A/N: Fíli and Kíli are in this final installment. Their human equivalent ages are 4 ½ and 2 as they are 9 and 4 years old.
Among the Fallen – Part Three
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls.
The massive characters are seared with scars.
- Khalil Gibran
T.A. 2868, Late Fall – Ered Luin: Thorin's Halls
The journey back is uneventful. Thorin spends much of his time in the back of the wagon resting and thinking. He does not talk to anyone else besides Dwalin for the duration of the trip. Even the communication with Dwalin does not stray outside that which is necessary. The tattooed dwarf drives the wagon by himself each day. By the time that they cross the River Lhûn several weeks later, he knows every thread that makes up the canvas covering of the wagon.
The mood in the depleted caravan is morose. No one speaks much, whether it is out of preference or deference to their leader Thorin does not know. However, as they grow closer to their settlement in Ered Luin the mood begins to lighten. As the relief and excitement become palatable among the group Thorin's mood worsens. He cannot stop imagining how Dis is going to react. 'How am I going to tell her . . . ?' He has spent the past month trying to figure out how to tell his sister that her husband – 'my brother' – is dead.
Dwalin and Thorin's pessimistic predictions about snow come true. They are only a few days away from their settlement in Ered Luin when snows come. Not heavy snows, but enough to coat the frozen ground and make the ground slippery and treacherous for the sturdy ponies that draw the wagons.
The silent company stops well before nightfall that evening. Thorin chafes at the delay. Intellectually he understands why they stopped. The place was sheltered and isolated from the elements. Must of the land between the river and the mountains are open and exposed and no place to spend a night with northern winds whipping across the land.
The wagons are drawn in a tight circle around the fire. The company had built the fire higher than normal that night. The silence and morose attitude is beginning to drop from the members of the company. The prospect of home and comforts raise the spirts of most of the men except Thorin whose mood only grows fouler with each mile that they cover.
Thorin sits close to the fire with his heavy outer cloak drawn close over the shoulders and the deep hood pulled over his head. Minor snow flurries buffet the wagons and the company. Thorin watches the flakes sizzle in the flames. He scowls as he watches two dwarves clean up after the small meal that they had eaten earlier.
Thorin rolls his shoulder irritably. The scare tissue and wounded muscle that has healed ache with the cold weather. He reaches up and roughly massages the sore tissues of his shoulder. He pauses in his ministrations when Dwalin, his captain, drops squats down next to him. "Yes?" he demands irritably, not even looking at Dwalin.
"A bit grumpy, are we?" Dwalin chuckles as the wind buffets the fur collar of his cloak.
"What of it?" Thorin grumps as he begins rubbing and pulling at his tender shoulder.
"Nothin'. Just thought you'd be looking forward to getting home more than the rest of us," Dwalin says as he sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him towards the fire. "A real bed, rest, home," Dwalin lists off drolly. "Personally, I'm looking forward to some real whiskey and teasing Balin."
Thorin looks across his shoulder to his old friend. "I suppose I am looking forward to a bed, those wagon beds . . .," he groans theatrically. "But, everything else outweighs my enthusiasm for those physical comforts."
Dwalin crosses his arms across his chest. "Think about it will only make it worse. You have to tell them, there is no avoiding that. But, to dwell on it . . . bah! It just makes it worse because it prolongs it."
Thorin stops rubbing his sore muscles and pulls his hands back under the heavy woolen cloak. "I suppose your right. But what else should I think about? The winter supplies? Financial numbers? The village . . ."
"Have you heard one about the busty barmaid and the elf?" Dwalin interrupts abruptly.
-o-
The wagon company rolls into the settlement just before sunset almost a week later. The few inches of snow slowed their pace to a crawl. As soon as the first wagon reaches the edge of the settlement, news of their arrival spreads quickly. Soon wives, children, and siblings are swarming out to greet the returning men. Much laughter and conversation are sparked up and the darkening night air is filled with sounds of reunion.
Thorin scowls at the growing crowds while scanning the crowd for his sister's dark hair and distinctive braids. Part of him hopes that she is busy with the little ones, maybe putting them to bed or feeding them their dinner, and that she will not come out to join the throng. He would much prefer to deal with this family matter in private. He cannot leave the company right now; there are things that must be dealt with as long as he is not engaged in family business. He would also be grateful for extra time. Extra time for himself to think about it and play out the scenario in his head for the thousandth time, but, also, extra time for Dís and her boys to live in a world where their husband and father is still alive and well and coming home to great them with hugs and kisses.
Thorin jumps down from the wagon seat, wincing as the jolting movement jars the still healing shoulder. He immediately begins directing the unloading of the goods that they brought with them from Rohan. The wagons are unloaded quickly, Thorin's people sorely want the bolts of cloth and other goods and the items are quickly moved to storage places and shops.
"'Rin!"
Thorin turns around just in time for Fíli to collide with his legs. The golden haired dwarfling wraps his arms around Thorin's knees and stares up adoringly into his uncle's face.
Thorin reaches down, scoops up his nephew, and grunts theatrically – partially theatricality and partially to cover up a grunt of pain. "You've gotten so big!" he says with a grin that feels fake on his face. His stomach twists with guilt as Fíli looks at him with wide, innocent, blue eyes.
"I'm this much taller," Fíli shouts enthusiastically, holding his fingers a little bit apart.
"I see," Thorin says distractedly as he scans the crowd. "Fíli, where's amâd?"
Fíli twists in his uncle's arms. "She's over there!" he points. "She was talking to cousin Glóin's wife."
Thorin shifts Fíli up so that the dwarfling is sitting on his shoulders. Fíli squeals in delight as he grips Thorin's head and braids for support. Thorin grasps Fíli's legs as he makes his way through the crowd. When he brushes past Dwalin, who is talking to Balin, with a grim face Dwalin turns to follow his king. Dwalin keeps close to Thorin's heels as Thorin makes his way to Dís.
When Dís sees her brother approaching with Fíli perched on his shoulders, she extracts herself from the lively conversation that she was having with Glóin's wife. "Thorin!" she says with a smile.
Thorin tries, but he finds that he cannot return the smile. His face feels frozen and stiff. His chest feels tight when he sees Kíli clinging to his mother's full skirts. Dís was no older than Fíli when Smaug sacked Erebor. His chest hurts. He has failed his family. He had promised Dís that he would do everything he could to protect her sons; to make sure that they had a happy childhood that she had lacked.
When Thorin fails to return her greeting and smile her own face falls and becomes serious. "What's happened?" she demands. When she looks over his shoulder and fails to see her husband's golden hair and open face, she adds, "Where's Vrílí? Where is my husband, Thorin?"
Thorin swallows forcefully. He lifts Fíli down off his shoulders and sets the dwarfling on his feet on the snowy ground. "We need to talk," he says softly. "Can we go home and talk about this?"
Dís' blue eyes are wide when she tries to meet her brother's downcast eyes. "Thorin . . ."
"Please, Dís," Thorin interrupts.
"No, Thorin!" she says forcefully. "I want to talk about it now."
Thorin refuses to meet her eyes. He looks everywhere except her face and he sees that her hand, which is resting on Kíli's unruly dark hair, is shaking.
Dwalin's gruff voice interrupts before either of the siblings can say anything more. "I need help with the ponies." The tattooed dwarf scoops Fíli up like a bag of barley before picking Kíli up – the dwarfling screeched with laughter – by the back of his shirt, "and you lads would be perfect." Dwalin strides off with the two dwarfling as they chatter enthusiastically to him.
The outburst has drawn attention to the small family that Thorin did not notice until Dwalin took Fíli and Kíli away. Curious eyes scan over their king and his sister. When nothing happens, the stares dissipate as the surrounding dwarves return to their personal business and conversations.
"Somewhere private, please?" Thorin repeats.
Dís nods her head sharply before turning to make her way back to the home that the family shares. Thorin follows her; he watches the braids in her hair swing with every step that she takes. Everything that his had planned has abandoned him. All that he can think of is the bag over his shoulder and how he has no idea what he is going to tell her. It is as if the journey home never happened and he had not agonized over the upcoming moments for nights on end while sitting by the fire and watching his men.
As soon as the door of their home is shut solidly behind him Dís whirls on him with fire in her blue eyes. "Where is my husband, Thorin?" she demands accusingly.
"Wou-Wouldn't you like to go into the sitting room?" Thorin asks, flustered by his sister's attack.
"No, Thorin. I would not like to go into the sitting room. What I would like is to be told where Vrílí is," she spits out.
Thorin swallows forcefully before speaking; he is a bit taken aback by her fury. "There was a night raid shortly after we crossed the border into Rohan. There was an archer, a boy, really – not too terribly older than Fíli . . . I took an arrow in my thigh," Thorin's hand twitches instinctively to touch the place on his thigh where the scar is still knotted and red. "Vrílí . . . he took care of the boy, but the boy's father was there and he charged us. I was unable to fight properly given the arrow," he says lamely, "We were fighting back to back. . . . I went down," Thorin rubs his shoulder in remembrance of the heavy sword chopping into his flesh. "Dwalin stepped in, but . . . Vrílí, he . . ." Thorin trails off, rubbing hard at his chin. When Thorin looks at his sister – arms crossed and heavy eyebrows drawn up in a furious frown – he knows that she understands.
Dís glares furiously at her elder brother for several long moments. Thorin glares back at his sister, refusing the back down from the challenge that is inherent in her anger.
"Why did you let this happen?" she erupts. "How could you let this happen?" she shouts as she walks forward.
"It was a night ambush. There was nothing I could do," Thorin offers as he takes a step backwards as he tries to maintain some distance between himself and his furious sister. There is a soft thunk when he backs into the closed door.
"You PROMISED me that you would bring him back to me!" she shouts stabbing her finger at his chest. "You promised," she says quietly before adding in a volume not much louder than a whisper, "he promised."
Dís' blue eyes are still burning when she meets Thorin's eyes despite her quieter tone. "He was supposed to come home! Everyone is supposed to come home!" She pounds her hands down Thorin's chest.
Thorin winces as her fist slams into his shoulder, but she does not notice as she continues railing at her brother. "Dís, please," he whispers.
Dís thuds her head into his chest – not noticing her brother flinching away – and smacks his chest with an open palm once last time before she quiets.
Thorin tentatively wraps her arms around his little sister. As he hugs her, he can feel her chest shaking with silent tears. He rests his cheek on the top of her head and strokes her hair. "I never meant for anything to happen to him. You know that, right? He was my brother. I would never have let anything happen to him if I could have prevented it," he soothes before finishing fiercely, "Our family means everything to me."
Together brother and sister slide to the floor where Thorin cradles his sister against his chest, comforting her in the same way the he had comforting her sons so many times. The position against the door is uncomfortable and the position and angle of his shoulder makes it ache and sting. Despite his discomfort, he continues to stroke his sister's hair until she has cried herself out.
Dís' fists are knotted up in Thorin's tunic, which is wet with her tears when he ventures to mentioned the bag that he had dropped on the floor by the door. "Khazush, I brought back his belongings for you."
Dís pulls away at his words to meet his solemn eyes. With her weight removed from his chest, Thorin is able to grab the sack that carries everything of Vrílí's that was worth bringing home to his wife and sons. Thorin shifts so that he is sitting back on his heels before he opens the bag. He is overly conscious of his movements with his sister's unforgiving gaze lingers on him.
The first item Thorin removes from the sack is the largest, Vrílí's double swords. Dís reaches out and takes the swords into her hands almost reverently. Her fingers trace over the designs that she had aided in creating. She partially draws one of them to inspect the blade – bright, clean, blazing, and sharp – 'Not that it did him much good in the end.'
"Fíli will want these. These should be his, Vrílí would have wanted that," Dís says quietly as she slides the sword back into its sheath.
The only other item in the bag is the pouch that contains trinkets. The bag clinks metallically when Thorin drops the pouch into his sister's outstretched hand. He sits back, watches her open the small bag and sift through its contents. Her gaze and touch stop on the stone.
"Dwalin collected any items that he thought might be of importance."
"This is of importance," Dís says quietly with a voice filled with sorrow. She dumps the jewelry back into the pouch. She keeps the stone out and closes her fist around the smooth stone. "It was his promise to me that he would come home," she explains to her elder brother as she pockets the stone.
Thorin nods.
"Well," she says matter-of-factly as she wipes her eyes and rises to her feet. "There's work to be done." Her face is hard and set with determination. "I have chores that I need to be getting to and you have your own duties."
Thorin rises to his feet as well. "Surely those can wait?"
"I've been through this before, Thorin, just like you." She straightens her skirts and brushes away any dirt that they collected from the floor. "The best way for me to deal with this is to keep going." She looks at her brother, her expression softening slightly. "After amâd died, you, Frerin, and adâd needed me. After grandfather's disappearance, you all left leaving me alone to grow up. And after Frerin's death, you needed me. I will get through this," she finishes firmly.
"I'm sorry," Thorin says. Neither of them need clarification for what he is apologizing for.
"I'm sorry, too, Thorin," she says, meeting his eyes. "I'm mostly worried about how the boys are going to take it. They're so young . . ."
"I'll talk to them," Thorin promises. "I'm sure that they'll be fine. They have you as their mother," he finishes with a wry grin.
Dís shakes her head but says, "Thank you."
-o-
Thorin finds Fíli and Kíli with Dwalin in the stables. Fíli is 'helping' groom one of the ponies while his little brother balances precariously on the pony's back. Thorin and Dwalin make eye contact and Dwalin nods curtly before he turns to leave. The rest of the stables are empty except for Thorin and his young nephews.
"Rin!" Kíli shouts in greeting from his place on the pony's back.
Thorin gives the dwarfling a small smile. "How ya doing, Fíli?"
Fíli turns from his work with a serious expression. "Fine. Why is the pony so dirty?" he asks as he shakes the brush and dust flies from it.
"She had a long journey. She didn't have time to bathe," Thorin replies just as seriously.
Fíli wrinkles his nose before turning to return to his 'work'. Thorin plucks the brush from Fíli's hands before the dwarfling can start brushing again.
"I need to talk to you boys."
Fíli looks up at his uncle, "What did Kíli do this time? Did he dump amâd's flour . . . again?"
"No, he hasn't," Thorin says and he scoops Kíli off the pony's back. "It's more serious than your amâd's flour."
"Amâd seems to think her flour is pretty important," Fíli grumbles.
Fíli's discontent grumbling would normally have brought a smile to his uncle's face, but not today. Thorin leads his elder nephew to a bench that sits in the aisle of the stable. He sets Kíli on his lap. "Aye, that she does," Thorin admits. "But not as seriously as she takes people stealing pastries before they're cooled."
A toothy grin crosses Fíli's face where it quickly fades when he watches his uncles face. "Is it about adâd?" he asks so quietly that Thorin almost cannot hear him over the soft sounds of the stable.
"Yes, Fíli, it's about your father," Thorin says just as quietly.
Tears are already brimming in Fíli's blue eyes before Thorin begins speaking. "Fíli, Kíli, there was a fight during our journey. Your father fought bravely against the men who attacked us. But, he is dead despite everything we could do."
"But . . ." Fíli protests through his tears.
"I know," Thorin soothes pulling his eldest nephew close. The dwarfling buries his face in his uncle's side.
"Adâ'?" Kíli says with a confused expression his face while he looks at his elder brother.
"Your adâd won't be coming back, Kíli," Thorin says in a choked voice.
Kíli looks from his uncle to his brother and back again. "Fee?" The dark-haired dwarfling reaches out and clumsily touches his brother's face. His small, chubby face bears a confused expression as he sits back and toys with the hem of his yellow tunic. He picks absently at the blue embroidered threads the follow the hem. He occasional looks at his sobbing brother with confusion in his brown eyes.
'Too young to understand,' Thorin thinks. He flinches internally when he thinks about the questions Kíli is going to ask over the next several weeks and months. The same questions he asks every time that his father would be away on business. This time, however, the answer will be answered with averted eyes and different words.
Thorin holds Fíli close. When he tries to do the same to Kíli, the dwarfling squirms away to sit further out on Thorin's lap.
"What's going to happen to us?" Fíli hiccups tearfully.
"Oh, Fíli," Thorin says softly. "I'll take care of you lads and your mother."
"Forever?"
"As long as you need me I'll be here. I'll be here for you until I join the fallen."
FIN
A/N: Khazush = sister
This is the end of this fic; however, it is part of a greater storyline about Thorin's life that is continued in other longer stories and one-shots. Check out my profile for the timeline, etc.