'Ello, lovelies!

THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT THE LAST CHAPTER. There's still one more.

This took forever to write (as usual). Blood, sweat, and most of all, tears went into the making of this. I hope it pleases you.

So grab your hankies, and your teddy bears, and your pints of Ben & Jerry's (or whatever your comfort food of choice is). The authoress has chosen to rip your hearts out and stomp on them. It makes a delicious wine.

Ok, that was gross. I apologize.

Dwalin appeared out of nowhere on the morning of Thorin's funeral, looking as though he hadn't slept in a fortnight. And nearly a fortnight it had been since the battle ended. Thorin had been preceded in burial by Bifur, and, unfortunately, Dori. He had succumbed to the orc poison a day and a half after my announcement to the Company. The only thing that could have saved him was elvish medicine, and the Mirkwood elves had long since retreated back to their realm. I sincerely doubted that they would have helped even if they had remained. My and Kili's, as well as Nori's, platitudes of comfort could not soothe poor Ori. He had not spoken since, and every time he tried, naught but a hoarse, strangled sound left his lips. Bofur had been unusually silent of late, and Bombur had completely lost his appetite. It broke my heart to see such merry people brought down by such a tragedy as this. I feared that if there were any more deaths, it would utterly destroy us all.

No explanation was given of Dwalin's whereabouts. Dwalin himself spoke to no one, but after much persuading accepted food and a change of clothes. He cleaned his axes, but refused to remove them from his person.

The only reason I could think of for his behavior was that he had seen Thorin fall. They had always fought together, and they knew each other better than even their own kin. Dwalin's grief in that case must have utterly destroyed him. Perhaps it was for the best that he had been away. Though his eyes remained downcast much of the time, there was a murderous glint in them.

Some of the few words he did speak were to Kili and me. Upon seeing us, he drew near, fixing us with his steely gaze, and placed his massive hands on our shoulders, uttering our names with a nod of—what? Approval? Satisfaction? I did not know.

Thorin's funeral had been delayed for as long as possible to allow as many of our kin to travel to Erebor as possible, but unfortunately, those in Ered Luin—our mother among them—could not attend, as the journey here—even on horseback—would take up to four months.

I drafted a letter to her as I sat alone in one of Erebor's many royal chambers. I'd had a sleepless night and no appetite that morning and I'd been pacing for hours. Kili and I, as kin to Thorin, were expected to give his remembrance speech. I didn't know if I could do it. So much uncertainty had arisen in the past weeks that sometimes I wished I had never come on this journey at all. The nervousness of not breaking down in front of the crowd, as well as the smell of dragon dung, which the lower halls—including the burial vaults—had been full of, were sure to turn my stomach.

And so it was with quivering hand that I set quill to parchment and wrote a shaking missive, a letter to my mother. I couldn't think of anything else to do, and it helped just to get my thoughts down on paper.

Dear Mother—

It is with heavy heart that I write to inform you that your brother, my uncle, Thorin, has passed into the next realm. Though I was not there to witness it—Kili and I were unexpectedly detained in Rivendell for some time—I am told he fought bravely to the very end, as would be expected. Erebor is once again ours. We arrived under unfortunate circumstances, but at least we were able to see Thorin before his passing. He has passed the crown on to me, and I await my coronation with not a small amount of trepidation. Kili remains as cheerful as he can be, considering the circumstances, and sends his love. I pray this letter finds you well.

Your loving son,

Fili

I stared at the parchment for a long moment before crumpling it up and tossing it into the fire. No. I could not do that to her, not now, when I was still so fragile myself. But how did one gently phrase a letter to tell someone of the death of their kin? I could picture her reading my letter and sinking into a chair, hand over her mouth in disbelief and despair as tears glistened in her eyes. I had seen it before—I was but seven when my father fell in battle, but I will never forget the look on her face when Thorin and Balin came to tell her the news. Kili, not yet two, had waddled in, asking "where is Da?" and she scooped him up and held him close, crying into his soft hair for what seemed like hours. The image was forever burned into my memory.

Tears sprang to my eyes at the thought of my mother losing her brother. I had lost count of how many times my eyes had welled with tears that I'd tried to fight away. A knock came on the door and I pressed my knuckles into my eyes and swallowed the ever-present lump in my throat before I answered.

"Yes?" I called, hoping my grief was not too evident in my voice.

"It's Bilbo," came a small, anxious voice from the other side of the door. "It's time. Balin sent me to fetch you and Kili, but…er…Kili refuses to leave his room."

With a tired sigh, I arose from the chair and made my way across the room. Upon pulling open the heavy door, I found Bilbo standing there, looking sick with worry and wringing his hands.

"I thought you might be able to coax him out," he said, gazing in the direction of Kili's chamber and shifting from foot to foot anxiously.

Hoping to soothe him, I laid a hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Baggins, go and tell Balin that I'm speaking to Kili. Don't let them blame you for this. It's not your fault."

He nodded, and, glad not to be at fault, made his way soundlessly down the long corridor. I headed in the opposite direction and knocked on the door of the chamber Kili had been in since morning, refusing to speak to anyone.

"Who is it?" came a timid voice that didn't seem to belong to my audacious brother.

"It's Fili," I answered. "Bilbo sent me to get you."

"I'm not going," he replied stubbornly.

"We have to, Kee. I'm sorry. We're it now—we're the crown princes. It's our duty." I tried the door to find it locked. "Open the door, Kee. Please."

"I don't care about our duty. Go away."

"Kili," I repeated. If this didn't work, I was out of ideas. "You always looked up to Thorin, remember? You wanted to see Erebor and be a great leader as much as I. Well, now we're here. The one thing Thorin wanted was for the line of Durin to be continued, and he fought for it. We can't let him down now, Kee… we just can't." I said, my voice cracking with emotion. I was leaning against the door, my palm against the wood as the rest of my body slumped, weighted down by all my sadness.

"But don't you see," he replied, in a spiteful tone. "You're the crown prince, not I. You'll become king while I will be the poor, stupid younger brother no one takes seriously."

"Is that what this is about? You're jealous of me?"

"Yes!" he shouted angrily. "I don't see why I have to be there at all! Thorin always favored you over me! Whenever I tried to do anything to prove myself, he always put a stop to it!"

In an instant I went from sorrow to seething anger, and I pounded my fist against the door.

"Kili, how dare you say such a thing?" I bellowed. This was not going well. His nerves were frayed, as were mine. "I could have your tongue for that, if I wanted! It's true, Thorin was harder on me than he was you. It was necessary, as I was always second in line to the throne. But Thorin didn't hate you, Kili, he was protective of you. He didn't want to see you get hurt. And do you know why that is? He told me once. It was because you reminded him so much of Frerin. He could not bear to lose you as well."

I heard the bolt slide, and the door creaked open slowly. Kili stood to face me, his hair loose and disheveled, his dark mourning coat unlaced and hanging loose over his grey tunic. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and I could still see the tear tracks down his stubbled cheeks. I was worried about him. I'd never seen him cry this much, not even when he'd fallen out of a tree and broken his arm as a child. He was always so cheerful and patient and always knew exactly what to say to make people feel better. When I was ill or had been hurt training or sparring, he'd always been the one to come and comfort me. And now my kindhearted, innocent brother was no longer innocent. He knew grief, and pain, and suffering…and it was killing him.

He stared at me for a moment, and then he pulled me into a crushing embrace. "I'm so sorry, Fili. I didn't mean it…any of it."

"I know," I said, the boulder of sorrow returning to my throat. "Come now, I'll help you get ready." Closing the door behind me, I eased Kili back into the room. He stood perfectly still—a rarity for him—as I laced up his coat and combed and braided his disheveled hair. He'd always objected to having his hair braided, but now he made no complaint. It was as if he was an entirely different person. Gone was my joyful, cheeky brother and in his place was a near-silent dwarf I could command with a mere touch.

"Are you ready?" I asked. He nodded. I led him out the door and closed it behind us.

The journey down to the vaults was long and nerve-wracking. Even from the upper halls I could hear the hushed murmur of voices of those congregated below. They echoed up from deep beneath the mountain, growing louder and louder as we approached.

And then we were there, under the arch at the opening of the vault. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to face us as we made our way towards the front. Halfway there, I was met with the sight of Thorin's open stone casket. He looked much the same as he had in life, only paler. I noted that he had been granted in death that which he had been denied in life—a crown. The sword that he had taken from the troll cave, Orcrist, was in his clasped hands. Above his hands lay a large and magnificent gem that sent beams of color in every direction, illuminating the walls of the cavern with a multitude of colors that wavered and danced in the light of the sconces. It was the Arkenstone—the gem he'd sought which would give him the right to rule. What good would it do him now that he was dead? My thoughts immediately snapped to the Precious, that damned ring that housed the insidious voice which now spoke to me day and night. If I was not careful…would it kill me? My vision became unfocused, my stomach lurched, and I nearly fell to the ground with the sudden realization that I had an obsession worse than gold sickness. I felt Kili's arm around me, pulling me up, and we continued on as voices murmured all around us. So young. Mere children. Disgraceful.

Kili offered me a sad but encouraging smile as we reached the front and came to stand at either end of Thorin's grave. Kili was to remain mostly silent while I, as Thorin's immediate heir, spoke to the crowd. Hands clasped in front of him, he turned to me, indicating that I should begin. It was just as well that he wouldn't speak—tears glistened in his eyes again and I could see he was finding it very difficult not to cry.

Bile rose in my throat as the Arkenstone swam and glinted in my peripheral vision. You're mad, you're worse than Thorin, worse than Thrain, worse even than Thror. You will destroy the line of Durin. They were my thoughts, but not my voice or that of the Precious. Where had it come from?

"We gather now to bid farewell to a wise and courageous leader who has met an untimely end. Though his life was far from an easy one, his hardships taught him the value of honor, of loyalty, and of bravery. An exiled prince, as you well know, Thorin did well for his people. At a young age, he led them across Middle-Earth to finally settle in the Blue Mountains, where many of our people still dwell. There he ruled as a crownless king for many years, until the signs had come that the time was right to take back Erebor, our rightful home. It is thanks to his noble sacrifice that we stand once again in the halls beneath the Lonely Mountain."

Kili took a step forward, swallowing his tears as he cleared his throat and addressed the crowd, but then changed his mind and looked back at Thorin in his peaceful repose. "Farewell, Thorin, son of Thrain, Son of Thror, Guardian of the Arkenstone. May your journey to the halls of our fathers be easy, and may you find peace. You have restored our home to us, and for that we are ever grateful."

He glanced at me again, and when I nodded, we moved to stand at the front row, facing Thorin, as the masses of dwarves around us began a mourning song. We joined in, and soon the cavern echoed with a strange sound, low, leaden-paced, and sorrowful, as though the mountain itself was mourning.

"Are you ready?" asked Kili, as he wove the final bead into my hair. I stood in front of a mirror of polished silver, looking absolutely dumbfounded. It had been a little more than three weeks since Thorin's funeral, and today I would become King under the Mountain. I was every inch as nervous as I looked. True, I'd had diplomacy lessons from an early age, but studying something and doing it are two different things entirely.

"Almost," I said, straightening the shoulders of my gold-embroidered tunic. The blue fur-lined cape I would wear still lay draped across my bed. My tunic was of a deep crimson fabric that rubbed somewhat uncomfortably against the new tattoos that covered my arms, which were still healing. I'd grown my beard out to a point, and my ears still stung a bit from the piercings I'd received just yesterday. Cuffs of mithril embedded with precious gems were around my wrists. I had trouble thinking of them as little more than elaborate shackles binding me to a fate I was yet unsure of. On my finger was a ring nearly identical to the one Thorin had worn—a symbol of royalty. The square blue stone glimmered under a web of mithril that formed my sigil over it. The Precious-the gold band I'd carried for most of my journey-was tucked safely away in a box on a table near the wardrobe.

"What do you mean, almost?" Kili teased. "The ceremony is in an hour. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts."

"No, it's just that…" I paused, shutting my eyes against the tears. I'd thought I was done with crying. "There's something I need to do first." Stepping away from the mirror, I wiped away the dampness that clung stubbornly to my lashes.

"Ah," Kili replied knowingly. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"No," I sighed heavily. "I think it's best I do this alone. Stay here, and if anyone comes looking for me, tell them I'll be back in a few minutes."

"All right," he said, placing the comb he held back on the table.

I made my way as quietly as I could down the long corridors to the burial vaults. I hadn't quite learned my way around yet, and I didn't know if there were any less-traveled routes. All I could do was hope no one saw me.

The main burial chamber was dark and cold. Only two torches at the entrance were lit, and I took one from the sconce and headed towards the far wall. Thorin's grave was alone, his casket tucked into a carved-out space in the stone. A small tallow candle sat in a holder above it, and I held my torch to the wick. The candle flickered to life and revealed the casket lid. People had been here, small jewels, carvings, and rune stones—typical offerings for the dead—lay atop it, and amid them, a sprig of tiny blue flowers tied with a ribbon—forget-me-nots. Bilbo, I thought. Of course. Only he would know where to find flowers in the middle of winter.

Sweeping my torch over the inscription, I noted that someone had added Kili's title for Thorin—Guardian of the Arkenstone—beneath his name. Tracing my fingers in the carved grooves, I read the full inscription.

Here lies

Thorin II Oakenshield,

Son of Thrain,

Son of Thror,

Guardian of the Arkenstone

I wonder if Kili knows yet, I thought to myself. Then, with a tongue that seemed impossibly thick, I began to speak.

"Thorin," I said slowly. "I know you can no longer speak, but I fear that won't deter me from seeking your counsel from time to time. Balin is doing a fine job, to be sure, but as you are closer kin…I…" I choked. "I'd like to speak to you as well."

Silence was the only sound that greeted me, and after a moment, I cleared my throat and continued, laying my hand on the casket in the place where Thorin's arm would be.

"I'm to become king today," I said with a tearful smile. "But I must admit, I'm rather nervous. You taught me well to be a great leader someday, but that 'someday' came a bit too soon for my liking. There's nothing I can do to change it, I know, and so I must fulfill my duties accordingly. I'm just afraid, because I'm so young, that my people will not take me seriously. Kili worries the same, and fears that he will be forgotten now that he's even further in line from the throne, especially if I have children."

The quiet was unbearable, and so I continued, if only that my distant echo sounded like a reply. My stomach bound itself in knots and I began to shake and sweat as I prepared to voice the one fear I swore I would never tell anyone, not even Kili. But Thorin would remain silent for all time. I could trust him to keep my secret.

"I must speak of something to you, Uncle, and then I must never mention it to anyone ever again." I paused and took a deep breath. When next I spoke, it seemed like I couldn't get the words out fast enough. "I came across—well, I stole—something on my journey to Erebor. Up in the Misty Mountains, Kili was attacked by a horrible creature, something I'd never seen before in my life. I killed it, and I found on it a plain gold ring. It didn't take me long to discover that this ring held some kind of power, but it took me longer to discover that the power may be evil. I believe that creature may have been something more once, though be it hobbit, man, or what else I do not know. There is a voice that comes from this ring, a very persuasive voice that promises the most wondrous things. But it also takes something away, something inside. At times, I've found myself hating—just hating. It's made me want to harm Kili and do all sorts of horrible things. I try not to listen to it, but it's becoming so hard."

I was crying again, the tears pouring down my face though my voice remained steady. I had to stop, it would do me no good to have tear-stained eyes at my coronation. A king must be strong, after all.

"I can feel it taking over me. It's slow, but I know if I keep it, I'll become like that creature. I'll go mad." I said, trying to no avail to steady my shaking voice. "I have another battle now, a battle against this cursed ring, this cursed voice. My last fight was successful—Kili is alive and well. I know I can fight this, and overcome it. I will be a great leader of our people, Thorin, just as you were. I will not fail you. I promise."

I laid my fingers upon the bundle of flowers for a moment and smiled at their meaning. I would never forget Thorin, as long as I lived. I blew out the candle and made my way back the way I had come. As I approached the upper halls, I knew that Thorin was looking down upon me, and Kili, from the halls of Aule, and smiling. He was proud of us. I knew it.

I resolved, then and there, to outdo myself as a leader. I would be firm and fair, a rock to steady my people, avarice and hatred be damned. I would not be above helping even the lowest of people. I would form alliances where possible, and I would be—at least, I hoped—known as benevolent and kind.

Damn the ring, and the Arkenstone, and all the things that bind us to unwanted fates. I am Fili, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain, with the heart of a lion and a will of iron.

And the love of a brother.

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