The world did not come into focus immediately for Kíli when he opened his eyes; in fact, it remained stubbornly blurry, and Kíli rubbed ferociously at his eyelids, grimacing against the headache that suddenly made itself known. When he opened his eyes again, the world cleared slowly, and he sighed and leaned back into the chair in which he had awoken. A snore captured his attention; he turned his bleary gaze to the couch across the room, where Bofur remained with his head on his brother's large stomach. Both brothers snored terrifically.
Kíli chuckled and glanced to his right briefly and instinctively, searching for a shared smile that was not there. The corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown, and he righted his head and closed his eyes again.
You have a solution.
The thought shot through Kíli's head like a lightning bolt as he remembered the conversation from the night before. Tom Bombadil. Forn, as Glóin had called him. Either way, he was the same person, whoever that was, and he was the closest thing Kíli had to an answer. He had to tell Thorin. With a sudden jolt, Kíli pulled himself off the chair; then he groaned and brought a hand to his aching head. Too much ale… far too much ale. At least he had still had enough wits about him to remember the conversation from the previous night. He glanced at Bofur, wondering if his old friend would remember it, too. He doubted it. Bofur had drunk at least twice as much as he had, and he had had much more than enough.
His thoughts then turned to food. He had no idea what time it was, but he assumed that it was late morning. With a wistful glance at the slumbering Bombur, Kíli resigned himself to cooking his own breakfast. It wouldn't be as good as a meal from Bombur, but he would get it much sooner. Neither Bombur nor Bofur would mind if he helped himself.
Settling for eggs and ham, Kíli started his meal, humming a lilting tune to himself as he cooked. Over the crackling of cooking food, he heard the sound of heavy steps trudging in, and he looked up to see a bleary-eyed Bofur entering the kitchen, rubbing his neck.
"Good morning," he said, cracking a few more eggs into the pan. Bofur looked up from the floor and did not even attempt to put on a cheery expression.
"What's good about it?" he grumbled. He leaned his head from side to side and grimaced. "What time is it?"
"No idea," said Kíli. "Late, I'd guess."
"It's half past eleven," said Bombur, emerging from the other room with half-lidded eyes. He looked up past Kíli to the pan and blinked slowly. "Blimey, lad. You'll need more food than that for the three of us."
"You mean for you," said Kíli teasingly. Bombur nodded in concession with a small grin and came forward to take over breakfast-making duties, and Kíli gladly surrendered his spot. A breakfast from Bombur was sure to be better than anything he could make himself. He ambled over to the kitchen table and sat down; Bofur was already at the table with his head in his hands. Kíli looked him over with a worried eye.
"You all right, there, Bofur?" he said.
Bofur let out a chuckle and glanced up at his young friend. "Too much ale," he said. "If ye can believe it."
"I can, actually," Kíli said with a grin. "Do you remember anything from last night?"
Bofur searched the ceiling for memories, and then chuckled again. "Not really," he said sheepishly. "Why, did I do something I should regret?"
"No, not at all," Kíli said. For a moment, he considered telling Bofur what he had said, but then for some reason he could not rightly discern, he decided to keep it to himself. Instead, he said, "That is, you did a pretty poor dance and song."
"I believe it," Bofur said; then he fell silent and dropped his head back into his hands. Kíli stared at him for a few moments, and then he looked away, his mind racing.
After a hearty breakfast and plenty of coffee, Kíli left his friends with a grateful farewell for their kindness and hospitality. And a clue on how to help Fíli. He kept that to himself.
On his way home, he spotted the jail, not too far away, and he felt a jolt in his gut. Fíli. He needed to check on Fíli. With a surreptitious glance around, he headed towards the stone building and peered in the window. Fíli was sitting with his back against the bars, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. His usually-neat blond hair was in complete disarray, as if he had ceased to care about it at all. Óin sat in the chair near the cell, resting his elbows on his knees. It seemed that he was trying to talk to Fíli, as every once in a while, Fíli would shake his head or nod, though he never once turned to look at his old cousin. Kíli wondered what Óin was saying.
After several minutes with no new developments, Kíli stepped away from the window, his heart once again aching. He wished he could go inside and see his brother, but he knew that Óin would shoo him out immediately. It wasn't worth it.
You have hope, he reminded himself. Go and tell Thorin what you have heard.
He made it home quickly and immediately headed for Thorin's study. The door was closed, however, and Kíli stopped short as he heard two voices inside.
"If we can just find him—"
"And how do you propose we do that?" said Thorin. "He could be anywhere—anywhere in Middle-Earth."
"I've heard he frequents the Shire," said the other voice. Balin.
"That's not a guarantee," Thorin said.
Curious, Kíli stepped closer and knocked on the door.
"Come in," said Thorin.
Kíli opened the door and stepped inside, shutting it behind him. Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin looked up at the young Dwarf, all three looking him over, assessing how well he was doing. Kíli shifted in annoyance and suddenly wished that Ori were around so people would have someone even younger than himself to fuss over.
"I heard you talking," he said, bowing his head respectfully to his elders. "Who are you talking about?"
Balin glanced at Thorin before speaking, and Thorin nodded his head.
"We thought that maybe we could acquire the help of a wizard," said Balin. "We've all heard tell of the wandering wizard, Gandalf. Maybe he could help."
"We have no way of knowing where he is," said Thorin. "He could be anywhere from here to Gondor, or maybe even the far East. How would we know?"
"Couldn't we search for him?" said Kíli. "Fíli is important. He's a prince—of a lost kingdom, but a prince nonetheless. Surely the wizard would help us."
"Aye, that's what I said," said Dwalin. But—"
"Absolutely not," Thorin interrupted. "We are not dragging Fíli all over Middle-Earth in his state. It's far too dangerous—for him and for us. We have to either find the wizard and bring him here, or find another option."
Kíli's heart sank like a stone. He had been so eager to tell his uncle his idea, but now he saw that it would be folly; Thorin would never allow a journey to the Old Forest to find Tom Bombadil, and Kíli was sure, from what he had already heard, that Tom would not come to them.
"What are we supposed to do, then?" Kíli said desperately. "What if that's the only way?"
"We have to consider other options first, Kíli," said Thorin evenly. "Fíli is dangerous. You should know that better than any of us." He eyed his young nephew sadly; Kíli squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. He didn't want to think about that.
"We cannot possibly keep a close enough watch on him if we take him out of that cell—I don't want to hurt him," Thorin continued. "I want to explore every other option before I resort to having to use force against my nephew. Do you understand?"
"The longer he is stuck in that cell, the more he is going to hate us," Kíli argued.
"Kíli, I am trying to protect him!" Thorin said. "Him and you. You have seen what he is capable of. I refuse to endanger either of my nephews unless there is no other way."
Kíli wanted to argue, but he could think of nothing to say. Instead, he left his uncle's study, slamming the door behind him. As he left, he heard Thorin call his name, but he ignored it and stalked off to his own room, slamming his bedroom door for good measure and sitting down on his bed.
That was unnecessary, he heard in his head in Fíli's voice. You didn't have to react so harshly.
He's refusing the best option, Kíli argued. I can't even tell him my idea. He wouldn't listen. He never listens!
Again he heard Fíli's voice. Don't judge him too harshly. He is doing the best he can.
I wish you were here, Kíli thought. He looked up at the ceiling and swallowed, the corners of his eyes stinging. I miss you.
There was no reply, as Kíli knew there wouldn't be. Fíli wasn't there. He was locked away, and he was no longer Kíli's voice of reason—he was a voice of anger and hatred, poking at his little brother's insecurities without a thought. Kíli had always known that he depended on Fíli, but until now, he had not realized how much.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked the empty room. He sat and waited, as if the room would answer—or maybe Eru Himself would tell him what to do, but no answer came. He sighed and lay back on the mattress.
Then he had an idea.