Ashen King

AN: Sorry again for the unexpected hiatus. My broken wrist had to be operated on and I wanted to make sure it was fully healed before I resumed writing. I'm stiff, but otherwise completely cured. Unlike some dwarves around here I might add…Thanks for your understanding. Enjoy the chapter.

How do you tell your sister that her child is dead? How do you look her in the eye, and explain that he was slaughtered in the woods like an animal, and is never coming home? How do you tell your sister that you were the one who caused her son to die?

In the end, it didn't matter. Dis already knew. She waited in the doorway to the house, frozen in the cold, as if she was still expecting the return of her lost son. But when Thorin got closer, carrying Fili over on shoulder, and pieces of shredded and bloody clothing in his other hand, he saw the tears forming tiny icicles on her face, and the hopeless look in her eyes told him. She was past hoping that Kili would come running home. Thorin's pace was almost to the point of crawling. The terrible temperature was becoming too much to bear, and he could barely stumble towards the home. Dis didn't cry anymore, she simply came forward, and gently pulled Fili from his grasp, before ducking back into the warmth of the hearth. He fell to his knees on the doorstep, though the door was left open for him, and finally broke into sobs. The tattered shirt fell from his fingers as he supported himself on the doorframe. There was no way to describe it. The overwhelming guilt far exceeded the physical pain, the aching bones, and the frozen skin. Those were wounds that could be healed. Every other loss, every other time, it was a loss out of his control. There was no scapegoat here. He had driven his nephew into the arms of death.

A fire was lit within the room, an armchair turned away from him as Thorin limped into the room, one hand on the wall. The warmth within the cottage hit him with such staggering force that he paused where he stood, feeling the snow melt off of him in wet rivulets. There was no sound, except his breath and that of the creaking roof. The word he would always think of was numb. His body was numb. His mind was numb. He could barely use his mouth to articulate anything, and upon seeing his sister with her back to him, staring into the flames with an absolute blank expression on her face, he was unable to say anything of real importance.

"Dis, I'm-" he finally got out. As soon as a word was out of his mouth, she interrupted.

"Sorry?" she questioned in a harsh voice that Thorin knew all too well. She had always been the strong sibling, the logical one. She was never like him, who was so easily angered and personally offended. She was not like Frerin, who felt the pain of all those around him, who cried on his 15th birthday when he found a raven unable to fly. No, Dis was the one who stayed steady throughout each experience. Always. She refused to put up with Thorin's rages and moods, rather forced him to come back to reason with forceful words and a stern look. She would never baby Frerin, rather told him that pain was part of life. He had never seen her broken. " I figured you were. Your apology does not mean anything. Not to me."

"I…how can I…" The king could feel the words on his tongue. There is no explanation. All I can hope for is your forgiveness someday. I pray that you can find it within you to let my actions be forgotten in favor of a better life. The words didn't come, and his sister didn't want to hear any of them.

She gestured to the floor, where in the corner lay a broken weapon. It was a bow, carved out of the best wood, and plated with the finest metal crest. Just below the notch was a crack, a fissure within its majesty. The string was snapped, the curve of the weapon disrupted. "You wanted it as another tombstone to keep hidden away so no one would find it. Now it counts for two of our kin" Her words rang true as bells, but he hadn't thought of that earlier in the evening. Looking back it was clear. In the moment, it had been dizzying at best.

"I can't begin to explain," he whispered, looking at his soaked boots. He dared not get any closer to her, much less look at her at all. She seemed to want the same. Dis did not move from her chair, did not turn to see him in any way. Her tone carried at the minimal volume.

"Then don't," she snarled. "I can't listen to you talk anymore, brother. I don't want to hear your voice." Thorin flinched, just barely, as he hard voice stung his face like a strike would have.

"What are we going to do?" he muttered, trying to diffuse some sort of tension. His sister seemed to be less aggressive the longer he waited. But when she answered him, the strange calm in her language was far worse than her shouting.

"You stay away from this home. You keep away from Fili," she demanded. A request that he knew he could never fulfill was suddenly on the table and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I can't do that. You know I can't." She knew already. He understood that. She made the demand knowing that there was no way for him to be separated for so long. His words meant nothing.

"You have no choice in the matter," she replied, still not looking at him. Perhaps she couldn't see his face and do this to him. Perhaps he needed to let her see that he was truly sorry. Thorin took a few tentative steps around the chair, so he could see her profile. She continued to look straight ahead.

"I won't be cut out of my nephew's life," he growled. "You can't do that to me." The angrier he became, the more soothing she was.

"You'll come to the burial. That's it. After that, I want you to say goodbye to Fili and not come back." She announced her terms like she was telling him what she was making for breakfast the next moment: absentmindedly and without any significant emotion.

"Dis-" he tried. The mention of her name sparked a bolt of lightning in her eyes. When she spoke again, it was in the hysterical tone he heard from starving women in caravans who had to choose which child to feed, and which one to waste way.

"No, Thorin!" she shrieked. "You have to get out of his life! You have to get out of my life. He can't grow up thinking that what you did was forgivable. Father taught us one very special rule about being a mentor and you broke it."

Her brother struggled for words. "I didn't…" It was worthless.

"You know what happened in the snow." Dis didn't mean it as a question or a statement. He felt it as an accusation.

"The orc pack ran him down. There's nothing else to say." His voice didn't ring; just fell flat in the tension-filled air.

"Why would they keep the body?" His sister trembled. "Do they know we're here?" His family had been moving from place to place for most of the early years of Kili's life, trying to find somewhere they were hidden from the orc packs. Thorin felt his blood become tepid at the thought. His folly could have exposed them. "Are we safe?" she asked. Feeling the fear, he reacted the way he usually did.

"They'll be slaughtered for this," he growled, flushing as he could feel his freezing skin begin to warm. "Show your son that losses can be healed with strength and revenge." Soon his words echoed inside the little cottage, making his sister flinch.

"Your rage solves nothing!" Finally, Dis turned to look at him, her blue eyes wild in the flickering fire, her mention of his anger wrought across her expression. Her brother couldn't take her taunts any longer.

"My rage was the reason Frerin survived as long as he did. My rage is why Kili lasted out there in the snow to begin with. My rage builds resolve!"As he began to shout, she sprung from her chair, every inch of her body vibrating, her cheeks in a glinting sheen of tears.

"Get out, Thorin. You need to go." He backed away to the door, the numbness taking him again. It never hurt so much as when he turned his back on her.

He had been right. It gave him resolve. For years he let the anger steam inside his ribcage, boil through his brain and out his mouth. It stung. It burned. It seeped from every pore in his body and scalded him clean over and over again. For years he searched for the pack, driven by no food in his stomach or water in his throat, but by the crackling sparks that shot through his nerves. He didn't know the winds would stoke his flames. He didn't know that time would let them fizzle out like glowing embers. After he had nothing left, he was ash.

And ashes can be carried back home by the slightest of breezes.

He came home 6 years later, tired, lethargic, burned out. He was full of coal, felt very little, thought too much. Thorin hadn't found the pack. It was like they had disappeared somewhere between the Misty Mountains and Mirkwood. Their trail went cold, as did the king. Yet still, he had searched. One hand fell onto the door of the cottage, and he pounded twice. Footsteps and voices could be heard from inside, but he recognized neither of them. Backing away from the door, he braced himself. Had they left? Had he come all this way to see his family again, just to see that they had moved residence? The house opened up, and he drew a breath.

"Hello, can I…" the youth who answered the door trailed off as soon as he made eye contact with Thorin. "Can I help you?" The dwarfling was older than when his uncle had last seen him, taller, his hair longer, eyes carrying more weight. Framing his face were two golden braids, and on his chin were the first signs of strands with the same color. For a moment, they simply stared at one another.

"I've come to give penance to your mother," the elder dwarf finally announced.

"You've come back then?" Fili asked, suspicious.

"I have." The youth bit his lip, and for the first time, his uncle realized he didn't know him.

"I guess you'd better come in then," the prince decided, and swung the door fully open.

The king turned away from his nephew, and found that the entrance of the house had completely disappeared, replaced with a horrific and tangled forest. When he looked over his shoulder, the rest of the cottage, along with his family had vanished as well. The hallucinogenic trees seemed to dance around him, changing their positions when he looked away. Thorin took a tentative step forward. There was a noise, a repeated thud that echoed through the woods. He continued to walk, following his ears towards the sound. The environment around him shifted, and the further he walked, the closer he found himself towards a recognized landmark. When he stopped in his tracks, he stood at the bridge that would lead him directly into the kingdom of Thranduil. Luckily, a dark haired dwarf dressed in all dark blue, firing shaft after shaft from his elven bow, blocked the entrance. Each hit the center of large wooden targets hung from the doors to the fortress. Thorin didn't need to see the dwarf's face to know his name. The breath caught in his throat.

"So you learned anyway," he told his nephew. The arrows stopped flying for a second. It was the most brief of pauses, before Kili began firing his weapon again.

"So you learned anyway," the prince repeated. Thorin could finally do it. He had waited years for closure, and he could finally go through with it. Though he stuttered, he was ready to finally speak to him.

"I'm…I don't know how…I'm sorry." The apology finally came out of the ruler's lips with great relief. Once again, there was a pause in the training, just barely. The uncle expected his kin to turn around, to do something. He didn't

"Your apology means nothing Thorin." He spoke in a complete monotone voice, as if his radical statement made perfect sense. "He can't hear you. This is just a dream." The king looked around. Of course it was. He was nowhere near the kingdom of Mirkwood. He was in the Lonely Mountain.

"Well, I can say it when I wake up, can't I?" he inquired. Kili paused once again, but this time did not resume his work. Instead, he cocked his head to the side, and said in a voice that sounded far away, "Oh, you can. You just won't want to."

"I don't follow," the ruler informed. The more the dream-like representation of his nephew spoke, the less it made any semblance of sense.

"He stolen it from you, uncle." All the hairs on the back of Thorin's neck prickled, and he lost the breath he was taking. He knew exactly what the dream was speaking of. The word caught on the tip of his tongue. Arkenstone. "He is giving it the elves as we speak." Kili dropped the bow onto the ground and slowly, almost mechanically, turned to face his uncle. While his entire being was exactly as the dwarf was in real life, the king had to stop himself from crying out as the face came into full view. The right half of his face was bleeding, punctuated by a series of ruptures in the skin over his temple. Thorin had seen the wound before, though briefly, but it was instantly recognizable. His bones seemed to be glued together; he couldn't move. The part of the spirit's face that was untouched by the gore was the worst of it. Where the royalty expected to see a pair of brown eyes staring back at him, he found empty sockets. And within the gaping holes were shoved two shining circular objects, two sparkling gold coins.

"You're not meant to be him," he accused, physically shaking. "You're something else." The imposter shrugged, and gave the king a large, cat-like grin in response.

"That's your choice, now isn't it?" Thorin wanted to tell the thing that it absolutely wasn't. Then he realized: of course it is. This is my dream. He stared down the ghost, or at least where he though the pupil's would be. It smiled wider. "But he has taken it. Won't you go retrieve it?"

"He wouldn't take it. Kili wouldn't do that." The monarch had been taught to trust his instinct, and that was what he felt in that moment. Instinct. The spirit shook its head, the jubilant expression fading away.

"But he has. I know." The tone suddenly changed from manipulative and flashy to forceful and upset. It was like a child throwing a tantrum, telling the parent that it knew that its version of the story was right.

Thorin's hand fell to his belt, from which hung the sword he knew he carried in reality. His fingers brushed the hilt, the cold and biting metal sending almost an electric shock through his body. "I can't believe you though, can I?" It glared at him, at best as it could with no eyes. When it spoke again, it was in a very low and hushed voice full of spit and poison.

"You need to wake up, Thorin," it assured. The uncle turned his cheek slightly. This was wrong. He knew it. Something in its voice, the way it took his nephew's form, the way it egged him on, was a symptom to a much larger issue.

"I don't want to hurt him. Not after everything that has happened." The corners of its mouth barely turned up, in pure pleasure.

"History, Oakenshield." The king's vertebrae seemed to lock in place from the chill that ran up his spine. It said his title the way an orc did, not the way he was used to hearing it. The coins glittered under the brow. "History is doomed to repeat itself. Your nephew has a history of taking things he shouldn't touch. And when you see it again, you'll react the same way you did last time. You just need to open your eyes." It seemed so simply, so logical the way it was said, but so incorrect at the same time. The words were already filling his mouth like bile and spilling out, far beyond his control.

"I can't do that."

"Then I'll do it for you," it decided. Thorin drew his sworn, ready to cut down the aberration but just as quickly the bow was raised to his head, the tip of the arrow pressed into the skin on his forehead. The king screamed while the specter let the arrow fly into his skull. The last thing he saw were the twinkling coins falling out of the dark empty sockets, and clattering to the floor.

He pitched himself out of the throne, found himself heaving on the ground, down on all fours. His head felt like it was splitting open, as thoughts of the sickness that consumed him slaughtered the clear and collected ones he had experienced in his dream. Real life was delirium, and his dreams were his only relief in clarity. He must have fallen asleep, against all his efforts. Thorin thought, for a moment, that he was going to retch. He was overheating, and then he felt frozen. His vision came in and out of focus. There was a terrible screaming within his head, followed immediately by deathly silence.

The silence was broken by voices, voices that tied him back to the reality he was living.

"Is it something you can fix?" asked a nervous, almost skittish sounding person.

"I think so," responded a female one. Thorin pushed himself back onto his knees. It didn't belong there. He had forbid it from coming here. Slowly, his ragged breathing came to a steady hiss. "I hope so."

"I've seen worse patched up with a lick and a promise." His younger nephew sounded weaker than ever, cracking at almost every word. Yet, he could still hear the smile on his face. A light shone through a crack in the door of the sick room, a light that guided the king shakily to his feet. One hand steadied him on the throne. The specter was right. They had gone behind his back. As quietly as he could, the ruler shed the ridiculous cloak from his shoulder, and began to tiptoe forward. He stayed bathed in shadow, but as he approached he was able to peer through the partially opened door and glimpse the bed and people around it.

The hobbit was closest to the door, wringing his hands and watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. He had always been the timid one, and Thorin was questioning his presence in the mountain more and more. The burglar had not been paid, but other than that, he had no reason to stay. The creature should have scampered off a long time ago, he thought. Fili stood a little ways off, his arms crossed and face tired. If he didn't spend so much time caring for those who couldn't be cured, he could have made some progress on his studies surrounded by his ancestors work. The journey to the Lonely Mountain was beginning to feel like one giant betrayal from his heir, whether it came to picking another side, refusing to take instruction, or become obsessed with his elf-loving brother. That nephew lay in the bed and appeared almost like a corpse in the moonlight. In stark contrast, the invader who stood near the bed looked as alive as a spring day: red hair glinting like the flames of the lantern, eyes as green as fresh leaves, and skin flushed pink by the cold night air.

"Try large quantities of your blood and tears, and my sweat, and I might be able to fix this," she commented, leaning down further to examine the shard in his lost nephew's flesh. Though hatred for the pair of them coursed through his veins, Thorin had to resist the urge to scream. "How dare you touch him!" he would have shouted. But at the elf's statement, he saw Fili blanch. She noticed it too. "Calm down," she assured him. "It's a joke." The king grimaced in the shadows.

"What do you need to make it work?" There was an exhausted edge to the blonde dwarf, one that summoned a dangerous sort of desperation. Having not slept before that night for many days, the ruling dwarf knew the feeling, and used that voice.

"Different supplies from my camp, more light, and a guarantee that I'll have safety in this mountain," the she-elf demanded. I can guarantee you a broken neck and crushed skull when I throw you from the rampart. None of the companions in the room echoed his desire.

"That's possible," Fili considered, toying his beard with one hand. "But it will have to be before daybreak. My uncle comes wandering up from the horde in the daylight." Thorin felt venom in his mouth at the tone his nephew used when he spoke of him. It wasn't the expected proud or excepting expression he was used to. It was one of disgust and frustration. If the dwarves were truly doing what he thought they were, the king would assure the prince that the feelings were mutual.

"And in the daylight Thranduil will come with the lake man to ask for what they want, and he will have no choice but to say yes," Tauriel answered mournfully, tucking the blanket back over Kili's torso. The injured dwarf watched her all the while with unfocused eyes as large as coins. Thorin shook his head at the image of the monster from his dreams.

"Our uncle can always say no," the heir pointed out.

"I really think that Lady Tauriel is right, Fili," Bilbo spoke again. "Thorin can't deny them anymore." The ruler stiffened. There could be few reasons why he could not refuse the elven king. He had a feeling he knew what they were planning to do.

"There is no promise of that." Fili was staying obstinate, but something was wrong, unsure. Kili tried to sit up further, only to be restrained by the redheaded elf maid.

"Fili, the leather pouch in the top drawer of the dresser," the injured dwarf requested. His brother dutifully did as he was told. The younger brother turned back to Tauriel. "I thought I wouldn't be able to give it to you." The dark-haired dwarf was undeniably starry-eyed and delirious, but there was purpose behind his face.

"Give what to me?" The elf turned to look at Kili. Her breath caught in her throat the same moment as it did in the king's. It was a leather pouch, just as his nephew had said. But in the bag was a lump, a weight that pressed on the bottom. It was a shape and size that only brought one thought into Thorin's head, one that made him desperately want to run into the room and snatch back his prize. It looked like the Arkenstone.

"You need to give it to the king," the sick dwarf instructed. Tauriel opened the drawstring top and peered in. She shook her head. The king glared.

"Kili-"

"It will bring peace," his nephew insisted. He means to auction it.

"I don't think-" For once the king wanted to the elf to win. He wanted his inheritance to be safe without him having to expose himself from his dark protection from which he watched.

"Take it Tauriel. Please." The injured brother pleaded with a face that his uncle recognized: the kind a child uses when he wants to stay up later than his proposed bedtime, one that had usually taken the king aback. Now it made his heart hard.

"You are okay with this?" The red-haired elf asked, turning to the older brother.

"We have to be." Fili answer grudgingly. "Give to your king, and come back with your materials. I'll signal you with a light on the balcony."

"And if I don't see it?" She seemed skeptical, though she kept the pouch clutched between her fingers.

"Prepare Thranduil to barter for my brother's life, because my uncle would rather keep his pride than his nephew." Thorin felt, just for a moment, that such an accusation could have truth in it. Tauriel seemed to take this as a confirmation, but before gliding out the door, she turned to Kili.

"I guess this is farewell." He nodded as best he could. As the elf leaned down, the king bristled with rage, his anger uncontrollable as she watched her press her lips against the younger dwarf's forehead. She barely glanced at the rest of the Company members before she dashed out. Her eyes never passed over the ruler as he stood there and watched her go, knowing she would never be coming back. She had taken that which he wanted and needed most in the world. He wouldn't let her get away with it, not without paying a price.

After a few grievous moments of waiting in the dark, he strode towards the room, and caught the hobbit just as he slipped out.

"Thorin!" the burglar gasped, starting like he had just seen a ghost. Everyone seemed to do that now.

"Master Baggins," the king replied coolly. "What brings you here so late in the night?" He meant it as an accusation, and it came out that way.

"Kili had a spell," the halfling rushed. The lies were forced and scared. "I wanted to-to m-make sure he was okay."

"As do I," the dwarf responded. They briefly stood in silence. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

"Goodnight Thorin." The creature hurried off, and the ruler could feel him look back over his shoulder. No matter. He continued into the brightly lit room, where his older nephew had taken a seat in the chair by the bed. It took a moment for Fili's eyes to trail up to his kin's.

"Uncle! What are you doing here?" He is frightened, it occurred to Thorin. It didn't make him as upset as he felt it should have. Instead, there was a dead, hollow feeling in the center of his chest.

"I've been thinking about what you said, and I'm sorry." His falsehood and manipulation passed through his lips so easily it made him fearful. It wasn't how he was. It wasn't how he should be, but he continued. "I just was focused on the throne and keeping it. I did not intend to make it seem as if I did not care for you or your brother." His heir's blank stare looked back at him, baffled.

"I-I…Thank you, Thorin," he finished.

"You look as if you're dying yourself," the king remarked, finally spewing some sort of truth. "Get some rest, Fili. I can stay up with him tonight." And you won't be getting help from that spy of Thranduil's anymore.

"You really don't have to do that," the blonde dwarf insisted.

"I don't have to do anything. I want to." Thorin smiled, though he felt it spread too far across his face.

"It would make me more comfortable if I-"

"I am apologizing for what I said and helping your brother," the king whispered, articulating every word more than he usually would. Fili froze at the tone of voice. "What more do you want?" The silence would devour the both of them.

"I didn't mean…I'm sorry." The prince stood from the chair almost mechanically, brushing past his uncle with a petrified look on his gaunt face. "Throw the bolt across the door to keep everything safe." The king turned to the door, where he saw the instructions to be true. The door did have a bolt, but to keep out what? Or whom?

"Goodnight," The king whispered.

"Goodnight," his nephew gulped. The door was slammed in the blonde dwarf's face, the bolt locked. Thorin slowly walked over to the bed. He could not tell if Kili were asleep or delirious. When he lowered himself in the chair, however, he spoke.

"Uncle Thorin." The words felt like a knife through the elder dwarf's ribs.

"Go to sleep," he harshly instructed, as if telling a babe.

"I'm glad you're here," the injured dwarf mumbled, closing his glassy eyes.

"As am I."

"When we were in Laketown, I heard you singing," Kili muttered. Thorin had all but forgotten the incident. It felt like a distant experience, almost like a dream. He didn't know what to say, and instead spat out far away words that had no meaning at all.

"Did you?" The room was deathly quiet.

"Would you ever sing again?"

"Hush. You need to rest." Yet still, in all his betrayal, the king could not reject his nephew completely. His fingers worked through the sweaty hair, forming the pieces that framed the dwarf's face into a singular braid, all the while he hummed.

The song sounded like a funeral dirge.