AN: Okay, so I know that technically Tauriel, as an elf, really wouldn't be a child at this point- but there isn't any denying that baby Kristoff was one of the cutest things in Frozen, and picturing a little Tauriel is just too…. ugh. Yeah. So, if you'll forgive this slight inaccuracy….
Mizim = sweetheart in Khuzdul.
Also, I went back and edited last chapter- only the end, where Thorin makes the descision to go to seek help from the elves. So, if you want to go back and read that, it might help a bit more…
No one noticed the small elven child as she snuck through the Elvenking's walls, quiet as a field mouse. Her long red hair flowed behind her as she darted through the corridors, closely followed by a small animal with light, almost white fur.
"Come on, Legolas!" The elven girl hissed, beckoning to the baby elk behind her, and he responded with an irritated snort, prancing gracefully after her, nimble-footed despite his young age. Tauriel rolled her eyes. "If a guard sees us, he'll send us back to our rooms."
Legolas huffed, rolling his own eyes before abruptly pausing, ears perking. Tauriel, who had heard the approaching elf only seconds before her friend, quickly ducked into a small nook in the wall, which led into another hallway. The little elk groaned as he just managed to squeeze through the narrow opening before Tauriel slid the panel in the wall closed, concealing the nook entirely. Breathing a small sigh of relief, she beckoned to her friend again in the dim light. "Come on, Legolas. Faster."
Legolas grunted again before abruptly taking off down the corridor. Tauriel yelped, taking off after him. In the back of her mind, she knew she ought to be nervous- this was one of the halls she wasn't as familiar with, and she should be careful- but she ignored the nagging worry and pushed on, only focused on catching her friend.
Legolas realized where they were a second before Tauriel did, and suddenly he stopped dead. Tauriel gasped as she crashed into him, falling backwards. Still, she ignored the pain as her eyes widened incredulously.
"It's the King's hall!" She breathed in awe- for the girl and elk were staring straight down into the chamber of the Elvenking Thranduil. And if that wasn't bad enough, the Elvenking had visitors. The two were listening in on a confidential meeting.
Legolas, eyes wide, turned to look at Tauriel, who simply gaped back at him. Did either of them make a move to leave? No, of course not. I mean, would you?
"Thorin Oakenshield," Thranduil greeted in a… less than friendly voice. But it was positively sweet compared to the glare on the face of the man with long, dark hair streaked with gray, who held a small child in his arms.
For some reason, Tauriel's breath hitched when she caught sight of the limp child in Thorin Oakenshield's arms. It was a tiny boy with tanned skin and a long streak of white running through his otherwise dark, scraggly hair, and he was completely still, his chest rising in a shallow, steady rythym.
"What brings you to enter my domain?"
The dark haired man looked as if he were very close to saying some words that the small, pale child who Tauriel had not noticed before and who lurked under Thorin Oakenshield's legs should not yet hear. However, thankfully, the woman next to him, who looked as if she could pass for Oakenshield's twin, spoke up before he could react.
"We are here in behalf of my son!" She proclaimed. Her voice was firm and steady, and demanded respect. From her perch high up, Tauriel could see Thranduil's eyes widen almost imperceptively.
"Lady Dís," he greeted cordially, and the little child in blue quickly switched to hiding behind his mother's skirts instead.
"And my sons," the woman nodded. "We come here to ask for your help."
The king smiled thinly. "Help?" he echoed, leaning forward slowly. "And why would I help the King of Erebor?"
"I do not ask for your help!" Thorin snarled. "I come to you only because I do not put it to even you to sit by while an innocent child dies. Certainly not given the fate of your late queen and infant."
The Elvenking leaned forward abruptly. "Then what, Thorin Oakenshield?" he asked, his tone sharp, but it was clear that he had deflated a bit. His wife, as all of the Woodland Realm knew, had died in childbirth; her soul had departed to Valinor, and the Elvenking still mourned the loss of his wife and child, after so many years. "Then what if I refuse to help you?"
Thorin's smirk said all that needed to be said; he knew he had hit on a nerve, and he knew he had gotten his way.
It proved true; Thranduil was no longer paying attention to him. Instead, he was studying the older boy, the one adorned in blue night robes.
"Show me your hands, child," he ordered the blond boy, and obligingly the child bared his palms. The Elvenking frowned upon them.
"Born with the powers, or cursed?"
"Born," Lady Dís said, a hand resting on her son's shoulder. "And getting stronger."
Thranduil swiftly descended from his throne and stood before the boy, taking his hand in his own and studying it. Thorin looked as if he wanted to yank his nephew away, but he held himself back.
Turning towards the King Under the Mountain, Thranduil placed a hand on the limp child's head. He frowned, eyes boring into the little one intently. "You are lucky it wasn't his heart," he murmured after a period of tense silence. "The heart is not so easily changed." He looked up, first to Thorin and then to Dís before continuing. "The head, however, can be persuaded."
Thranduil slowly pulled his hand away, and strands of what Tauriel could only liken to moonlight seemed to flow out of the child's head and float above Thranduil's hand. "I shall remove all magic- even memories of magic. The child will be at peace."
The older boy, who was watching the proceedings intently, frowned. "You mean… he won't remember I have powers?"
The Elvenking turned his head towards the boy, and his gaze softened ever so slightly. "He'll remember you, and the times you shared- but not the magic that was involved."
"It's for the best, Fíli," Thorin murmured, his gaze not leaving Thranduil as he pressed the "moonlight" into the younger child's head again. The boy shifted in his uncle's arms, a small smile appearing on his face.
"He will be alright," said Thranduil, drawing back from the young one with a whoosh of his robes. "And as for you-" he turned to Fíli, who shrunk back into his mother and uncle, eyes wide. Tauriel bit her lip as she watched, sure that the king was about to punish the boy for what he had done to his brother. But, of course, that was not to be.
"I have seen your power before," Thranduil said silkily. "It is rare, but I have seen it; and I will tell you now what I have observed from them." The child leaned forward, fascination alight in hiss eyes, and he watched the Elvenking's every move.
"Your power," said Thranduil, "will only grow." And then Tauriel gasped and staggered back as suddenly an imagein light appeared over his head. "There is beauty in it-" and the image, which was clearly that of the boy- no, the boy turned a man, creating snow magic in his hands, and Tauriel watched in awe- "but also great danger." Both Fíli and Tauriel gasped in unison as the glistening snowflake seemed to explode into a blinding red firestorm of light which swept down on either side of the ice-sorcerer- "You must learn to control it," he breathed, seeming as entranced by the flames of his creation as the rest of the room. "Fear will be your enemy." And the image cried out as the man was consumed by the burning red light. Fíli gasped, and buried his face in his mother's dark skirts.
"No!" Thorin exclaimed, his gaze hard as he stared at the space where the image once was. "He can control it. He will learn."
Dís turned her head to study her brother, and Thorin sighed. "Until then," he said, "we will close off the royal halls of the Mountain."
"Thorin!" Dís gasped. "You can't."
"We have no other choice!" Thorin retorted, looking pained. "We will limit his contact with others; keep his powers hidden. From everyone…" he trailed off, glancing mournfully down at the slumbering child in his arms. "Including Kíli."
Thranduil raised a fine eyebrow, and a small smirk spread across his face, but he said nothing more, aside from, "do as you deem wise, Thorin Oakenshield."
The meeting broke off quickly after that, and Tauriel just managed to catch a last glimpse of the dark boy cradled in his uncle's arms before Legolas nudged her and her eyes widened. They should have been back hours ago!
Tauriel and Legolas scampered back to their rooms, and somehow their escapade above the King's hall was not found out. But, as you would expect, neither slept soundly that night.
The last glimpse Fíli had of his brother as he shut the door to his new bedroom the next day was of his brother staring at him from the end of the hall, dark eyes wide in confusion and hurt- and the stark white streak running through his hair, which was the only thing that gave Fíli the strength to shut that door. He couldn't hurt Kíli again. He couldn't hurt anyone. Ever.
The last glimpse Kíli had of his brother was of him standing in the doorway to his new room, eyes brimming with tears as he shut the door- and then his brother looked up at him and his face hardened resolutely. The door clicked closed, and Kíli just didn't know what he had done to make his brother hate him so much. What had he done?
The boys quickly fell into a routine. Every day, Kíli would while away the hours as best as he could- so many people who used to visit every day no longer came around. It wasn't just Fíli- everyone hated him now, and Kíli just didn't understand why. What had he done that was so awful that he no longer had any friends to play with, and that his own brother had deserted him?
Each day at noon, without fail, Kíli would go and knock on his brother's door. What he said was never the same day by day; it always varied. Sometimes it was gentle prompting;
"Fee? Aren't you in there? Come on Fee, come play with me. I'm lonely."
Other times it was tearful begging, and someone would find him sobbing outside his brother's door and have to carry him away;
"Fíli! Fee, please! I'm so lonely, Fee- no one likes me anymore! You don't like me anymore, Fee! I'm sorry! What did I do? I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, just don't hate me anymore! Come play- please!"
When it would snow, he would try to coax his brother out with promises of snow-hobbits and Mister Bombur's famous hot chocolate, if he would just come out and play… but Fíli never did.
Fíli quickly realized that locking himself away wasn't helping. His powers were still expanding- and steadily, he found that they were slipping more and more out of control.
One day, in winter, Thorin came to his room with a glass box; and upon opening it, he presented Fíli with a tiny pair of leather gloves.
"The gloves will help you," said Thorin, and Fíli nodded.
"Conceal it," Thorin began, and Fíli immediately leapt in to finish the phrase he has heard dozens of times over the past months, "don't feel it. Don't let it show."
Thorin patted Fíli on the head, gave him a hug and told him that he was "a good lad," and Fíli smiled for once.
Still, Kíli grew older and it did steadily become easier for him. He began lessons; language, maths and reading with Mister Balin, Uncle Thorin's chief advisor; and fighting, with Mister Dwalin, the Head of the Guard and the best warrior in all of Erebor- or, so Kíli proclaimed. About a year into the confinement, a new boy moved into the royal halls with his brother (and another brother, or so he said, but this other brother was more of a ghost than anything; he was rarely seen, and even though he really wasn't supposed to be there, no one could really get him to leave) - it was Kíli's distant cousin, Ori, who was four years older and who Kíli found an absolute bore, come to apprentice under Mister Balin.
Kíli's tantrums outside his brother's door quickly ended when Head Cook Bombur's brother, Bofur, moved in after the death of his wife- Bofur always could make Kíli laugh, and he made the quaintest little toys, which Kíli absolutely adored.
The entire staff quickly became clear, and these were the only faces Kíli saw day by day. Mister Balin and Mister Dwalin, of course; Óin, the healer and his brother Gloin, a high-ranking guard- both Kíli's uncles, and Gloin lived outside the royal hall with his family, so he would sometimes tell Kíli about his son Gimli, who Kíli thought was a riot; Bofur, the toymaker, Bombur, the head cook, and their cousin Bifur, a guard; Ori, who Kíli never really spoke to, and his brothers Dori, who helped Bombur in the kitchen, and Nori, who…. did…. things. No one was really sure what he did, but whatever it was, Kíli was pretty sure it was illegal. Still, no one could ever catch him doing it, so nothing was to be done. And of course Uncle Thorin, and Mum and Dad, who were always there for him.
Fíli was always there, too; even though Kíli never saw him. He never broke that routine, not for years; every noon, he would knock on Fíli's door and ask him to come and play.
"Fíli? Come on Fee, it's snowing again! Let's go build a snow-hobbit!"
But he never did- he never let him in. And eventually, Kíli realized that he couldn't even remember the sound of his brother's voice anymore. And so, as he spent the hours not learning mostly on his own, he still asked himself; what had he ever done?
And one day, he didn't come. And he realized that it hadn't made a difference to him at all.
As Kíli grew older, so did Fíli; and thus, so did Fíli's powers. Steadily, they grew stronger and stronger, and Fíli realized something horrible; his powers were completely out of control. It was only when he had huddled in a corner to try and escape the pressure of icy magic pulsating thought his veins and something had burst, and suddenly the wall behind him was coated in thick ice, did Fíli really begin to genuinely fear it.
His father, of course, tried his best to comfort his son. "Being afraid only makes it worse," he said, and his mother reached out a gentle hand; but Fíli instinctively drew back.
"No!" He gasped in alarm. "Please, don't- don't touch me. Please… I don't want to hurt you."
His parents exchanged worried looks, but Fíli knew that they couldn't try to help if he wouldn't allow them to; they left him alone, and that, he knew, was what was best. He was meant to be alone- forever.
"Mum, why doesn't Fíli ever come out of his room?"
"Kíli, we've had this discussion before."
"Yes, but you've never given me any straight answers. No one gives me straight answers, and I'm tired of it. So, really, mum- why does Fíli stay in there all day?"
"… Kíli, isn't it time for your lessons? Go find Mister Balin."
"Mum."
"Kíli- please. You'll understand when you're older."
"When I'm older-"
"Yes! When you're older! Now, please, mizim- go work on your lessons."
"… yes, Mum."
By the time Kíli turns twelve, he doesn't knock on his brother's door anymore. There's no point in it.
It was only when Kíli was fifteen that everything really fell apart.
It started during his lesson with Mister Dwalin. The dull calm of studying Khuzdul nouns was instantly shattered by Gloin racing into the royal halls, running right past them and into Uncle Thorin's throne room.
In a matter of seconds, nearly everyone came rushing out of different rooms, all headed for one place- and all wielding weapons. Balin sprung up from his seat, white eyebrows knitted in alarm. "What's the meaning of this, lads?"
"Erebor is under attack!" Exclaimed Bofur as he rushed past, axe in hand. "Orcs- hundereds of them! No idea how they got here! Laketown is joining the fight- grab your swords, come on!"
Kíli's eyes widened, and he instantly sprung up from his seat. But his parents, who were running together, almost immediately caught his purpose.
"Not you, Kíli," his mother said with a shake of her dark head. "Not today."
"But mum! If Erebor is under attack-"
"If Erebor is under attack, Kíli, then it is important that you remain safe," his father said, golden brows knitting together. "Leave this to the trained warriors. Go to your room- you'll be alright there."
"But Da- I can fight! I know I can! I have my bow-"
"Next year, Kíli," Víli sighed, smiling fondly at his son and squeezing his shoulder.
"Kíli, please," said his mother, clasping his hand, "go, mizim. Remain safe."
And seeing the faces of his mother and father, there was no way for even Kíli to argue. With a short nod, he began running in the opposite direction, towards his rooms, and only chanced one glance over his shoulder, catching a last glimpse of his parents before they ran out after all the others.
Kíli hid, still and quiet for what seemed to be hours- and, more than likely, it actually was hours. He couldn't read; he couldn't sleep; he finally settled for just shooting arrows at the wall and fuming. What kind of son was he? What kind of prince? He ought to be out there, helping his Uncle and his parents; not hiding in his room like a child. He was a coward.
Finally, he managed to get to sleep; he wasn't sure how, but all he knew was that one moment he was studying the cracks on the stone ceiling for the thousandth time and all of a sudden there's a knock on his door and his uncle and mother are standing there, sobbing. And he knows.
The funeral is small. Fíli doesn't make an appearance.
That night, for the first time in four years, Kíli knocked on his brother's door.
"Fíli?" He asked softly. "Please… I know you're in there. You always are… people are asking about you, Fee. They're worried." He trailed off, fighting the tears threatening to overwhelm him. "Fíli… Fíli, Da's dead. And… they say that I have to be strong, and I am- I am being strong. I'm trying…" His voice broke on the last word, and he sucked in a deep breath. No. He wouldn't allow himself to do this. "Fíli, I know. I know that you hate me. I know that you've never responded to me, not in years, and I know you were probably happy when I stopped asking. But… but I'm here, Fee. I'm right out here, right now, and I… please. Just let me in. For once, just let me in. Because… it's just us, now. You, me and Mum. Da's gone, and… Uncle Thorin will try to help, but…" He sighed and allowed a shuddering breath to slip out. "What are we going to do, Fíli?" He asked softly, allowing himself to slip down the door until he was sitting, his back pressed against it.
And he remembered, remembered the days from their childhood, when they were so close. If that Fíli were here- the one who loved him, the one who always protected him and took care of him… he would let him in. But Kíli was pretty sure that that Fíli wasn't even there anymore.
Still, in his grief he remembered the last good memory of his brother; and he remembered the question he had asked so often on all those long, lonely days, while his brother shut him out; and even though he knew it was foolish, he allowed it to slip out, not caring how his voice broke on the words.
"Do you want to build a snow-hobbit?"
But this time, just like all the other times, there was no answer.
He couldn't see his brother on the other side of the door. He didn't see the utter devastation on his face, the icy tears frozen to his pale cheeks, or the complete and utter loss of control; the way Fíli had just collapsed when he heard the news, and how all the magic he had been keeping inside for so long just exploded in a whirl of grief and misery. Kíli didn't see, and Fíli knew that he would never know. He could never know. Now that father was gone…
And for the first time in many, many years, both Fíli and Kíli allowed their heads to fall, and they wept.