I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.
Just a reminder to my readers- please don't expect frequent/regular updates until January due to real life craziness-'tis the season for weddings and Christmas and frantically trying to complete sewing projects! O_o Thanks to all!
Azog growled in frustration. The scent had finally been picked up on the eastern shores of the Anduin, and his warriors were closing in…only to find that the dwarf runt and his company had taken refuge in the beast's home of all places.
The pale orc watched from a distance as the great bear stalked back and forth, guarding the cottage behind him. Memories assaulted his mind, of being highly amused and enjoying the skinchanger prisoners he'd captured in the mountains so long ago. That is, until one broke his chain.
Beorn had taken down many of his captors in his escape, the great bear seeming to grow larger in his wrath. Orcs thereafter who knew of the escape many decades prior now feared the giant beast, and they were right to do so. The deep, nearly fatal scars on his son Bolg's face and head were proof of that.
Now, as Azog watched the great bear, being careful to make sure his pack were upwind of the beast, he growled quietly to himself in frustration. They could not possibly withstand Beorn's wrath, let alone long enough to take their revenge upon the dwarves. To try and attack the cottage with Beorn home would be incredibly stupid and foolish.
His second in command crept up beside him, sneering at the scene before them. Wisps of smoke filtered into the sky from the chimney as light shone out of the windows, the night dark as the moon had not yet risen- such an easy task, if it weren't for the bear standing guard.
"The dwarves must be asleep by now," Narzug whispered in black speech, a gleefulness in his voice at the prospect of a nighttime ambush. "It will be easier to kill the filth if we come upon them unawares."
Azog looked once more at the great beast, his fairly keen eyes seeing the moonlight bouncing off the sharp teeth, the only part of the black haired beast distinctly visible in the darkness.
"No," he replied, turning back toward his warg. "We will attack them on the road. The beast stands guard, and we cannot fight him."
Narzug growled loudly to himself, and Azog spun around, grabbing the smaller orc by the neck so that the ability to speak eluded him.
"If you sound louder than a whisper again, I will carve your tongue out and feed you to the beast myself!" the orc leader spat in a hushed voice, his face a mere hair's breadth away from the shaking creature.
A crackling sounded through the underbrush, and the pale orc released his grip on Narzug, who fell to the ground with a muffled cough. Turning quickly as he grabbed his giant mace off the white warg, Azog stood firm as a snarling warg skidded to a halt in front of him.
Jaws snapping in his face, the great orc didn't flinch, sneering at the one atop the panting creature.
"The Master has summoned you to Dol Guldur," the orc said, moonlight glistening off the metal plates stemming from the top of his head through part of his face. "You are ordered to come immediately."
The wind shifted just then, and the pale orc knew it was only a matter of time before the beast caught their scent now. Growling low to himself in frustration, he turned and stalked toward his warg, mounting her without another word.
Growling the command from their Master to her in the guttural tongue of the wargs, the group turned and headed south toward the ruins of Dol Guldur, speeding up and quickly leaving the isolated cottage behind. As they rode, the pale orc gripped his mace tightly as his mind tried to find some way of fulfilling his task. The Master summoned him, and he would go- there was no choice. He would make this meeting short and quick, and get back on the road as soon as possible.
As his eyes fell on the orc riding beside him, a possible solution entered his mind. Somehow, he would finish this mission, even if he had to send Bolg in his stead. He would be a dead orc before he allowed Thorin Oakenshield and his little whelp spawn to keep their heads for much longer.
XXX
Fili's eyelids fluttered, a groan escaping his lips as he shifted his aching body. The sweet smell of hay assaulted his nostrils, mingled with the decidedly less sweet smell of animals.
Wha-am I in a stable?
The young prince's brow furrowed as he tried to remember the day prior- the run from the howling wargs, being chased by a giant bear, waking up in a giant cottage, hitting his uncle. Eyes slowly opening, the young prince's throat constricted as tears filled the dry orbs.
Kili…Kili is gone, and I am alone.
A clatter sounded beside him as the smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the sweet scent of fruit and oats. The young prince turned toward the sound, only for his eyes to darken at the sight of the person next to him.
"Go away," he snarled, eyes meeting Thorin's hesitant gaze. "Leave me alone." The dwarf king's throat constricted, and he gestured toward the plate of food.
"Lad, you need to eat," he whispered, before standing to his feet. Fili's gaze narrowed, making no move toward the food as his fist clenched tightly. Thorin looked at his young nephew, eyes misting, before turning and leaving the stall without another word.
Fili looked back down at the food, frowning slightly at the unusually large size of the dishes. Anger coursed within him, and he turned and backhanded the mug of milk, sending the cup flying several feet across the stall with a clatter as it knocked the bowl of oats off the tray.
A sob escaped his throat, and the young prince curled in on himself, tears flowing fast as they soaked his sleeve. A shadow suddenly passed in front of him, and Fili instinctively reached for a hidden knife, staying his hand at the hobbit's startled gaze.
"F-Fili, could you…ah, put that thing away?" Bilbo said nervously, eyeing the shining blade as his trembling hand fidgeted with his waistcoat pocket. The young prince swallowed thickly, quickly sheathing the knife. A few unbidden tears escaped his wet eyes, and despite trying not to, he couldn't help but sniffle. Quickly reaching up to swipe his eyes, the young dwarf muttered an apology.
"S-sorry," he whispered, throat constricting as he fought back another sob. Bilbo's gaze softened as he gently placed the empty mug and what was left of the oats back on the woven tray.
"It's all right," the hobbit said quietly. Fili nodded, lacing his free hand in his hair as he ducked his head.
"You do need to eat," Bilbo said gently, straightening up the silverware that had fallen askew. The young prince shook his head.
"No," he whispered shakily, sniffling again as he hid his face in his knees. "I-I'm not hungry."
A loud growl escaped his stomach just then, belying Fili's words, and Bilbo sighed, pity on his face. Placing a hand gently on the young prince's arm, he waited until Fili looked up at him, the blue eyes filled with tears.
"Starving yourself won't bring him back," Bilbo said softly, swallowing as his own memories of losing his mother swirled in his mind. Fili looked at him, his expression filled with hurt and pain.
"Have you ever lost a brother, Bilbo?" he whispered, gaze boring into the hobbit. Bilbo shook his head.
"No, I was my mother's only child," he replied. The young prince's eyes narrowed, before turning away from him. "But I did lose her."
Fili's gaze quickly moved back toward his, surprise in the blue orbs. Faint memories assaulted him, of Bilbo yelling at Kili for wiping his boots on his mother's glory box, of a frantic hobbit running around trying to save his mother's one hundred year old pottery from destruction at the hands of twelve rambunctious dwarves, and his eyes widened in realization.
So that's why Bilbo was so angry with us all. I thought he was just being pretentious.
"Y-you lost her?" he whispered, and the hobbit nodded.
"Yes," he whispered, voice cracking slightly. "I loved her, very much. S-she was different from most hobbit women, she…couldn't have any children after me. I was her son, her baby."
Bilbo felt his own eyes grow misty as images of his mother's dark hair and smiling face ran in his mind. He remembered the Old Took's summer party long ago, where he had enjoyed fireworks and had run up to Gandalf after being gifted a toy wooden sword and began to attack "the invader".
His mother had "saved" poor Gandalf from her "little rapscallion", as she put it, but the hobbit knew it was all in jest. In truth, his mother loved him very much, and always encouraged his adventurous streak, unlike his stiff, uptight father who was so predictable that one didn't even need to ask him a question without already knowing the answer. A true Baggins, that one.
Seeing a response in Fili's eyes, the hobbit decided to press on, realizing that he'd found something in his past that may help the young prince in his own grief.
"K-Kili was my mother's baby," Fili stammered, toying with a small piece of hay in his hand. "She loved us both very much, but Kili was always the one who could charm her with just a smile." His wet gaze looked up at Bilbo, the young dwarf clearly fighting the fresh tears gathering in the corners of the blue orbs. "Then again, he was always getting into trouble.
"She gave him a stone," he continued, before fishing in his own pocket. "Just like she gave me." He held the dark, smooth stone out for the hobbit to see, the etched runes clear.
"What does it say?" Bilbo asked hesitantly, "I- I can't read runes." A tear escaped from Fili's eye, sliding down until it disappeared in his now damp beard. The young dwarf's finger traced the letters, his voice nearly imperceptible.
"Return to me," he whispered, voice catching. "She made us promise to return to her once the quest was done, especially Kili. S-she knew he'd find a way to get in trouble." A short, humorless laugh escaped him, and he threw the stone forcefully against the opposite wall of the stall.
"Now he'll never come home," he whispered, tears streaming unheeded down his cheeks. "My brother is gone. My best friend is gone, and it's all because of him."
Bilbo's eyes widened as Fili spat out the last word venomously, not needing to ask whom the young prince was talking about. His mind recounted how hard Thorin had fought to keep the wargs away from the injured Fili, and the subsequent days where he'd never left Fili's side until that morning, watching over him despite his own injury, nary sleeping despite being thoroughly exhausted.
He remembered the story about what happened clearly- Bofur had seen the whole thing, and relayed it to Bilbo in whispers on the eyrie. He had come to trust Bofur, after initial apologies about making him faint back in Bag End, and did not believe the miner to be a liar. And according to Bofur, Kili and Cirashala's death could not be blamed on the dwarf king.
"Bofur told me what happened," Bilbo said quietly. "He said Thorin did everything he could—"
"He did nothing!" Fili cried out, eyes blazing as he shot to his feet, unheeding of his injuries. "He reached out, but he didn't move fast enough. He watched them fall- he watched them, and did nothing!"
The hobbit watched as the young prince burst into uncontrollable sobs, the dam finally bursting as Fili collapsed onto his knees. All the grief, the pain, the pent up emotions over the past week flowed out with every hot tear that rolled down his cheeks.
Bilbo stood there with his mouth hanging open, shocked at the harsh words. From what he had seen of Thorin and the lads, there was no doubt in his mind that he loved them dearly. The pain and grief in Thorin's face, the exhaustion after staying up with his nephew, the deep concern and fear if Fili's relation to him were found out- all of it pointed to how much he truly loved them both. Bilbo had never seen someone in such hurt and pain as Thorin had been in the past week, save for Fili, and he knew without a doubt that Thorin had done everything in his power to prevent Kili's untimely death.
Taking a deep breath, the hobbit knelt in front of the distraught Fili, the heart wrenching sobs nearly unbearable. Laying a hand on his shoulder, the hobbit opened his mouth to speak, but was instantly cut off in surprise as Fili encased him in a fierce hug. His coat quickly grew damp as the young dwarf sobbed into his shoulder, and the grip he had on the hobbit was one that Bilbo could never hope to fight. Slowly relaxing in the hold, Bilbo brought his hands up and returned the hug.
"Fili, I have not lost a brother," the hobbit said quietly into the young dwarf's ear. "I cannot say that I know that pain. But I do know someone who has." Fili pulled away a bit, sniffling.
"Who?" he whispered, brows furrowing in confusion. Bilbo swallowed, hoping he was ready to hear the answer.
"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, causing Fili to still. Knowing that he had his attention, Bilbo continued.
"He lost his brother, just like you did," Bilbo whispered. "He tried, just like you did, to save Kili. He tried as hard as he could." Muted sniffles came from his coat lapel, but the young prince did not raise his head.
"He missed her boot by a thread," the young prince whispered. "He-he could have caught it—"
"No he couldn't," Bilbo replied firmly. "My mother died young, and I couldn't stop it. Sometimes….sometimes people leave us, whether we want them to or not. It hurts, and it's horrible, but someday we are all going to die. Well, except the elves, but what do they know?"
The hobbit glanced down to see the faintest of movement on the young prince's mouth, and continued on.
"Fili, I hated my father for my mother's death," he whispered, regret in his voice. "But after a time, I realized that it wasn't his fault. It just happened….she passed on.
"Sometimes we lose those we love. But….that's all the more reason to keep living, isn't it? For them?"
The young dwarf grew very still, and Bilbo wondered if he'd cried himself to sleep.
"You aren't the only person who lost someone they love," the hobbit whispered. "Thorin has too. I-I don't know if you know this, but he's stayed up all night watching over you every night since it happened. He hasn't left your side, until Beorn needed to speak with him, and that was only so them talking wouldn't wake you." Fili trembled in his arms.
"H-he has?" he whispered, and Bilbo nodded. "E-even after I told him he killed Kili?"
"Yes," the hobbit replied. "I have never seen someone hurting so much in my life. Don't ever doubt this, Fili- your uncle loves you and Kili more than anything in the entire world- it's as plain as day to anyone who looks. There's no way he would have let Kili die- not if he could help it."
XXX
The dwarf king did not need to look to know that his hands were shaking. Standing on the opposite side of the stable wall from the pair, the heart wrenching sobs emanating from his nephew tore his own heart apart.
He was glad Bilbo had gone to Fili. Most of the others did not know what to say, and Fili was in no mood to speak to any of them. To hear the pain from his nephew finally come out was painful, but hearing that emotion was a relief as well. It told Thorin that Fili's heart was not yet stone cold.
The words Bilbo spoke to the young prince surprised the dwarf king, Thorin not knowing that the hobbit had lost his own mother. Pain from the loss of Kili seared in his breast anew, and once more he cursed himself knowing that Fili's words were true.
He didn't move fast enough.
No, he didn't. He had promised his sister- promised her that he would bring them back to her alive. Both of them. And now, he failed that promise to his sister, and his own nephews.
Dwalin came and sat beside him, the burly warrior not speaking a word. None were needed. A sigh left the tattooed dwarf, and he looked Thorin in the eye.
"Go to him," he said quietly. Thorin shook his head.
"He does not want me near him," the elder whispered, deep pain in his voice. "He has all but disowned me."
"No, he hasn't," Dwalin said. "He's just hurting, and now he's finally letting it out. He needs you, now more than ever." Damp blue eyes turned toward the warrior, a very faint glimmer of hope deep within them.
"What if he turns me away?" he whispered. The burly dwarf shook his head.
"He won't," he replied. Thorin remained unconvinced.
"How do you know?" he whispered. Dwalin brought his hand up and placed it on Thorin's shoulder, looking him straight in the eye.
"Your sister forgave you, and he will too."
XXX
Bilbo looked up in surprise as Thorin moved into the stall. Hesitantly, he approached the pair, hands visibly trembling.
The young prince glanced up as the dwarf king stopped beside the pair, his gaze a swirl of emotions. His eyes were red and puffy from crying, as was his nose, and his blonde mane was in complete disarray. The hobbit could see the dwarf king radiating with nervousness as his pleading gaze met his young nephew's.
"Fili," he began, his throat constricting as his eyes filled with tears. Shakily Fili began to stand to his feet, using Bilbo's shoulder to help himself up. The young prince swayed a bit, and Bilbo swiftly grasped the top of his arm above his injury, steadying him before he fell. Thorin took a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"F-Fili, I…I'm sor—" the dwarf king could not finish his sentence, tears beginning to drip into his beard as he trembled.
The young prince looked at his uncle for a moment, eyes filling with tears, before the lad rushed into his arms with a sob.
XXX
Meril and Cirashala grunted as they carried the sleeping dwarf into Gelin's room. The young woman's arms trembled at how heavy he was, the limbs already weary from the chores she'd done that morning.
Gently setting him on the bed, Cirashala moved toward the dusty rocking chair in the corner, relieved to finally sit down. The exhaustion that fled at the woodsman's visit crept back up on her, and she had to fight to keep her eyelids from closing. Shifting in the chair, she was relieved that the folded quilt hanging on it was so soft against her back. Even at that, her wounds protested at the pressure, and she leaned forward until she could no longer feel it, resting her arms on the chair handles.
Meril hung a clean curtain over the window, taking down the dusty one from before. The indigo curtain caused the room to become considerably darker, making it more difficult for the young woman's tired eyes to stay open. A yawn escaped, and Meril turned toward her.
"What about my chores?" the young woman asked before the elder could speak, and Meril shook her head, gesturing toward the injured dwarf.
"You are responsible for him, and for yourself," Meril replied. She opened her mouth to continue, but a second yawn from the younger stopped her. The old woman's gaze softened a bit.
"You were up all night with him last night, weren't you?" she asked, and Cirashala nodded.
"I didn't…if he coughed again, I didn't want to be asleep," she stuttered, her brain foggy from lack of rest.
Meril looked between the two of them- the dark haired young dwarf, with his big ears, dark eyes, and thick eyebrows, and the young woman, with finer brows and hair the color of honey, small ears and blue eyes, and frowned. Gelin and Freida could have been twins, if they hadn't been several years apart, right down to their fair hair and bright blue eyes.
"Are you sure—" she began, then stopped herself. Dwarf women weren't completely unheard of- she didn't really believe in the silly rumors that dwarves came out of holes in the ground- but she marveled at the distinct difference between the pair. They were the same height, that is true, but if the girl hadn't tearfully insisted the dwarf was her brother, she'd swear she was a young human girl, rather than a dwarf maiden.
Her full figure belied that young age though, despite her young face with just the hint of freckles on her cheeks and nose, and she'd seen that she was rather strong for a girl of her size when they carried the sleeping dwarf into the room. Her eyes also spoke of more pain and memory than a young girl would usually have, which the elder also found a bit odd.
Perhaps dwarf siblings do not look as much alike as human siblings do, the puzzled old woman thought to herself. Still, I would think they'd resemble each other at least a little bit more.
"Am I sure of what?" Cirashala asked, bringing the elder out of her musings. Meril glanced toward her, then shook her head.
"Nothing," she replied, moving toward the bedroom door. No one would willingly say they are a dwarf if they are not.
Reaching for the door handle, the elder caught sight of the young woman standing up shakily, the lack of sleep very evident in her drawn, pale face and the dark circles under her eyes. Sighing, she turned toward the exhausted girl.
"Take some rest, child," she said gently. Cirashala shook her head.
"No, I-I need to do our chores," she replied, and Meril shook her head.
"Like as not, you will fall asleep halfway through any task I give you," the elder replied matter-of-factly. "You'll do a better job if you've had a few hours of rest first."
Cirashala did not argue with her, which surprised the old woman. The girl had been very polite, and rather nervous since they arrived, but she'd been every bit as stubborn as anything despite that. Her staying up the entire previous night had been an excellent indication of that.
"Your clothes are hanging to dry now," Meril continued, opening the door. "I will come get you when they are done drying."
Cirashala nodded her thanks, and Meril left the room, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. The young woman turned toward the chest of drawers, which rested next to the bed. Meril had left a bowl and pitcher filled with water, along with a few rags, and she went and clumsily poured the cool liquid into the bowl.
Scooting the rocking chair next to the double bed, she dipped the rag in the water. Squeezing out the excess water, the young woman reached over to lay it on the feverish dwarf's head, already noting that it was cooler than it had been in front of the fire.
The young dwarf's breathing was still labored, and despite the slight darkness in the room, the red cheeks were still visible. Meril had also left the mortar filled with mint paste on the chest, and the young woman reached out and dipped her fingers in it. Gently rubbing it on the very top part of his chest, she was relieved to note that his breathing began to ease into more of a regular rhythm, though it was still occasionally punctuated by a slight cough.
Her legs ached as they didn't quite reach the floor, and several times the rocking chair wobbled a bit as she leaned forward. Emitting a cross between a sigh and a yawn, she eyed the bed and soft quilts.
Maybe I could sit on that instead, and then I won't tip out of the chair.
Shivering slightly at the loss of heat from the shut door, she grabbed the quilt off the back of the rocking chair and settled herself next to the young prince, whom they laid in the middle of the straw tick. Laying the warm quilt on her legs, she reached over and replaced the now dry rag on his forehead with another cool, wet one.
She yawned again, feeling like her head was going to split in two from it's size. Eyelids growing heavy again, she leaned back against the pillow behind her. Pain laced up her back, causing a slight whimper to escape her lips. As her eyes fell closed, she scooted down and laid on her side to ease the pressure on her back, snuggling under her own quilt as she laid atop his. The exhausted young woman no longer caring about sharing a bed with the dwarf prince as her limbs grew heavier and heavier, much needed sleep coming upon her until all became dark.
After all, it's not any different than when we shared his coat in the woods.
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YAY! Two chapters in two days- do not expect this setup for a while yet (getting sewing machine back from "the doctor" tomorrow hopefully), but I'm stoked! :D (whispers- just don't look at my house ;)
A response to guest reviewer Marie: You're welcome :)
Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow- you guys are awesome! :D :D :D