever be the greatest thing that I have ever created. But you – you, Bragi, are the best decision I have ever made. I love you very much, my son. Let go of your guilt, Bragi. The grief is heavy enough."

And in a blink, inside the span of a heartbeat, Bragi knew. Despite everything, despite this grief that would never lift, and the hole that could never be filled, he was still, finally, home.

I hope you enjoyed that chapter. I nearly cried in public three times while writing, so, you're welcome. Initially we were also going to see Bofur, Nori and Glóin getting home, too (and giving a little more detail re elves and escape plans) but it was not easy to write so that's been bumped to the next chapter. I hope that it was worth it for you guys, and that you enjoyed this one.

Please do let me know, your feedback is highly appreciated. Thank you very much, and take care of yourselves!