Don't own, never will.
Fíli found that he had no will to get up despite the ground being frigid and solid. He could care less about the world around him and what could happen. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen and whatever happened already happened already. Fíli was not even going to try to change anything. He could not, he could go back and apologize but would he even be welcomed back into Erebor? Before he could even begin to think about that thought, a shiver went up his spine. Was he going to freeze to death? What an end this would be for a one-time heir to the Throne of Erebor, he thought.
You're no heir of mine! A very familiar voice echoed into his mind. He probably looked pathetic lying there on the ground. As the voice said in his mind, he was no heir of anyone or anything anymore. He knew that if anyone cared enough to come looking for him, he would probably be blue in the face. Balin had told him that once, that a frozen dwarf turns blue, though he had never seen one. That would be funny; his first blue dwarf would be himself.
"Well, what do we have here?" a voice said from above him.
A warm heavy hand was placed on his frozen back. Fíli whimpered at the touch, he never knew that a warm hand on a cold body could hurt.
"Oh you're alive," the voice said.
Fíli was curious to who had found him, but he found that he had no strength left to turn around. He was barely able to feel his toes and fingers, that was not good, was it? The ground was becoming quite comfortable and that was not a good thing at all. He just wanted to sink into it and never move. Suddenly he felt himself being turned over by someone or someones.
The someone gasped. "You can't be much older than Eydis." The someone muttered. Who is Eydis?
"Bofur, Bifur, we have a young one here!" his rescuer called.
Fíli opened up his eyes he did not even know were closed, and was greeted by what seemed like the widest dwarf he had ever seen! Not as tall as his cousin, Dáin, but wide and round with long orange tinted hair with a bushy orange moustache, and a thick orange braid that went down to his stomach. Orange was the only color he could use here, as flaming red belonged to his cousin Glóin.
"Are you okay lad?" the dwarf asked as he was joined by two others, one with a strange hat, and another with an axe in his forehead. That did not make any sense.
Fíli knew the right thing to do was to be honest. That has been drilled into his head since he could remember. He cried out as he realized that he had not spoken in five days, he had not used his voice in so long. Did he forget how to use it? He tried to make a sound, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper of something he did not even know what he said. His rescuer frowned and placed his large hand on his forehead, he was not sick, was he? Fíli turned away, he did not want to be touched, he did not deserve it, not after what he did.
Your're no heir of mine!
"What's your name lad?" His rescuer asked. He seemed like he was genuinely looking to help as well as his two companions, who had knelt down on either side of him.
Fíli saw no harm in trying to tell these dwarves his name. They obviously did not recognize him, and he did not recognize them. They did not appear to be from Erebor. Total strangers, nomads perhaps. Fíli sat up; abandoning the position he was found in. He did not trust his voice so he was attempted to write his name in the snow. It was coming out slowly but surely
"Fíli. Your name is Fíli?" the dwarf in the funny hat asked after he had completed the four letters in his name in the common tongue.
Fíli smiled and nodded in recognition of his name. There was something about these dwarves that he felt like he could trust them, more than he could trust his Uncle Thórin. He felt the safest he has been since he fled Erebor in shame.
His rescuer returned his smile, "My name is Bombur, my brother kneeling besides you in the silly hat is Bofur, and our cousin with the axe in his head is Bifur."
Bofur gave his brother a look in response to his hat comment but was able to smile and say hello to Fíli. Bifur muttered something in Khuzdul, something that Fíli was not able to catch in his basic Khuzdul skills. Balin was just starting to teach him the secret language.
Suddenly a gust of wind came out of nowhere and removed Bofur's hat from his head. Fíli giggled at the site of Bofur standing up quickly and chasing his hat back in the direction that Fíli had come from.
"Found that funny Fíli, now did you lad?" Bombur answered with a hint of a laugh in his voice as well.
The dwarfling could only nod as somehow he found the energy to go into an all-out laughter as Bofur cursed out his hat as the wind would take it as soon as he caught up with it. Bifur laughed as well and offered his cousin a hand to stand up, he then proceeded to pick Fíli up off the ground and place him into Bombur's arms. Fíli nuzzled into Bombur's chest, something he would always do with his father or Uncle Thórin. His laughter quickly turned to tears as another memory hit him; one of Uncle Thórin holding him and Kíli and presenting them to their great-grandfather in formal court. More tears kept coming as Fíli remembered Kíli and the reason why he had run away from home to begin with.
Your're no heir of mine!
Dís awoke with a startle as something beneath her hand began to move. She looked down to see Kíli's finger twitch ever so slightly. Dís made to open up her mouth to say something to see if her youngest was away, when suddenly the five-year-old dwarfling began to move around uncontrollably. It was his first movement in nearly six days now, ever since the accident. But, this was not normal. He was flapping up and down like a fish out of water and his arms and legs were flailing every which direction. Dís tried to grab her son's arms to stop him but he pulled them away from her. He ended up punching her in the cheek hard instead.
Immediately, she yelled out a loud scream as she moved her hand to her cheek in pain. Multiple footsteps were heard in the hallway rushing towards her son's room. The door opened revealing Narvi whom ran immediately Kíli's other side. He nodded to someone out of Dís's vision who had turned her head to follow Narvi's actions.
"Don't touch him," Narvi yelled at someone whose hand entered her vision to grab Kíli.
Dís gasped as she felt a strong hand on her shoulder pulling her attention away from Narvi and her son. She followed the hand to its owner. It was her cousin Dáin. They had always been close growing up, and since she could not have her husband, father, or older brother (she could care less about her oldest brother at the present) she was glad to see him as a familiar face close to her age. Dáin gestured to the door. Dís did not need to see this, so she got up and followed Dáin towards the door to let Narvi and a group of other healers tend to Kíli.
Just as Dáin nearly had her out of the room, Kíli shrieked, causing her to turn an about face with Dáin quickly on her heels. She pushed her grandfather (who must have been the hand that Narvi yelled at) out of her way to get back to her son who would not stop seizing.
"Kíli! Mama's here!" She cried, as strong arms began to pull her away as she grabbed Kíli's thrashing hand.
"Get her out of here!" Narvi all but yelled to Dáin, as he pushed Dís away back into the stronger arms of her cousin. A medical emergency, which this was, was the only time Narvi could order the royal family around, and he made sure to take advantage of the situation.
"Out! Dís! Dáin! Now!" Narvi screamed, he could work with the king whom at the moment was the calmest of the present royal family.
"NOOOOOOO! Kíli! Dáin, stop!" Dís cried as Dáin pulled her and finally succeeded in getting her out of the room.
Narvi looked at Thrór who was helping Oín, a cousin of the royal family and a healer in his own right give Kíli a calming tea, which should stop the seizure. He feared what could happen if allowed to continue the way it was going. He had seen miners seize after mine collapses and when they finally had woken up things were not right. Some lost the ability to speak or walk, others lost sight or hearing, and the worst of them had memory loss that sometimes never came back. Narvi hoped that was not the case with the youngest prince.
Just as instantly as he began, Kíli stopped moving around with a sigh. The calming tea had worked. Narvi quickly went to check the dwarfling's breathing, that was always the first thing he did after witnessing a seizure. Narvi nodded at all present who were holding their breaths. They all knew what he had just done. A flash of silver and mithril flashed out of the corner of his eye. He turned to the chair that the princess had vacated and saw the king grab his great-grandson's hand and smoothed out his midnight colored hair, the same shade as his own and his oldest grandson. It was a gesture out of love and great concern, emotions only reserved and rightly so for his family.
"What did we just see?" Thrór asked Narvi breaking the silence that had settled over the room.
Narvi shook his head. He did not know how to the answer that one without making it seem like the worst had happened.
"Something awful, Sire, something awful," was the only thing that came out of his mouth.
Thráin led the search party down a familiar path of Mirkwood, toward the grand palace of their allies. He was hoping to run into a scouting party that Thranduil routinely sends out to hunt and kill the giant spiders that had settled in the once Greenwood. The quicker he found anyone, the quicker the search for his grandson could resume. However, as he has learned over the years, if an elf does not want to be found, they will not let themselves be.
Thráin turned his thoughts to the dwarves he had with him. He still could not talk to his eldest son. He had never been so mad at him, as he was at the present. It was an accident, only a simple accident, things happen, especially with young active dwarflings. However, accidents that knock a young dwarfling, actually any dwarrow into unconsciousness were rare. Still, that was no reason at all to practically disown another young dwarfling who loved you like a second father, and Thráin was willing to bet that said dwarfling if had the choice would choose you over his own father; especially one, who was still a child, barely into his twenties.
He sighed at the thought of his youngest son, Frérin, the wild one. The one who had nearly gotten himself banished when Fíli was only hours old because his best friend did something terrible with his own permission. Now Frérin had no chance of ever sitting on the throne of Erebor because of that. Fíli taking Frérin's place in the succession.
Then there was Víli, Thórin's childhood friend, the son of a wealthy shopkeeper who always had his eye on Dís. Thráin had never been so happy the day Víli had come to him and asked for his permission to begin to court his only daughter. He celebrated the day Víli finally asked Dís for her hand in marriage, earning himself the formal title of Lord Víli, Duke of the Lonely Mountain, a title his father bestowed upon him. He was so proud the day he became a grandfather for the first time and then a second time five years later.
And there was the royal guard, some of the best warriors and soldiers Erebor has to offer were part of the search party. That included Balin's brother Dwalin, who happened to be Thórin's best friend, a strong tailor/warrior Dori, with his younger brother, Nori. There was a third brother of theirs who was too young to be part of the guard, Ori. Then there was Gloin, the younger brother of Oin, both distant cousins of the royal family's. There were other dwarves but Thráin was too worried, too upset, too tired to think about their names.
"Father," said a currently much-hated voice, pulling Thráin out of his reverie, and stopping the party in their tracks.
"Thórin, don't talk to me right now, I don't want to hear your voice."
"Father," the voice sounded like it was begging for something that Thráin was not willing to give yet. Thórin tried again as he came up beside him and placed a hand on his father's shoulder.
Thráin shook his shoulder trying to pry the hand loose. "I will not talk to you until my grandson is found, until then; I have nothing to say to you."
Thórin slowly removed his hand, defeated in the moment. Thráin was being stubborn and he knew it. In rough times, the House of Durin should be sticking together, not practically exiling one of their own, no matter how mad they are at him. Though it was a taste of his own medicine after what he did.
Thórin tried one more time. He was tired of practically being ignored ever since finding out that Fíli was missing and a search party was being organized. "Father, if I could take it all back what I said and did, I would. But we have to find Fíli first, and for that we need to work together."
That caused Víli and Frérin to look in the direction of the crown prince and second heir. What was Thráin going to do? Thórin was right, but none of them were ever going to forgive him if something happened to Fíli.
Thráin did not have a chance to answer when all of the sudden the search party found themselves surrounded by the sound and sight of many bows and arrows being pointed in their direction, a nice welcome in Mirkwood.
"And that is how I became an orphan," Fíli said to his new friends as they sat around a fire with a dinner in a pot that Bombur was cooking.
Fíli's voice had come back to him with a little bit of water. He was glad it did, so could prevent his new friends from finding out his identity.
"Wow, Fíli, that seems like you've survived a very long time by yourself," Bofur said.
Fíli smiled to himself, they had bought his story of his parents and himself being attacked by orcs and him running away to survive. He just made up that story at the top of his head. The truth could never be known to them. If he would tell them that he was a runway prince, they most likely would deliver him back to the one person whom he had loved more than his parents, and said person had practically tossed him aside.
"Yes, I have been," Fíli answered.
"Food's ready," said Bombur as he grabbed four bowls out of his pack and began to serve the meal.
It was going to be Fíli's first real meal in six days now was it or was it five? He had lost track of time, and to him it did not matter to him anymore. Bombur handed him a bowl. Fíli tried the stew for that was the only thing he could call the mixture contained inside. It was the best thing he had ever tasted! It was even better than the royal chefs'. He began to eat the stew quickly; he was so hungry.
"Careful there laddie, you don't want to make yourself sick," Bombur said as he sat down next to him with his own bowl.
Fíli could almost smile, Bombur at that moment sounded like his Uncle Frérin, it was silly. Uncle Frérin was always saying that to him as that Fíli was always the first one done with his meal. He refused to think about his other uncle, the one he used to love, the one he thought he belonged to. If he were to return home, would he even be welcome there anymore? He did not know, and he did not know where that thought came from. He was sure by now everyone there had followed Thórin's ruling and had casted him officially out.
What he did know was that he was enjoying the little show that Bifur and Bofur were putting on after the food was gone and plates washed in the little stream next to where they had set up camp for the night. Bofur was playing a recorder and Bifur was using a pot as a drum. He was laughing at the comedic value of it, since neither of them appeared to have any musical talent. Fíli was also sure Bombur was laughing at the entertainment as well. During all of the excitement of the day, he felt himself dozing off. The last thing he remembered was his eyes drooping and him laying his head onto Bombur's shoulder just as he used to do to a certain someone back in Erebor.
Thank you to my amazing beta!