Sorry for the small break there guys! Working on the last Chapters at the moment and it really is difficult for me to write this but all good things eventually come to an end. I hope the tension in the last Chapter wasn't too bad ;)
Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews and a random extra big Thank you! to Nalbal because her review was the 500th review to this story! You guys truly are amazing!
Now onto the next Chapter. Enjoy!
"Our world is fast and dangerous."
He still saw it, clear in his head. The small smile that had played on Thorin's lips.
"One day we're here, the next day we may be gone. People die at a frightening pace."
He saw him standing on the balcony of Frerin's old chambers, leaning on the balustrade.
"I wasn't prepared. When my father disappeared, I believed that the world had fallen apart before my eyes. Going on without him seemed like an unbearable burden."
He had smiled at him. Warm and loving. And he had squeezed his shoulder.
"It is remarkable, how much strength we can gather when we don't have another choice."
The fear was still there. The insecurity and the feeling of brittleness, the anxiety to fail and to disappoint. It lingered deep inside his heart and clasped his courage in a strangling grip and he wasn't sure whether he would ever wind himself out of it. If that fear would ever fade completely. And he wondered if Thorin had lived a life in constant fear. He wondered if he had ever felt so small and insecure, so afraid to fail. And if he had, how nobody ever noticed.
"Fíli?"
The young Dwarf looked at the faces surrounding him. He was terribly afraid. Like Thráin must have been afraid the day he had learned of his father's horrible death. Like Thorin must have been afraid the day he had been told about his father's disappearance. Fear had always been a part of their lives. Loss, death, hardships, all of it had formed the Line of Durin, made it stronger and more enduring and not a day had passed since Durin's awakening, when the Longbeards had not been challenged and outdone themselves. And Fíli smiled a little.
"You're right. I'm too young and unprepared."
Glóin leaned back in his chair, nodding his head contently.
"Told you. Told you he'd be reasonable enough to-"
"But", Fíli cut him off, the smile still playing on his lips. "I believe my uncle was unprepared too. Just like my grandfather. Everyone who is faced with such a powerful burden so suddenly would be unprepared."
Glóin blankly stared at him, while a small smirk spread on Dáin's usually grim features. He glanced over at Dwalin and the old warrior silently grinned into his beard.
"And yet they became great and marvellous kings, because neither of them had to go through this alone. I have my mother, Balin and Dáin as advisors when needed. I have my brother and Dwalin to lead my armies. I have you, my dear Glóin, as my royal treasurer. I have friends as support. And I'm afraid but- I think with your help, I can honour my uncle's dying wish."
Kíli chuckled quietly, for Glóin had begun to blush and fluster at being appointed the royal treasurer and Dáin sank down his chair, relief written over his grim features.
"So no bloody stairs for me then, thank Mahal!"
"Every now and then you might have to suffer those stairs", Fíli smirked. "To soothe Glóin's concern, I would like to appoint you as my mentor until I am old enough to handle this position by myself."
"Mentor?" Dáin shifted a little, pondering over this position. It would mean a lot of travelling between the Iron Hills and Erebor, possibly leaving the large fortress to the East in the hands of his son for a while and for a moment, Fíli worried that Dáin might decline. "Well, as long as we meet in the Halls downstairs."
The legendary warrior examined the youngster briefly, before a smile spread on his lips and he slightly bowed his head to the young Dwarf.
"I'd by honoured, my King."
A few days later, the Dwarves of Erebor were snapped from their sleep in the early hours of the morning by the sound of cries and wails coming from the upper levels of the fortress city. Some stepped onto the shining, black streets and looked up in wonder, for it sounded like a pitiful creature suffered a most horrible and painful death.
Kíli sat on a padded stool; a hot, steaming cup of grog in his hands, Bilbo comfortably by his side and the sight before them was most spectacular and most bemusing at the same time.
"Told you, you wouldn't want to miss out on this", the young Dwarf muttered, grinning against the rim of his cup.
"I do feel sorry for him though", the Hobbit admitted. "But I guess there's nothing we can do, is there?"
"No, unfortunately not. So we might as well enjoy the show."
Only a few feet away, Dís had her firstborn in a tight, ironclad grip, dragging a silver comb through the tangled mess that was Fíli's blond mane. Without mercy, she tugged at knots and straightened old braids and matted strands, completely ignoring the pained crying and complaining of her son.
"Quit your whining already", she firmly grabbed him by the collar as he tried to get away, not leaving him a single chance. "You need to look your best today and you can't possibly do that with a bloody birds nest for a hairdo!"
"But bald I can?!" Fíli complained but it was to no avail.
While his mother mauled the wavy, golden hair, his brother sat with the Halfling, slowly getting tipsy on grog in the early hours of the morning, having the time of his life.
The sun had barely risen and the large City slowly began to wake up, preparing for the important day that lay ahead of them. They swept the streets and cleaned the stairs, polished the pillars and hung up massive banners. Flags wafted from every door and window and they all picked out their finest garments and trimmed and braided their hair and beards. Soon the mouth-watering scent of roasted meat, freshly baked bread, stew, boiling grog and cakes streamed through the streets and they raided the massive pantries of Erebor, bringing forth barrels of wine and ale and setting them up in the Hall of Thrór.
In the chambers above, the nobility of Erebor took their time with getting ready. Jewellery gleamed in the morning sun, dresses were mended and jerkins cleaned, laid out for the wealthy merchants, the lords and ladies and great warriors. The armour of the guards was polished until it mirrored every single lamplight and from everywhere, the alluring scent of perfumes and spices wafted through the halls and corridors.
Dís sat to Fíli's left, Kíli to his right and they combed their fingers through his thick mane, braiding and plucking and fixing the artistic braids with silver clasps. Bilbo watched in wonder as the young prince put on a white shirt over dark pants, a navy blue, velvet jerkin and a long, black coat with a heavy fur collar, embroidered with beautiful patterns of silver yarn. On the ring finger of his right hand stuck Thorin's old ring in silver and blue and on his chest, they hung a silver brooch in the shape of the crest of Durin.
The small Hobbit stared at him in awe. In all those months they had travelled together, he had encountered Fíli as a down to earth, humble Dwarf, dressed in fine but convenient leather and fabric, usually raunchy and torn. He had seen him with leaves and sticks in his hair, dirt and blood all over his face and soaked to his underwear and he had believed him to be fair then already. Seeing him now however, made him speechless. Though noble and proud, he looked nothing like Thorin in this moment, the blond hair shining golden and the gentle soul that rested within the young Dwarf showed through all the jewels and lordly fabric. By midday, Fíli was ready. Trimmed and draped, dressed in the most wonderful garment and it was then, that Dís and Kíli left him to prepare themselves for the festivities and ceremony.
The youngster nervously paced up and down his chambers, fumbling with the braids, trying to keep himself from touching his hair and clothes; afraid to mess them up and he flinched badly, when Bilbo cleared his throat.
"Master Baggins!" he took a deep breath, a crooked smile on his lips. "I hadn't noticed you were still here."
"You look stunning", the Hobbit smiled, getting up from his seat and he handed his mug of grog to the young Dwarf, who took it gladly and emptied it with one single gulp.
"I wish I felt stunning as well", Fíli admitted nervously. "It's quite a bewildering thought, you know. To have the whole kingdom watching your every single step. All the expectations, all those people looking up to you. It's truly overwhelming."
"I imagine it is", Bilbo nodded understandingly. "But you'll be fine, I'm sure. You're a confident, smart Dwarf after all, I'm certain you will do great."
Though still nervous, Fíli smiled at the small Hobbit and suddenly reached out, to pull Bilbo into a gentle embrace.
"Thank you. Thank you for everything, Bilbo Baggins."
In the late afternoon, they lit many torches and rolled a thick, blue carpet down the stairs, starting at the massive throne. Trumpets and drums started playing, harps and violins soon joined in and by the stairs stood Bilbo, shivers running down his spine and the deep vibrations of the melody made the ground tremble and the hair on his neck stand up. He stood with Ori and Bofur, well dressed and washed and he looked up to the Throne of Erebor.
In the massive backrest sat the Arkenstone, shining and gleaming and Bilbo's heart raced in his chest for finally the King's Jewel rested were it belonged. They had pondered about burying it with Thorin, but since it was the Heart of the Mountain and it belonged to the future King, they had put it back into its old spot to be admired and adored.
On the chair to the right of the throne sat Kíli, dressed in shining light blue, black and grey, his hair decorated with silver clasps, his finally growing beard neatly trimmed and he looked across the Dwarves gathered with a proud smile on his face.
'He truly looks like a splendid prince', Bilbo thought to himself and he smiled at the sight.
To the left sat Dís, wearing a beautiful velvet dress in blue and silver and her long, dark hair was so beautifully braided and pinned up, embellished with silver and diamonds and shining bright and she carried the proud expression that all of Thráin's children had been blessed with. Bilbo gaped at her beauty and her dignity and his adoration of her grew with each passing minute.
By Dís side stood Dáin, looking grim and stern as usual, the black tattoos glistening on his cheeks. He was dressed in red and brown, the colours of the Iron Hills and for the first time, the old warrior looked like the Lord he truly was, standing tall and proud. With him stood Balin, small and old but smiling so bright that even the sunlight was no match to him. The music grew louder and many heads turned suddenly, watching and waiting in complete silence.
And Bilbo stood speechless and he stared as Fíli came down the carpet, tall and glorious. He held his head high, strutting like Thorin always had, a small smile playing on his lips. Tears of joy started dwelling up in the eyes of the Hobbit, as he watched how Fíli ascended the stairs and halted at the top. He bowed his head before his mother and brother and then turned to Dáin and Balin, who both bowed. The youngster got down on one knee and Dáin picked up a marvellous crown, forged from white gold and gemmed with shining diamonds. He gently placed it on Fíli's golden hair and when the youngster got up again and turned to the Dwarves in the hall bellow, a sudden jubilance echoed through the vast halls and corridors of Erebor.
Every single Dwarf rejoiced and celebrated and they laughed and they cried and cheered and clapped their hands. Kíli beamed with pride and a few tears of joy ran down Dís' cheeks while she watched her son, pride swelling in her heart. And Bilbo knew that Thorin watched them from wherever he was and he surely was proud of his nephew as well.
Many months ago, a young Dwarf had left the Blue Mountains, accompanying his uncle and brother on a dangerous quest to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. He had been reckless and carefree, young at heart and often overstrained by the world. Cheeky and charming, a gentle, loving soul. On this journey he had seen a lot, suffered through many hardships and experienced loss and heartbreak. And every single obstacle had formed him and changed him a little and turned him into who he was on this day. A young, splendid King, proud and magnificent, beautiful as precious jewels and hard as stone he stood and looked over his people, the crown on his head glistening and he smiled.
And when they all fell on their knees, their heads bowed to their King, Bilbo realised that he witnessed something indescribable and important and suddenly felt small and overwhelmed. Before him stood the King of the greatest Dwarven Kingdom there ever was. The mightiest Dwarf in Middle Earth. But not only that. Before him stood his friend. And when they all got up again and the wonderful music drowned the cheers and rejoicing, Bilbo buried his face in Bofur's jerkin and cried nearly as badly as he had cried upon Thorin's death. The gentle miner laughed and embraced him and young Ori smiled, patting Bilbo's back and both of them knew that those were tears of pride and joy.
Dís and Kíli got up from their seats and stepped next to Fíli, their chests swollen with pride and there they stood. Side by side. The last remaining members of Durin's Line, proud and beautiful. Dís, gorgeous and strong, Kíli, cheerful and brave and Fíli, magnificent and dignified and Bilbo gazed upon them with tears in his eyes.
The Kingdom of Erebor lay once again secured in the hands of the Heirs of Durin, splendid and prosperous. A bright future lay ahead of them and the Dwarves of Erebor looked up at their King, adoring and loving him and they believed that he would undoubtedly lead Erebor back to its former glory. And as he stood there, looking at all those happy faces below, as he felt their acceptance and joy, Fíli smiled and he began to believe that Thorin had made the right choice. And he heard his uncle's voice in his head and a single tear ran down his cheek.
"You will rule this Kingdom much differently from me, I am sure. And you might make the mistakes I made, you will make your own mistakes and you will probably mend many things I did wrong in my lifetime. And I am proud of you."