So sorry about the delay in updates! I got really caught up in exam season, but I hope you're all still around and enjoying this story. Just a short chapter today to get back on track, more to follow soon. Thanks so much to Miss J Nori, purple-pygmy-puff16 and cherryorpeach for your reviews on the last chapter! Let me know what you think!
It was two days after the battle and the mountain was eerily quiet, despite the many dwarves that had taken up their places within it. They had retrieved their injured and their dead, had begun to bury them, Men, Elves and Dwarves alike. And today, special day as it was, there were not only dwarves gathered in the mountain, but also Elves and Men, represented by Bard and Thranduil. They had come for the funeral of Prince Kili and Thorin II Oakenshield, King under the Mountain. To pay their respects.
A mass of people was gathered in the dark halls of Erebor, one of which was illuminated with glooming firelight. So many torches hung from the walls, that this particular hall was almost brightly lit, the firelight bouncing off the veins of gold and mithril that ran through the dark stone walls.
Fili let his gaze wander over those veins, following them from their start to the very top of the ceiling, hardly blinking as their light reflected back into his dull blue eyes. He stared for a moment, trying to imagine these streaks of gold as veins indeed, running from the mountain's heart, deep down within. But there was no life in them, not truly. The mountain's heart had stopped beating.
His eyes slowly travelled further, and he watched from his elevated spot at the far end of the hall as the people gathered below him in the chamber, though he barely registered any of them. Instead, his gaze found his brother and his uncle, who lay on two pedestals carved out of dark stone, ready to be buried deep within the tombs of Erebor. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that this journey would end this way. With Kili and Thorin dead, and himself standing here alive, his uncle's crown weighing heavy on his head.
He'd barely had any time to think since the battle had ended. Everything had happened all at once, it had seemed, after he had discovered Kili lying dead in the snow. He had carried his brother down to the camp, had stayed with him while the rest of the group had gone back to look for more survivors. And then, Dwalin had come to tell him that while he had been out looking for his little brother, Thorin had passed away. Fili didn't really remember what he had said or done in reply. In fact, the whole time between then and today had been a strange, dark flurry of events, that had happened to him, rather than with him. He had played no real part in it, like a stiff, wooden puppet, dragged along by strings, with no control over any of its decisions. Dain had presented him with Thorin's heavy golden crown, Balin had mentioned something about funeral arrangements, someone had said that he should send word to his mother. Fili had done what was asked of him, numbly, without stopping to think or evaluate any of his choices. He did not have the strength to do so. He did not want any of this responsibility. He was grateful for the strings.
And so, after all the arrangements had been made, he was now standing here with Dain beside him, looking down at his companions as they trailed slow steps around the stone pedestals, quietly saying their farewells to the people he loved most in the world. He caught sight of a familiar black head of hair and he followed Arinna's form for a while with his gaze, watching as she stood beside his little brother's body, silent tears streaming down her face. Her right arm was bandaged and held in a tight sling, her face bruised and scratched from the battle still, though Fili did not know who had taken care of her injuries. He had not asked her. His own injury, the slash across his back, had been tended to by someone in the time between the battle and now, though Fili could hardly remember this, either. They had told him that his wound had been severe, that he had been lucky. It did not feel like luck to Fili.
He watched silently as the druid lifted her left hand, seeing her fingers trembling even from this distance, as she brushed them lightly against Kili's still hand. His brother was being buried with the sword he had been carrying, his hands folded neatly around its hilt as it lay atop his chest. Fili could have almost imagined that his little brother was merely sleeping, had he not known about the deadly injury beneath the surface.
He quickly tore his gaze away, instead looking at his uncle, who held the Arkenstone in both hands, the gem being buried with him after Bard and Thranduil had given it back to the dwarves. The blond dwarf wasn't sure what he felt exactly, seeing Thorin take the stone to his grave, but the knot in his stomach tightened painfully.
"THE KING IS DEAD!"
Dain's loud voice ripped him out of his troubled thoughts, and he had to blink several times to realise that everyone was now staring up at him, the weight of several hundred pairs of eyes suddenly resting solely on him. The crown felt heavier still on his head, his breath coming in short bursts as he stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone. He tried to empty his mind, to just let this moment wash over him like the past days had, but it was no use. As Dain called out to the dwarves, and the rest of the people, Fili's mind was filling with images of his uncle, and his brother, and he felt an incredible loneliness creep up inside him.
"LONG LIVE THE KING!"
He felt Dain grab his wrist and raise his hand up to the sky, the loud cheers and applause of the dwarves filling the hall in acceptance and appreciation of the new King under the Mountain. But Fili did not feel any joy. He barely felt anything at all.
Instead, he imagined himself lying down there, still and cold, beside his brother, and Thorin up where he stood, in the midst of his people and his kingdom.
