"Kíli has certainly made a rapid recovery," Bilbo commented two days later, calmly pouring steaming water into a white teapot with little green leaves patterned over its glossy surface.
Thorin nodded. "Dwarves tend to heal fast."
Bilbo hummed and swirled the darkened water with a tiny spoon. Silver, Thorin recognised. Bilbo had often talked of a particularly greedy relation who'd attempted to relieve him of these very spoons once or twice. Bilbo had found that Nori had 'borrowed' a spoon, Thorin recalled. That had been the day Bilbo displayed the hardness of hobbit feet by kicking Nori in the shin.
He grinned, remembering how both had fallen from each other cursing, Dori not knowing which to scold for 'irresponsible behaviour'.
"What's funny?" Bilbo wanted to know, sliding a pale green cup his way.
Taking the cup, careful not to smash it, Thorin shook his head. "Just memories."
Later that evening, Thorin sat in front of the fire, nursing a glass of wine. Sipping the mild, delicious liquid, he frowned into the embers, trying to remember when he had to meet Dís and Gimli.
Two weeks, was it, or three? He'd have to ask Fíli. Undoutbedly, Dís had drummed the date into her sons' heads, but Kíli had likely forgotten by now.
Still, he could hardly be annoyed at his youngest nephew's memory when his was about as bad. They remembered the important things, though.
A movement behind him caused him to swivel, relaxing once he saw it was Fíli, looking uncertain and afraid.
"Are you alright?" Thorin asked, worried for the only time Fíli looked so bewildered and frightened was when there was good reason.
"Before you ever fought in a war, did you dream of battles?" Fíli questioned.
Thorin blinked and patted the floor. "Sit. Tell me your dreams."
"I dream," Fíli said, seating himself by his uncle, "of a great battlefield. At first I barely saw the enemies, but I see them now. Orcs, Goblins, Wargs. But there are allies too, Dwarves and Men. I also see Elves."
Thorin blanched. It couldn't be... Could it?
"I'm looking for Kíli. But when I get to him, he sees an enemy behind me and he runs and before I can stop him, he's hit with an ax. I get to him, and he's trying to speak, but instead, he... he coughs and there's blood everywhere. After he... well, I feel this pain in my back and everything darkens. The next thing I know, I'm awake."
"Oh, Fíli," Thorin reached to cup his hand. "There will be no war if I can help it. It is common to have war dreams before embarking on a journey like this one. But you must trust that nothing will harm your brother. Or you." he moved his hand to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind Fíli's ear.
Fíli offered a small smile. "If you say you won't let the war happen, I suppose none shall dare to declare it."
Thorin chuckled. "You should get back to bed," he told him, standing and gently tugging his arm. "Bilbo wishes us to meet some of his family, remember?"
Fíli groaned. "I'm terrible at meeting new people," he complained. "I get that from you somehow..."
"I blame your mother for your sharp tongue." Thorin muttered. "Before I forget, how long 'til she wants us in Bree?"
"Two weeks and... a day." Fíli answered. There was a cheeky glint in his eye. "Fancy you forgetting.."
"I did not forget, I simply.. didn't remember. Off to bed with you now."
"Goodnight, Uncle." Fíli said, unsuccessfully hiding a laugh.
Thorin smiled as his eldest nephew left the room. "Goodnight, Fíli."