Disclaimer: The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings and all characters therein are the property of the Tolkien Estate and Wingnut Films. This story is for entertainment only and the author is in no way profiting from it, nor exercising any claims to The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

37. Politics and Perception

Thorin watched as his sister soothed her fretful son back into the calm rhythms of sleep in his water-filled tub, sighing. He had hoped Dis would take his words to heart and remain at Erebor, but it was obviously not to be. Such a belief had fooled only himself, making even Nast give him a mildly amused look when he had voiced it. Dwalin had scoffed openly, and Fíli had merely requested someone let him know when – not if - his mother arrived, saying that the raven that had taken the message of Kili's capture to Erebor two days before had returned recently muttering about rude, overbearing eagles.

Obviously, Thorin had not caught the significance of that. Shaking his head at his own obtuseness, he moved into the small healing room to stand on the opposite side of Kíli, somewhat surprised to see Dis there alone. Where had Fíli gone? He would not willingly leave his brother, Thorin was certain of that! Unwilling to break the silence, however, he eased himself to the stone floor instead, mindful of his own still sore body protesting its lack of rest and care.

Dis' eyes were red and puffy, showing the emotional toll being exacted from her as another tear tracked its way down her cheek. Her silvery grey hair was coming loose from its normally neat braids, giving her an unkempt, windblown look. Even as he reached across the prone Kíli to lift a stray hair from her face, it brought him back to their childhood, when she raced the halls of Erebor, unheeding of the meaning of sorrow in her safe, insulated little world. He would have given anything to protect her so forever! So much sorrow and pain had put wrinkle lines on her brow and tear tracks down her face that seemed fated to be permanent. Unaware of his musings and regrets, Dis instantly leaned into the touch, letting her cheek press into his palm as she had done since a tiny babe.

"Another fever dream?"

He asked, already knowing the answer. Kíli was nude except for a cloth covering his privates, only his face held out of the water by blankets propped at one end of the stone trough. Dwarrow were not normally body shy, even with those of the opposite sex, but some of the other races here were. Not to mention the fact that it was a bit unseemly for the prince to be lying on display with no awareness of it, so the healers had been careful to maintain the modest covering on their patient.

The healers had been very pleased to find this area, pointing out such features proudly to him only last week, when he had not cared in the least. Now, he was more grateful than the healers for his ancestors' ingenuity and planning. A clever system of a snow melt basin high on the mountain above them and a series of channels bored through the rock brought fresh water pouring down to be heated over a small fire or run over the patient still cold, as Kíli needed.

Even better, enough of the liquid had been stored above to allow the flow to continue unabated, keeping the water fresh and washing away blood and other fluids from the patient. So far, it was only this constant flow of chill liquid that was able to keep the deadly fever even partially in check, preventing more of the fever-fits that had threatened the prince's life in Minas Tirith and again in Erebor just after their return. An earlier attempt to lift him from the bath had caused the fever to soar within an hour, leaving the healers scrambling.

This was one of two such baths and cleaning facilities here, though the other would take some repair work to be functional again. The small complex also housed steam rooms for those with breathing difficulties, a surgery, an herbal room with a tunnel leading out to a small garden, and beds, both dwarrow sized and for larger patients. Unfortunately, they currently needed almost all of them for the injured not evacuated to Lothlorien, so work parties had been quickly organized to make them usable.

"Aye, though the healers prefer it to the deep unconsciousness Senata tells me he was in when you rescued him yesterday. They say that the dreams mean he is not sinking too deeply into himself to return when he is strong enough."

Thorin nodded at that, preferring not to think of those long hours with nothing to do but sit and wait, unsure if Kíli was even still alive. It had been a long, lonely night, only ending in the early hours of the morning, when the healers finally allowed them in to see their wounded kin. Not much had changed in the hours since, except who kept vigil.

There was an honor guard of soldiers that changed every few hours outside, eager to retrieve anything those inside the little room might need in exchange for word of how their prince was doing. Nearby, candles flickered and cast the corners of the room into shadow, releasing their sweet scent of athelas as they slowly burned down during the endless watch.

Dis smiled slightly, finally allowing him to pull his hand away from where she had it trapped between her cheek and shoulder. Swiftly, she grabbed his wrist, tugging until he obediently got up and moved around next to her, allowing her to nestle into his side as she had since she was small. She did not seem to mind that he had barely allowed himself time to do more than wash off the worst of the grime and pull on a fresh tunic someone handed him. He was not even sure if the clothing was his or Dwalin's. His arm settled over her shoulders, squeezing gently.

Dis always seemed so strong and self-contained that it surprised others when they were allowed to witness this; to see her needing the comfort of her normally cold and aloof oldest brother. Not to mention how tender he could be with her, willingly giving that physical closeness with a gentleness that must have seemed out of character for the stern king. Few realized that the strength Dis outwardly displayed was a necessary mask, learned since birth, concealing the emotional and insecure dwarrowdam that she really was. In a habit as old as their kinship, his fingers found their way to one of her braids, twining the slick silvery-grey strand around and around in his own calming ritual.

"You aren't surprised to see me."

She murmured, head resting on his shoulder tiredly. He gave her hair a playful tug as he savored her closeness.

"No, I ran into Vili upstairs. He told me you two left the mountain on eagles with the first message that Kíli had been taken."

"Gwaihir insisted upon taking us himself. He said it was unusual to find dwarrow who cared so much for the other races, and that he would do whatever he could to repay such kindnesses."

"And you deemed it wise to come to a war zone that I ordered your daughter out of mere weeks ago?"

She stiffened at the gentle rebuke before tilting her head up on his shoulder to peer into his face. There was a hint of challenge in the deep blue eyes that locked with his, petite mouth scowling in displeasure as she moved slightly away from him. He allowed the braid to slip through his fingers lest he accidently pull it.

"Did you not know that I would come if one of my boys was in trouble, let alone all three?"

Dis bit out, low and bitter, as she leaned forward to needlessly smooth Kili's hair back from his face again, though her gaze darted to the small, low cot pushed against the wall nearby. A single, ratty blonde braid trailed out from under the blankets to fall over the side of the bed, dangling just above the floor. It was only then that Thorin realized what he had taken for a mound of extra blankets actually concealed the slumbering form of his eldest nephew.

"How long has he been asleep? And what sorcery did you resort to, to accomplish such a feat?"

His sister's form shook against him as she laughed softly, settling her head back onto his shoulder.

"About two hours, and it was not me. Wyvern, that young healer, slipped a healing draught into his soup. Some concoction used almost exclusively by the elves that Fíli would not recognize the taste of. It didn't take more than a few minutes before he was out like a snuffed candle."

The giggle was strained and brief, but wicked, reminding Thorin sharply of where her sons had gotten their penchant for mischief from. He gave another of her braids a sharp tug of reprimand.

"Sneaky." Thorin conceded, grateful that someone had taken the oldest prince in hand when he had been too distracted to see to it himself. "You know he'll be livid when he wakes."

"And I don't care. He was exhausted, injured, and emotionally overwrought, Thorin. Two of my boys in trouble is plenty, I don't need Fíli collapsing, too."

He frowned down at the top of her head, though he could not truly blame her for the sharpness of her answer. His reply was a gentle chiding in her ear.

"I'm not arguing, Dis."

She swallowed hard, eyes darting away, and Thorin braced himself for the question he knew was coming. It was the reason he had not slept yet himself, allowing Dwalin and Bofur to pull him from meaningless task to meaningless task, all petty things that a king should never be concerned with. They had not urged him to sleep, nor even lay down, only insisting that he wash and have his wounds checked after he had seen Kíli. Those two had understood what he could not say; that he needed the activity to stop him from thinking about the one thing he should be deeply worried about, but could not face - Frérin.

"Is it true? Was it really him? Was it my own brother who ordered my sons' deaths?"

The emotional pain was so thick and heavy that it was physical, making the king gasp and squeeze his eyes shut against the memories. He did not try to hold her as he felt her shift away. Hands settled around his shoulders and then cupped his face to bring his forehead against hers as a lone tear made its way down into his beard. He could feel Dis shaking with her own tears, and brought his arms up to hold her close in his turn, allowing them the luxury of mourning for several minutes. The silence was broken only by the soft burble of the flowing water and the harsh, hitched breaths of the two dwarrow as they worked through emotions few others could comprehend. Finally, he pushed her back just enough to settle his hands on either side of her face, thumbs swiping at tears still pouring from reddened, sleepless eyes.

"You-" His voice broke and he forced himself to swallow against the sudden dryness. "You must always remember that it is not him, no matter the face that is shown to you. They have twisted and corrupted him beyond redemption. Frérin died at Anzanulbizar, I will hear none say otherwise."

Her head nodded ever so slightly, and a hint of anger crept into a pained, watery gaze.

"Thorin... How did this happen? You, Dwalin, Balin, and Gróin, all of you told me he was dead! That you saw the body."

"I thought we had, Dis, but they had mutilated them so... We had no cause to think him taken, and another put in his place. But that must have been what they did." His lips pulled into a twisted grimace, his anger aimed solely at himself now. "I should have known! I should have known it was not him and not stopped until I found him, no matter what Father commanded!"

He rested his forehead against hers as he spoke, but kept his gaze locked on the stone floor, unwilling to face the condemnation in those eyes, so like those of their lost sibling. Why had he not known, not felt that it was a trick? Surely if Fíli had been faced with the same dilemma, no one would have had to tell him Kíli was alive!

"Don't, Thorin." Dis' tearful voice shattered the dark thoughts. "Don't blame yourself. I've seen what orcs will do to their victims given the chance. You could not have known! What is done is done, the past is unchanging. We must deal with the present now." She hesitated, then continued with a hint of the lost little dwarfling she once was. "What is he like now?"

The altered, older form of the person who had been his brother came to mind all too vividly still. Thorin grimaced, unsure why she insisted upon questions that would only bring more pain.

"He looks a lot like Father now."

He heard her sharp intake as her quick mind pulled together the same pieces Thorin had.

"All those reports we would receive about Father in the Southlands..."

"Yes," The king turned that one over, trying to see all sides. "Either they were mistaken identity as Frérin rallied the cult, or deliberate, to draw me there."

"So they could kill you!" Dis leaned back, staring at him in horror. "Then Frérin would have shown up with some tale of misery and captivity, and we would have welcomed him!"

Thorin nodded, lips pressed tight in anger. He had already concluded that the cult planned as much, but he had always avoided their ambushes, if they were there. Though that was sheer luck most of the time, as he had no notion he was even being hunted until that fateful meeting with Gandalf in Bree.

"What will you do now?"

Thorin snorted, letting his hand swirl idly through the water, stroking Kili's unbound arm.

"What I came here to do; end this and restore Khazad-dûm."

Dis pursed her lips, blue eyes thoughtful.

"Fre-" At his glare, she cut herself off, "He knows how you think, Thorin. He'll be waiting for you. Will you-" She swallowed hard, blinking back tears. "Will you kill him?"

The answer to that was one he had wrestled with whenever his hands and mind were idle, haunting in its simple necessity and stark harshness. No matter how he twisted and contorted reality, there could be no other, he just was not certain he could actually carry it out. This time, he met her blue eyes squarely, boring into them with his own steel gaze, unable to show his own torment to one who already suffered so.

"Yes."

She flinched hard at the simple acknowledgement of that awful reality, though it had been a long while since they could shelter Dis from the harsh side of life. That was a luxury lost with the fall of Erebor, when Dis had been barely more than a toddler. Her eyes bore into his, all too knowing now, no longer innocent and blindly trusting, no matter how he wished otherwise. Thorin relented, then, allowing some of his own heartache at the idea to become visible.

"What else can I do?"

"And what of my son, Thorin?"

Vili's voice boomed through the space like a thunderclap, making the other two flinch and gasp in shock. The other dwarf's anger was clear as he stalked in, glaring down at his marriage-brother.

"Do you intend to kill him, too? For what anywhere else would have been an ill-thought out, mean spirited prank?"

Thorin could feel his own temper rising in response to the scorn in Vili's tone, the king standing to face him head-on.

"He was not somewhere else, Vili, and Therin himself has admitted that it was done with both forethought and malice. His actions very nearly cost Kíli his life. The law is clear."

"The law is clear." Vili parroted back flatly. "That is your only answer? And you will allow this, Dis? He is talking about the life of our son!"

"Kíli is my son as well, Vili, or have you forgotten that? How can you ask me to choose between them?"

The blonde dwarf's hand tightened until the knuckles went white, jaw clenching as he glared at his wife.
A rustle of blankets from nearby alerted Thorin to the fact that they were not alone, and he cursed Vili silently for adding to the stress that already bowed Fíli's frame. From the cot, the prince surged up to confront his uncle turned pledge-father, but Thorin grabbed his arm, pulling his nephew close. From the sudden tension between the couple, he was certain that this was not a new argument, nor would they welcome Fíli's interference.

"Choose?" There was such scorn in that that Thorin began to wonder if he had misjudged the one-armed dwarf. Perhaps for his sister's sake, he should intervene. "There is no choice to be made, Dis. There never was. Therin has never been more than a puppet to you, born and bred for the needs of the Line of Durin!"

"How dare you! I-"

It was the inarticulate cry from the water filled tub that stopped the argument cold. Kíli was half fallen out of the stone trough, free hand alternately clutching at the side to keep himself up and attempting to pull the linen bandages from over his eyes.

Fíli was on his knees first, hands trying to find a place on his brother that was safe to grab. With one shoulder and arm bound across his torso, and the rest of him littered with cuts and bruises too numerous to count, that was not an easy task. Finally, the blonde settled for putting both hands under Kili's good arm while Thorin steadied him from behind.

"Kíli! You're safe! Easy, lay down-"

Thorin ignored Fíli's litany of reassurances, concentrating on not allowing his hands to slip. Whatever herbs had been rubbed on Kili's skin to aid healing had made him as slick as the greased pig dwarflings tried to catch at Durin's Day celebrations. Besides, adding his voice would likely do little other than add to Kili's confusion. If his older brother could not calm the ill dwarf, no one could. The king winced as his sister's elbow caught his ribs as she, too, attempted to hold onto the still thrashing Kíli.

"Please, love, it's alright! Fíli and Thorin are here, and-"

As suddenly as the struggle had begun, it was over, Kíli going limp in their hands. The only sign that he was still conscious, if not coherent, was the harsh breathing. Carefully, they lowered him back down to recline against the blankets, and Thorin discretely replaced the towel covering his privates. Kili's free hand was now pressed tightly between Dis'.

"Now," Thorin gently brushed back some of the wet hair clinging to his nephew's forehead, dismayed to still feel the heat of a high fever. "What was all that about? You are safe, but you must rest and recover, Kíli."

Thorin spoke more out of habit then the belief that his ill nephew would actually be coherent enough to respond. To his surprise, the ill dwarf tugged at the hand his mother held, reaching shakily toward his uncle's voice when it was released. He heard a noisy breath being sucked in from behind as the others came to the same realization, but refused to give up his space by Kili's head even as Fíli crowded close.

When Thorin took Kili's hand in his turn, he could feel the fingers fighting to form recognizable Iglishmêk words and moved his hand to simply support the wrist, letting all of them see. The signs were only half formed and he had to glance at his older nephew to receive a translation. For once, Fíli whispered only the actual words Kili's fingers formed instead of the complete sentence he normally would have formed around them for his brother.

'Angry. No. Fight. No.'

As Kili's fingers began to repeat the first word again, Thorin recaptured the hand between both of his, stilling it.

"Enough. There will be no more arguing, Kíli, you do not need to worry." And the look he cast both Dis and Vili promised mayhem should they break that pledge. "Rest now, just rest."

"Uncle's right, Kíli. You're safe."

Fíli leaned down, whispering something to his sibling that Thorin could not catch, though it brought a flicker of a smile to Kili's lips. If there was one constant in life, it was that Fíli and Kíli were two halves of a whole, or maybe two parts of one half, while their ladies made up the other? Thorin smiled to himself at the thought, standing to face his sister and her husband. Before he could say anything, however, Fíli stood as well, and it was not a son or nephew who confronted the combatants, but the Prince of Erebor, straight and regal even in rumpled, stained battle gear.

"There will be no more argument. The law is clear; the right to petition for punishment lies solely with the dwarf injured by the actions, no other. That being said," Here, he faced Vili squarely, daring his uncle to object. "If either of you has anything to say, I will be willing to hear it and pass on the words to Kíli when he is well enough."

Fíli's stiff, defensive posture made it clear that Kili's physical health was not the main reason for that restriction. The oldest prince had always been protective of his little brother, but that instinct was strongest when the potential danger came from family. Perhaps because it was the ones who were closest who could do the greatest damage?

Given Kili's distress only minutes ago, Thorin would back Fíli without question. He crossed his arms, ignoring the pull of healing wounds, and allowed his countenance to harden, quelling the comment on the lips of his sister. Vili, however, was not so easily swayed, eyes running up and down the prince before he conceded that with a short, sharp nod.

"Very well," He gestured them all a few feet further away from Kili's water bath, lowering his voice in volume if not in intensity. "I did not agree with Dis being ordered to marry so soon after Erebor was reclaimed, and only went along with it because I knew she couldn't stand the other dwarf Dain had picked." He raised a hand as Fíli moved to interrupt. "Bear with me, Fíli, this is important. When she bore twins, we both knew we would not be allowed to raise the boy as we wished. Hell, we weren't even allowed to choose his name!"

Thorin's eyebrows shot up at that. Dain had better be thankful he was already dead! Vili saw the anger there and nodded grimly.

"Exactly. When it became clear that the twins were in danger, I supported sending them to the Shire, even though it may have been the worst move we could have made for Therin."

"How so?" Thorin spat out, growing impatient again. For the peace of the family, he would listen to Vili's words, but he doubted they would change anything. For the blood of Durin, duty to their people always came first, it was as simple as that. "I cannot imagine Bilbo was a bad parent."

"Not for a hobbit, no, you have only to look at Frodo to see that, but for a dwarf? The Shire is a peaceful land, with no need to bear arms, no court or politics, and no other dwarrow. When Therin came home after thirty years there, he did not have the arms training of his peers, nor the experience, despite Bilbo taking them to Tookborough every summer for training with a Ranger. He did not fit in with his peers, teased as being too soft, too much a hobbit, and he began to try to be more of a dwarf than anyone else to prove that he did belong there. Unfortunately, that's when politics intervened.

Dain felt it was too risky to allow Therin to take a place with the guard, a prince wasn't allowed to learn a common trade, and he couldn't be openly acknowledged as Stronghelm's heir and given those responsibilities because it would mean publically admitting that Stronghelm couldn't sire his own children! Do you not see what an impossible situation Therin was placed in? And just when it finally looks to be resolved, in come his two older brothers, whom he has been compared to all his life, and he's pushed to the side again! Is it any wonder he acted the jealous child, with no true comprehension of the dangers of his actions?"

"That does not excuse such actions, especially in a war zone. He fought when the camp was attacked, saw others die. He knew the dangers."

Only Dis' hand on Vili's arm stump prevented the other dwarf from getting directly in his face. Vili visibly collected himself.

"I am not saying that it should excuse my son from paying the consequences, Thorin, just that it should be kept in mind when the punishment is decided. Is death still a possibility?"

"No." Fíli said flatly. "Kíli would never be willing to ask for that, not now."

"Good. Then when will Therin be released? I have his pledge that he will abide by the laws of our people. He cannot be held imprisoned if death is not a possible punishment."

Now Thorin recalled why this one had always irritated him so. He was worse about such things than even Balin had been, arguing law and tradition better than their most devoted scholars. Dwarrow as a race held strongly to such things, a necessity lest they be perpetually at war with each other, not to mention other races. Instead, any insult or injury was strictly governed by elaborate laws and traditions that dated back to the original Durin. At the core of that system, of course, was honor.

"Very well." Thorin nodded, ignoring the noise of disgust Fili made deep in his throat. "His rank is in abeyance until the matter is settled, but he may join a patrol as a regular warrior, subject to the command of his patrol leader."

"Put him with Einarr, if he is willing." At Thorin's startled look, Dwalin shrugged, pushing off from his previous position by the door, a silent sentinel to the whole mess. "That one will neither coddle him nor allow cult ideas near the boy again."

"So be it."

Fíli, as Kili's closest kin in the absence of his wife, and prince, had the final say.