They were almost there; another hour's ride and they would finally reach their town again. The ponies felt it, knew there were warm stables and a good helping of fresh hay to be had not too far away, and perked up a little.
Thorin looked back at his men and could tell that they knew it too. They were so close now, so close to their homes, their families, to food and drink and comfortable beds. Their eyes were hard, dark circles underneath them, but when he looked at each of them in turn there was also hope, relief, and in some cases there was even a little smile. He nodded his head in what he hoped was an encouraging manner, then clicked his tongue at his pony. For the first time in many days he increased their speed a little. His men followed suit.
All seven of them. Only seven.
They came up to a bend in the road, the last one before the guard at the gate could see them. Thorin roughly yanked at the sling he had tied around his neck until it came loose. He pushed the crumpled piece of fabric deep into his pocket and carefully flexed his fingers. His arm was stiff and the movement pained him.
A horn heralded their arrival. The heavy gates were pushed open and the guards stood at attention as their leader and his party returned after so many weeks. Thorin gave them a court nod, but did not stop to talk to them, never even slowed his pony. The market square was their goal and they would not stop riding until they reached it.
By the time they did, word of their return had obviously spread around the town and people started to gather, staring, talking, pointing. Thorin dismounted in the centre of the square, cradling his left arm against his chest. Somebody took the reins of his pony. He looked around the crowd. So many eyes were on him, so many of his people waiting for him to speak, to explain. Finally, he saw her step from a narrow close. Dís, his sister. Their eyes met and she smiled. It never reached her eyes. Behind Dís came her sons. Fíli was explaining something to his brother, gesticulating broadly, fully absorbed by whatever subject it was he tried to bring across. Kíli was skipping along, not paying much attention to his brother's elaborations, eyes darting around the crowded square.
Thorin could tell the exact moment when Kíli spotted him. His eyes widened and a broad grin split his little round face. He jumped up in the air with a high-pitched squeal and then he was running as fast as his short legs would carry him. He ran straight for his uncle and the crowd parted in front of him. A few feet in front of Thorin, Kíli just jumped, launching himself into the air without a care in the world. He knew that his uncle would catch him, and of course he did, of course Thorin was there to catch his little sunshine.
The entire world seemed to consist of the small dwarfling in his arms, the sweet child that nestled its head against his shoulder and sighed contentedly. Kíli's arms were wrapped around his neck, clinging to Thorin tightly. He even brought up his legs to anchor himself to his uncle even more securely. His youngest nephew was attached to him as closely as any part of his own body. Thorin lowered his head to the dark curls, breathing deeply, taking in the little boy's sweet scent. So sweet, so innocent, so untouched by the pains and challenges of the world beyond their walls.
Kíli looked up at him, still grinning from ear to ear. Pure joy shone in his eyes. Three months were like an age to one so small. He snuggled up to Thorin again, nestling his head in the crook of his neck. One of his braids, messy and crooked as usual, tickled Thorin's collarbone.
He kept Kíli balanced on his right arm, resting his left hand on the lad's back. He could feel every breath as it entered and left the tiny body. He let his thumb rub gentle circles on the woollen tunic. Kíli was so small that Thorin's fingers stretched almost all the way across his shoulders.
Kíli started to chat animatedly and Thorin put him down on the ground, mussing the dark hair once the boy was on his feet again. Then his attention turned to his older sister-son.
Fíli stood rooted to the spot, his eyes wide and mouth agape. There was none of Kíli's unbridled joy on his face. His hands were balled to fists at his sides. He stared at his uncle and when their eyes finally met, Thorin could see him gulp back tears.
Thorin opened his arms wide and knelt down, not heeding the rough stone beneath him. He wanted to be as close to his nephew as possible. Fíli was biting his lower lip as he took a hesitant step forward, then another. Thorin could see him take a deep breath and then Fíli too was running as fast as he could. The blond boy crashed into his shoulder and Thorin embraced him fiercely. For a moment Fíli just leaned limply against him, then he snaked his arms around his uncles neck and buried his face in the fur of his coat.
Fíli was shaking, and Thorin could tell by the shuddering breaths that he was crying. He held him even more tightly, squeezing the lad against his own broad chest. After a little while, Fíli pushed away from him slightly, looking into his uncle's face as if he wanted to memorise every line around his eyes and every hair of his beard. Then another sob shook his thin frame and he dove head first into the fur again.
Once he had quietened a little, Thorin shifted his weight slightly and settled his nephew onto his thigh. Fíli looked at him again and once more his eyes filled with tears and his mouth opened in a silent wail. Thorin tangled his fingers in the blond hair, pushing the small head against his shoulder, kissing him again and again, murmuring gentle words of comfort, but mainly just being there, hoping that his presence might calm the lad.
With a last deep sigh, Fíli wriggled out of his embrace and slid off his uncle's knee to stand in front of him. With Thorin crouching on the ground, they were about the same height. Fíli grabbed Thorin's shoulders and leaned forwards slightly, touching foreheads with him.
"Welcome home," he said.
