A/N: Hey guys! I graduated last week (and didn't fall flat on my face once during the ceremony!) so now I'm back home for the summer and updates should be fairly regular from now on. As always, I have to say a massive thank you to you all – you guys are the most amazing and most wonderfully loyal readers I could ever ask for, and your support really does mean the world to me! Now I left you with a bit of a nasty cliffhanger last chapter, so I think it's about time we find out where our favourite blonde-haired dwarf has got to…

Panic. It felt as if invisible, icy-cold claws were curling around his heart, ready to rip it straight out of his ribcage. Kíli stood, frozen on the spot, as if his boots had sprouted roots into the stone beneath them, and his wide eyes moved from Estel to the rest of the company. At that moment, unable to think straight, he couldn't even begin to imagine where Fíli might have gone… The only thought in his head was that Fíli had obviously needed him, and he hadn't been there.

"The boy has a broken leg, he can't have got far!" Dori was the first to speak, and the other members of the company continued to exchange silent looks of bewilderment and trepidation.

Kíli's eyes returned to Estel, his heart beating painfully fast inside his chest. They both knew that Fíli was getting stronger and more adept with his crutches, and had seen his determination first-hand when they had escorted him to and from Thorin's funeral… If Fíli needed to run, Kíli was sure he could manage it.

"Well, he hasn't been through the Entrance Hall, so he must be somewhere in the Mountain," Balin said, his voice firm and calm, though the worry lurking in his brown eyes betrayed him.

"That narrows it down," Dwalin growled, but his sarcasm could barely mask the fear written all over his ashen features. With a sickly jolt, Kíli realised he had only ever seen Dwalin look this pale once before – the night they had met outside Fíli's tent, a day after Thorin's death, and his boots had been shining with black orc blood.

"Perhaps he was trying to make his way here and he's got lost down one of the servants' passageways?" Bofur offered quietly.

"Have you checked Thrór's bedchamber?" Balin turned to Kíli, his brow furrowed. "Some of Thorin's belongings are still in there. Maybe Fíli…"

Balin trailed off as Kíli forced himself to answer with a negative shake of his head. And then Dwalin was suddenly at his side.

"Well, we can't just stand here!" Dwalin barked. "We have to find him… Come on, lad."

Dwalin clamped a heavy hand on Kíli's shoulder and shook the paralysis from him. He let Dwalin steer him away from the fire and then, without another word, they both broke into a run.

"Kíli!" Estel called after him, but Kíli had already disappeared with Dwalin through the Entrance Hall's west archway.

With a muttered curse, Estel turned back to the company. Dori, Ori, and Óin were engaged in a whispered debate over where to search first, and Bofur had gone running after Bifur who seemed intent on launching his own search party, beginning at a neighbouring fireside. Balin was already immersed in damage limitation, speaking to a few dwarves who had heard the commotion and were offering help. It appeared he knew as well as Estel did that if word of Fíli's disappearance got out, the vultures would begin circling again. Suddenly Estel felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he turned to find Arwen studying him.

"You know where he is?" she said, her lips barely moving.

Estel glanced around at the company, then nodded.

"Go."

And with a single word, Arwen pushed Estel forward. He slipped away from the fireside unnoticed and, although he followed in Kíli and Dwalin's wake through the west archway, his journey would not take him to the upper corridors, but down deeper into the ground.

Fíli pulled his knee closer to his chest, wrapping his arms around it, and buried his face in the soft fabric of his sleeve. He was sitting on the hard, dusty floor of the main vault, his bandaged leg straight out in front of him, the other drawn up to his chest, and his back was pressed against the cool, smooth stone of Thorin's tomb. The cold was strangely soothing, and it numbed the pain of the wounds running parallel to his spine that were protesting against this unexpected exertion. The freezing stone floor was less inviting, and Fíli could no longer feel the toes on his left foot. In his hasty and desperate departure from his room, he hadn't bothered to pull on his boot, but now he was beginning to regret that decision. He had no idea how Bilbo had managed to get all the way to Erebor barefoot.

The vault was a lot darker than it had been on the day of Thorin's funeral. Now it was lit only by a few scattered candles, and Fíli, hunched as he was by his uncle's tomb, was struggling to find the light in this dark place. He was sitting on the side of the tomb furthest from the main doors, facing a wall of black rock, with everything else hidden from view behind him. He had come here because he needed to speak to Thorin… and also to remind himself that all that had happened in his dream had not really come to pass. He had walked the same path down the vault to Thorin's tomb and forced himself to recall how the funeral had actually unfolded… They cleared a path for you, he told himself, and they all bowed. And Kíli and Dwalin and everyone were there… Everyone had been there except Thorin. He had not been standing at the front of the vault; he had been lying, still and silent, in the tomb he was now resting against.

Fíli kept his forehead pressed into his sleeve and sucked in another shuddering breath. His eyes were tightly closed, but the tears were still finding ways to escape, and he felt the water dribbling down his nose. Talking to Thorin in this place had been a strange and galling experience… It felt like he was speaking to stone more than to his uncle, and the eerie way his voice had echoed around the cavernous vault had unnerved him enough to make him stop. Instead, he had been reduced to silence, sitting in the dark, confronted once again with the excruciating, overwhelming reality that Thorin was gone. He was crushing his knee to his chest because that's where it hurt, and trying to crush the pain gave him something to do, to make him feel as if he was still fighting.

Fíli's eyes darted up from his arm when he heard the doors behind him creak open. He stayed as still as the stone surrounding him and listened, his heart thumping rapidly against his ribs. Footsteps were approaching the tomb, but the step was not Kíli's and it was too light to be a dwarf. Fíli looked to his left just as Estel appeared at his side.

"Fíli," Estel sighed, his shoulders slumping.

Fíli flinched, expecting Estel to either reprimand him for running or begin fussing over him. But Estel did neither. Instead, he slowly stooped down and moved Fíli's crutches to the side, making enough space so that he could sit down next to him. He lowered himself onto the floor and sat with his legs straight out in front of him. Fíli expected Estel's eyes to be fixed on him, but when he glanced across at the ranger, he found that Estel was inspecting the dark wall opposite them.

After a few long moments of silence, Fíli realised Estel was waiting for him to speak. He thought back to their first meeting in his room when Estel had said: "I am here only to listen." At that point, Fíli hadn't wanted to talk about the battle, about Thorin… about everything he was afraid of. But now, after speaking out loud to stone and feeling as if no one was really listening, Fíli wondered if it would be better to speak to someone whom he knew would listen… someone who could answer. For weeks and weeks he had been plagued by flashbacks and nightmares, and he was exhausted. Maybe it was finally time to share the load.

"I think I'm ready to talk about the battlefield," Fíli said, trying to push the waver out of his voice as his words rose up, reverberating around the high ceiling.

Estel turned to him. He didn't say a word, but the look in his grey eyes urged him to continue. Fíli had spent a long time trying to train his mind not to return to the battlefield, so he now found that it would not venture there willingly, and as his thoughts stumbled over each other, he was left unsure of how to begin.

"Shall we start with the arrow?" Estel suggested, clearly sensing Fíli's struggle.

"What?" Fíli breathed, and a flash of pain suddenly tore across his left side, exactly where he had ripped out an arrow all those weeks ago.

"It is a wound you rarely mention, if ever," Estel replied carefully. "As if you are trying to cover up the fact that, despite your serious injury, you still delivered your brother safely from the battlefield and returned to seek out your uncle."

"Don't do that," Fíli said, a definite edge in his voice. "Don't make me out to be a hero."

"I am doing nothing of the sort," Estel said, a sly smile lurking on his lips. "I am merely pointing out that your selfless acts were selfless."

Estel's smirk helped to diffuse some of the tension building between them, and Fíli relaxed his hunched posture slightly. "I did what any decent dwarf would have done," he murmured, his tone softer. "I just wanted to make sure Kíli was safe… I didn't care what happened to me after that."

"Which is why you went after Thorin alone," Estel said quietly.

Fíli lowered his head, confirming Estel's assertion. He then turned his eyes to the wall and tilted his head back, leaning against the tomb. "I don't know how long it took me to search the battlefield… Everywhere I went I turned over bodies, praying every single time that the face wouldn't be Thorin's… And I went from soldier to soldier like a child begging with a bowl and asked the same questions over and over again…"

Have you seen Thorin? Have you seen my uncle? Fíli heard the words echoing around his mind, although he couldn't bear to say them out loud, and the tears returned, slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. It took a while for him to find the will to continue, but with Estel sitting patiently at his side, Fíli knew that, no matter how painful it became, he had to see this tale through to its inevitable end.

"I finally found Thorin in that… that Aulë forsaken ditch out in the corner of the battlefield," Fíli whispered, his voice cracking. "And… And I was too late… I got there too late…"

The cry got stuck in Fíli's throat, but he reached up a trembling hand to cover his mouth and stifle it all the same. Screwing up his eyes, he squeezed the tears out of them, but when he opened them again they still stung.

"Fíli…" Estel said gently, but Fíli began to speak over him. He didn't want Estel's words of comfort, or of pity; he just needed to continue with his story before grief drowned out the words completely.

"He was lying there in the dirt with the Pale Orc standing over him… He didn't say anything to me… but I could see the horror in his eyes when he realised who I was… He wanted me to run, I know he did…"

There was a pause as Fíli regained his breath, and when it looked like carrying on was going to prove difficult, Estel prompted: "But you didn't run."

"No," Fíli said, and the syllable became hard in his mouth as he remembered Azog the Defiler leering up at him and the way his great, white foot had touched Thorin's head. "Azog wanted my uncle to die alone in that ditch… But I wasn't going to let that happen… I was going to make sure he wasn't alone…" Fíli gritted his teeth as he spoke and his fingers curled into fists at his side.

"So you fought the Pale Orc," Estel said, urging Fíli to persevere and push through the anger.

Fíli nodded, but kept his eyes fixed on the wall, and he saw everything played out again in his head… every stroke of his sword, every lunge he made. His fingernails were digging into his palms as he answered: "Azog brought his mace down upon my back and he broke my leg… but I wasn't going to let him touch Thorin again… So when I couldn't reach my sword, and he was leaning over me, convinced he had won… I grabbed Thorin's shield and I smashed it against his skull!"

A flash of white-hot rage blinded Fíli for a split second, but then he felt Estel's hand close over his fist. His head snapped to the side and he suddenly became aware of a burning in his palms.

"Fíli, you need to calm down," Estel murmured, his brow furrowed.

Fíli bristled at Estel's admonition, but then Estel carefully unfolded his fingers to reveal several angry, red half-moons on his palm where his nails had broken the skin. At the sight of them, Fíli regained himself, and opened his other hand to find an identical pattern on his palm. He inhaled deeply and put a hand to his forehead, blinking back the hateful tears.

"I killed him," he said, his voice hollow as he tried to keep the anger at bay. "I stabbed my sword into his gut and then I stabbed it in again… and I finished him off with another blow from Thorin's shield."

Drawing in a deep, quivering breath, Fíli leant his head back against the tomb again. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the stinging sensation needling both his palms to try and distract himself from the explosion of pain in his chest… And as the anger slowly seeped out of him, slithering away into the stone, he felt the familiar ache of grief begin throbbing within him once again.

"But it doesn't matter," he whispered, peering up at the black, rocky ceiling arched above him, spotted with candles like stars. "It doesn't matter that I killed Azog… because Thorin died anyway."

"It matters," came the calm reply from his left.

Fíli slowly turned to study Estel. "Why?"

"Fíli, you cannot keep blaming yourself for Thorin's death," Estel said, and there was a sternness in his voice matched by the sternness in his eyes. "It was not of your doing… And there is a reason Thorin was still alive when you found him. Azog was never going to give your uncle a quick and easy death."

Fíli's eyes widened as the implications of all Estel had said slowly began to sink in. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words died on his lips. Instead, he stayed silent and let Estel continue.

"It matters that you came to Thorin's aid when you did, and it matters that you killed Azog the Defiler," Estel said, and there was fire in his voice. "It matters because you know Azog intended to torture Thorin out there in that ditch until he screamed for death… You saved your uncle from such a fate."

Fíli's heart was pounding in his chest and he could do nothing but stare at Estel, bewildered… because he knew he was right. Fíli had spent so many agonising hours going over every detail of the battle in his mind and he had never once stopped to think how strange it was that Azog hadn't simply killed Thorin before he jumped down into the ditch. Now he realised the Pale Orc had wanted to make his appearance part of the torture… He was going to let Thorin see his nephew cut down before him when he was helpless to stop it. And Fíli knew Azog hadn't intended his death to be quick and easy either. He could still hear Azog's sinister laugh echoing around his mind, grating against his ears like broken glass. He continued to stare at Estel, tears blurring his vision, as he slowly began to process these new revelations… You saved your uncle from such a fate.

"Thorin asked not to be buried with his shield," Estel said, a wariness in his words. "Did he say anything else to you before he died?"

Fíli suspected Estel already knew the answer, but still, trying to ignore the sickly twitch in his stomach, he replied: "He… He told me he had never been more proud of me…" The words struggled, heavy as they were with pain, from his mouth. He could no longer picture Thorin's face, and could only see the poisonous yellow of the sky that had stretched over the battlefield. "And he wanted me… to tell Bilbo he was sorry… and to tell Kíli and Mother that he loved them."

Fíli froze when he thought he heard the doors creak behind them, but when no footsteps followed, he turned to Estel and his throat felt raw when he spoke: "I just wanted to take his hand… but I couldn't move… He was lying so close to me, but I couldn't reach him… I couldn't…"

With his shoulders beginning to shake, Fíli hunched forward. His hand moved to cover his mouth again and his lips trembled against his palm. He felt Estel's hand on his shoulder, but kept his eyes on the floor.

"You were there at his side, Fíli," Estel said softly. "He knew you were there with him, and you did what you set out to do… You made sure Thorin did not die alone."

The toxic flames of battlefield sky flickered in front of Fíli's eyes and he heard Thorin's final words resounding in his head: "Forgive me, Fíli…" Estel was right; Thorin had not died alone. But Fíli had been left alone to face his own death in the same ditch. He stiffened at the thought and Estel tactfully withdrew his hand from his shoulder.

"I thought I was going to die too," Fíli said, his voice icy. "And I was so scared… I faced death like a child."

"Fear is a perfectly natural response to death," Estel replied evenly. "If you ask anyone who has ever been in battle and had a brush with death, I am sure they will tell you they were afraid when they expected their own ending. And if they say they were not, they are lying."

"Thorin knew he was dying and he wasn't afraid," Fíli said, the hint of a challenge in his tone.

Estel fixed him with a curious look in his grey eyes. "How do you know?"

Fíli opened his mouth, but the retort vanished from his mind when he realised that he really didn't know. The idea that Thorin had been as scared as he was had never occurred to him. He couldn't even imagine Thorin being afraid of anything. It was part of the infallible image of his uncle he had grown up with… But now, after his death, Fíli was beginning to explore the sides of Thorin he never knew; someone who courted and had his heart broken, someone who knew fear… And such revelations didn't make him think any less of the Thorin he had known.

Estel was watching Fíli intently, reading his thought processes in his changing expressions, and when it seemed he had come to a conclusion, Estel asked: "Did Kíli ever speak to you about a dwarf named Varnin?"

Fíli turned to Estel, thrown by the change of subject. "No," he answered, raising an eyebrow. He had never heard Kíli mention anyone named Varnin.

"Varnin fought with your uncle at the Battle of Azanulbizar," Estel explained quietly. "And he died in the main tent on the same day as Thorin, with Kíli at his bedside."

Fíli studied Estel, drawing his brows together. He wasn't sure where Estel was going with this, but the thought of Kíli, left alone on the day their uncle died, made his chest ache.

"Kíli told me about him when I first arrived in Erebor. Varnin's death upset him because all he could remember about him was the look of fear he had seen in his eyes when he passed," Estel murmured. "Varnin, like all of us, was afraid to die, but it did not make him any less of a warrior or make Kíli think any less of him."

Fíli understood why Estel had told him this story, and he had proven his point. But all Fíli could think about now was Kíli… His little brother who, mere hours before hearing of his uncle's death, had watched someone else die and had to suffer through it on his own. Familiar feelings of guilt began to bubble in his stomach.

"Kíli never told me," Fíli whispered, and then, before he could stop himself, he added: "How can I be a good king if I can't even be a good brother?"

Fíli froze. He hadn't intended to bring up the subject of the crown. It was something he had been avoiding at all costs ever since he was brought back from the battlefield. But he knew it was a subject he would have to confront sooner or later… and it was inevitable that talk of Thorin's death would lead to it. Still, his pulse was racing as he looked to Estel for his reaction.

"Brothers make mistakes and so do kings," Estel said, the hint of a smile on his lips. "But good brothers and good kings try to rectify their mistakes, as you are doing with Kíli."

Fíli's gaze moved to the floor. He was trying to rectify his mistakes, but he felt he hadn't been trying hard enough. The last thing he wanted was for Kíli to feel alone again, and he was going to make sure his brother knew he could talk to him about anything, as he always had done before the battle. But now he and Estel were on the subject of kings and crowns, and part of Fíli wished he had never said anything. His throat felt tight and his stomach had begun to knot itself again.

"I will not push the issue, Fíli," Estel said carefully, as if reading Fíli's mind. "But in regards to the crown, I know you are worried about the title, about any official proclamation… But you can be a king without announcement or ceremony. You become a king when you start acting like one, and you have been a king ever since you arrived in Rivendell."

Fíli's heart jolted, but it was not out of fear… Some other, foreign emotion had hold of him now. It was strange and almost giddy, and Fíli couldn't place it. He was about to reply when he heard a definite creak and step sound behind them. Instinctively turning his head to the right, Fíli was met only with the sight of stone, and he wasn't close enough to see around the corner of the tomb.

"Kíli is standing by the doors," Estel said, his voice low.

Fíli's eyes widened. "How long has he been there?" he breathed.

"Long enough."

With a sigh, Fíli leant back against Thorin's tomb and called out to his brother: "Kíli!"

At the sound of his own name echoing across the vault, Kíli winced. He took a short step back, fighting against the urge to run. The guilt was throbbing in his chest and he knew he shouldn't have been listening in on Fíli and Estel's conversation… but it had been impossible to leave after the first thing he had heard was his name: "I just wanted to make sure Kíli was safe… I didn't care what happened to me after that."

As soon as he and Dwalin had burst into Thrór's bedchamber, Kíli had realised they were in the wrong place. Fíli wouldn't want Thorin's belongings, he would want Thorin himself. And so Dwalin had, tactfully, let Kíli make the journey down to the main vault on his own. Kíli hadn't expected someone to have beaten him to it. Fíli and Estel were sitting out of view, on the other side of Thorin's tomb, and he had stayed as still as stone in the doorway, tears silently sliding down his face, listening to Fíli's story… hearing for the first time how everything had unfolded on the battlefield and how Thorin had died. As Fíli spoke, Kíli had felt as if he were experiencing everything along with him, and it had been like having a knife twisted into his stomach. And then Fíli had mentioned his name again: "…and to tell Kíli and Mother that he loved them." Kíli had taken an unconscious step back into the doorway as his heart threatened to give in. He was sure Fíli and Estel had heard the sound, but Fíli had continued his story, bringing it to its inevitable end.

"Kíli, please… I know you're there." Fíli's strained voice drifted across the vault, and the unmistakable note of pain in it forced Kíli to move forward.

Hastily wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve, Kíli went to Thorin's tomb, his unsteady step echoing around the rocky walls. He found Fíli and Estel sitting side by side on the floor, and before Fíli had chance to say anything, Kíli dropped to his knees in front of his brother and pulled him into a crushing embrace. He wrapped his arms around Fíli's shoulders and pushed his nose into his blonde hair. Fíli buried his face in Kíli's shoulder and the two brothers held each other fiercely for a few long moments. It was an embrace that spoke volumes; it spoke of Kíli's relief at finding his brother unharmed, of Fíli's determination to never let Kíli feel alone again, of their shared grief for their uncle, and, most importantly, of love. But it didn't quite say everything.

Kíli slowly pulled away and pressed his forehead against Fíli's, keeping his hands on his brother's shoulders. "You are a good brother," he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling. "Don't you dare think any different."

Fíli peered up at him, his blue eyes shining, seemingly at a loss for words. Kíli thought back over everything he had just heard from the doorway and, blooming through the pain, pride swelled up in his chest.

"You saved me, Fíli, and you saved Thorin," he whispered, and he moved to hold Fíli again.

Resting his chin on Fíli's shoulder, Kíli wrapped his arms around his brother once more. He held him tightly and nothing at all was going to convince him to let Fíli go. The last time he had been in the vault, despite the pain of saying goodbye to Thorin, Kíli had felt an extraordinary sense of hope, and now he felt it flowering again with the pride at his core. Pride and hope for Fíli. His brother and his King.

A/N: Cue 'King and Lionheart' by Of Monsters and Men. (Though the soundtrack to this chapter is really the haunting 'Cold As It Gets' by Patty Griffin.) Now, I know we're all busy fangirling over the first 'Desolation of Smaug' production vlog, but if you could take two seconds to let me know what you thought of this chapter, I would, as ever, really appreciate it!