Under normal circumstances, Beorn's homestead was actually quite pleasant. Fili, like most dwarves, was not a huge fan of large open plains and prairies, preferring the comfort of hard stone and rock but even he had to admit that normally the fields and scattered trees were quite a lovely sight. Right now though, he couldn't see anything except potential ambush sites, places where orcs or goblins might be lying in wait, places that were out of range of the safety of the company. He couldn't hear anything pleasant about the night, just foreboding growls, grunts and howls.

Wolves he had dealt with before, as had his brother. Truthfully, despite the dangers they could sometimes bring, both Kili and himself had a fondness for the furry beasts and had tried on more than one occasion to sneak one home. Had it just been Uncle Thorin home at the time, he was pretty sure they would have succeeded. Despite the harsh dwarf he presented himself as, Fili and Kili had grown up with quite a different dwarf. While hardly what one would call a pushover, Uncle Thorin could certainly be persuaded. Kili, being younger, one would think could win him over easily and while Kili had a talent for persuading Thorin on the short term, it was actually Fili who did most of the convincing for a lasting change. Like his uncle had often told him, he had a talent for politics and that included being a very convincing debater on him and his brother's behalf. He recalled quite vividly preaching about how the small white pup that Kili had stuffed into his bag could be trained for hunting and tracking and after all, had not dwarves utilized wolves as companion beasts before, to Thorin's small growing smile.

Mother's sudden return home had destroyed his fine work. Her huffing and shouting had led to only one conclusion and Kili had set the pup loose with an indignant cry of "But Uncle almost said yes!"

Thorin never confirmed or denied that accusation but the way he had smiled at Fili later and commented that he could "sell a sword to a handless warrior" had been telling enough to fill his chest with pride.

Kili even being allowed on this journey was due in no small part to him convincing his uncle of the skills and desire of the youngest Durin. Kili, while indeed full of spirit, had never been very good at conveying what benefits his energy, skill and enthusiasm could do and it had always ended up sounding like begging. Fili would always manage to translate that into something that would win over Thorin's protective nature. The older prince knew that while Thorin was quite proud of both of them, despite their less than stellar performance (in Fili's mind at any rate) on this adventure, he still could not dismiss years of bonding and that any attempts to draw them away from danger were the uncle trying to push through the king.

He knew it but that didn't make it easier.

And what would either of them think of you now? He argued at himself. The King would think you foolish and the Uncle would say you were paranoid and worried too much.

Shaking his head back and forth, he glanced back towards the small home of Beorn. Truly, this was ridiculous. He had seen Gandalf heal his Uncle, seen Thorin awake, though slowly and rise to his feet. He had seen him even give their burglar one of his rare but strong embraces. Thorin was well known for using other means to express emotion—gently clamping the shoulder, a nudge with the side of his head, a smile, a back slap. His hugs were to be cherished and you never forgot them. When he and Kili were younger, they used to love getting lost in them, burying their faces into his furs. On a special occasion, their uncle might even indulge them with a dwarven kiss, a gentle touch to the forehead with his own. Fili could count on one hand the number of times he had received that: when he had broken his leg while doing a foolish dare as a child and ended up trapped in a small pit before they could extract him, when he'd been very ill as a child, and when he'd received a harsh injury during training, a deep slash across the belly. Physical affection outside of family was so rare for Thorin. If he had bothered to do so then—

See? His inner voice snarled again as he made his way across the field. See? Something's wrong. Your Uncle is still hurt, he's still injured. He's probably bleeding and not telling anyone and when he finally collapses, Kili won't know what to do and he'll bleed out and die.

Okay, no, this was getting ridiculous. Shaking his head, slamming the heel of his hand into his temple, as if that would chase out the thoughts, Fili paused, again. He scolded himself. He was giving into ridiculous fears that had no basis in reality. He was meant to be a leader, a king one day. A king did not give into fear. A king would not be interfering when something was already handled. Thorin and Kili would settle the issues and return before long. Much as Thorin was hard headed and stubborn, his little brother had inherited that same fire and he could work through whatever emotions had finally sprung out of his heart. He was only going to be making things worse by barging into things as he was. The best course of action was to turn around and try to get some sleep before the night slipped away entirely.

Yes, yes, that was what a reasonable leader would do.

Pushing aside the few branches and maneuvering through the speckle of trees throughout the fields, it occurred to him, briefly, that his mind's rationalizations were being utterly ignored by his body. He pressed onward as if propelled by an inner force that simply would not relent. He argued against it, pushing every type of reason he could muster but that dream, that vision of his uncle lying limp in the eagle's talons, that pool of blood caking the furs and ground, he couldn't force that from his mind. He was suddenly wishing for a large mug of ale to force such thoughts from his mind but given he was out here and his heart seemed content to push onward despite his protests, he reluctantly caved.

He heard the whispered Khuzdul after a moment. Soft spoken and whispered but not out of shame. No, this was the tone he had not heard for years. He had never forgotten it though.

It was always spoken softly as it was meant only for one person. It was meant to be a private moment, one that was to be treasured and honored. It was rare for Uncle Thorin to engage in sweet nothings exchanged but it did happen. There were those, some in their Company, no doubt who would have laughed at such a concept. After all, Thorin was a warrior, a king and a leader. Typically, whisperings of heart-feelings were reserved for mothers to their young ones but Fili had grown up with his uncle's stern but gentle voice in his ear. He knew not to speak of it openly, as the appearance of a stoic leader was important but there was never any doubt that his uncle's love equally matched his mother's in passion.

All the same, to hear it now, his eyes watered slightly at it.

Following it, he kept his steps soft and quiet but his elder still heard him. It would have been a shock to him if he had not. While Thorin's eyes were not as strong as they had once been, which was something he and Kili tried to compensate for without stating that was what they were doing, his other senses were sharp as ever. He had grown into one of their best fighters for a reason and one of those reasons was his near god-like ability to know his surroundings. When Fili had been little, he remembered asking his uncle several times how he accomplished it and Thorin had only ever told him that life was the best trainer one could have.

There'd been such darkness in his eyes that the young prince had never asked again.

Now, rounding the corner of a large tree, he found what he had been seeking.

Sitting on the ground, Thorin had Kili nearly curled into his lap he was pressed so close and was stroking his hair, root to tip, whispering softly to him in Khuzdul. Kili's eyes were wet but he wasn't openly crying, at least not anymore. Fili could see the remains of the tear rivers on his face but he said nothing of it. Setting his sights on his uncle, he tried once more to convince his racing heart and all-together-too-active imagination that their fears had been for naught. After all, wasn't his uncle sitting there on the ground in front of him with nary a problem in sight? Not even any strain visible on his face. No blood, no sweat, nothing. He was fine. He was fine.

He's fine…

"Fili."

Head lifted at his uncle's firm call, he met the blue eyes of their family patriarch for a moment.

All those thoughts, those rationalizations died away and he swore he saw it all again: the fire, the sword swipe, the attack by the warg, the threat to take his uncle's head, all flashing before his eyes even as he stared into the very alive gaze of Thorin, sitting not even five feet away. They would not fade. They would not go away. Why were they not going away? He had killed in battle before and it had not hurt him this badly. He had wept and found himself shaking for a day or so but not like this. At least then, all he saw when he closed his eyes was what had happened. None of this things that had never happened nonsense replaying over and over like a sick theater performance.

"Fili. Come."

Thorin set a hand on the patch of ground on his other side. "Come," he said again.

Fili battled it within himself. He should not come. He should say that he did not mean to intrude and merely was checking on them. He should say that if they wished to return, their bedrolls were already laid out and a guard rotation established. He should say that he was merely keeping an eye on Kili and that…

Slumping against the nearby tree, Fili slid his boots into the dirt and slowly lowered to the ground on his uncle's free side. He didn't look at him. Much as he wanted to, much as he wanted to see, to reassure himself, yet again, that there was no blood flowing off his uncle's face, that his uncle's head was still firmly attached, that the teeth of that warg had not torn his ribs apart…he didn't trust himself to look. If he did so now, when they were not separated by distance, when he was within arms' reach, when he could feel the warmth of the dwarf who had been with him since the day he was born…

He wasn't sure he could maintain the dignity of an heir.

OOO

He felt like kicking himself.

He should have seen it. He should have seen the tenseness in Kili and the distance in Fili.

He should have heard the fear in Fili's tone and the horror in Kili's false laugh.

It was clear as day now that he had one of them on either side of him. The tears in Kili's eyes cut his heart and the unspoken fears in Fili's made him sick to his stomach. When had they stopped coming to him? When they were little, you could always find them, lingering around his legs. Had he distanced them so much on this quest that they could not come to him with their worries? He knew that both of them fretted far too much over what he thought of them, of how he appraised their skills. Kili would not want to worry him and Fili would put everyone else before himself, no matter what the damage to himself.

He should have expected as much. Fili was loyal, a type of loyalty that was hard to find and the kind that never faltered. As soon as Kili had snapped, he should have been calling to Fili to come with them because if Kili was snapping, then Fili was containing. It was a pattern as familiar as the sound of the lads' voices and yet he had not seen it. He had been completely blind to it. Thorin did not feel bad about his decisions very often, as you couldn't be second-guessing yourself as either a leader, a king or a warrior but he certainly felt the regret of THIS oversight.

Fili still hadn't looked up at him.

Shifting slightly and moving his hand free, Thorin reached out and gently laid his hand into his eldest sister-son's golden locks, gently rubbing them, as he had to the younger one. "Fili, look at me."

No words but a slight shake from side to side.

Thorin could count on one hand the times that Fili had refused to obey him. Even as a child, he was so obedient at times that it was frightening. The exiled king distinctly recalled, more than once, telling the boy to 'get in trouble, Mahal's sake!' Kili would naturally convince his sibling to take advantage of that and Thorin was never sure if he should praise or curse the mischief that followed. He tended to do both.

On this quest however, aside from the incident with the ponies, which he'd contributed to the simple impatience and boredom of youth more than anything, both his sister-sons had been strikingly mature, all things considered. They had a lot to learn but they had grown up knowing of the importance, the integrity of this mission. He had told a great many stories to them, a great many tales and songs. When the time had come, when the realization that they could reclaim their homeland was here, neither of them had been expected to come but they had both met him nearly with their bags already packed. They had yet to fail him since they left the Blue Mountains.

It appeared, however, that he had failed them. Perhaps not as a leader or a king but as family, as an uncle.

Had they been in the Blue Mountains, he would have seen it, heard it, felt it the moment they entered the room that the something was amiss. He and Dis were both experts at it. Now that he was not consumed with rage, with vengeance boiling his blood, it was like he had not noticed a bleeding gash down Fili's face. It was as if he had not noticed an infected wound in Kili's gut.

He had bound Kili's and while there was much left to be done, Fili needed him more right now.

He tightened his massage on the boy's head, while still keeping his other hand in Kili's (a technique mastered by years of practice encouraging frightened lads to dreams) and said softly.

"Look at me."

Grasping his nephew under the chin, he forced his head to turn, forced their eyes to meet and he intoned, in a gentle tone that he had been neglect to use for several years, "I know you hurt, do not lie to me. I will not have you suffer needlessly. Talk to me."

"I…Uncle, I am…" He began but it fell like ash in his mouth. Ash and fire. Blood and sweat. That battle, that laugh from that orc, that blade…

"Fili," Thorin hardened his tone, just a bit. His eldest nephew, by virtue of being the one burdened with responsibility, had always been harder to crack but if he did not, Thorin did not like the possibilities. The wildness he saw in Fili's eyes was barely contained. Just as Kili's had erupted in tears and shakes and screams, Fili's could not endure forever. Taking an inhale himself, he cast the King and Leader aside and was left with only Uncle Thorin. Leaning forward but not quite touching foreheads, he moved his hand from the chin to the hair again, brushing the braids back and saying, "Talk to me, targ mim."

Fili cracked.

Khuzdul Translations:

targ mim-"Little Beard" could also be translated as "Beardling"