Fili couldn't not respond.

That name…that damned nickname.

How old had he been when his uncle had last called him that? It had been when he had still been using a sparring sword, surely. Yes, it must have been. It was before he had graduated to a true sparring session, back when his little brother had sat on the sidelines, watching and cheering whenever he made a good move, not realizing that Mister Dwalin was not even breaking a sweat. As encouraging as it was to have your own personal cheering section, Fili had found it distracting as well. He had let his head swell for it. Thought he was hot stuff until his Uncle decided to make a point and had landed him on his back in less than a minute.

Yes, that was the last time he had heard that nickname. His uncle had offered him a hand up after a moment and told him to 'mind your arrogance, targ mim.' As weird as it might have been, that nickname, combined with being floored like an amateur had torn havoc on his pride. With a scowl truly worthy of the Durin line, he had pushed his Uncle's hand away and declared 'I can get up on my own, Uncle. And don't call me that! I'm not a baby.' Thinking back on it years later, he could recall a small glimmer of pain in his elder's eyes but Thorin, as was his way, had obliged the request.

It had not taken long after for Kili to insist that Thorin not use any nicknames with him either. As it had always been with Kili. Whatever Fili did, his little brother was quick to follow.

Now, one might not think that to be such a big deal. However, while Thorin would rarely use nicknames among the people of Ered Luin, within the privacy of their halls with their mother, it was an entirely different story. This mother had never been shy about bestowing physical affection on them but such things had never come easy for Thorin. Dis had explained to Fili once, when he had asked, that it all centered on the fact that being the heir to the throne meant you had to keep up appearances more than your siblings. While Dis and Frerin had grown used to hugs and strokes to the head from their father, Prince Thrain had never done much of it with Thorin. Not out of lack of love but because of the necessity and importance of their status. So, it was not out of lack of love that their uncle did not bestow them with the same hugs that their mother did.

Fili, upon receiving this information, had taken it upon himself to 'teach' their uncle how to be more comfortable with physical signs of affection. He would nearly throttle the dwarf's leg and when he grew tall enough, he would throw his arms about the elder's neck and squeeze as tight as he could. Thorin grew accustomed to it and when Kili began to mimic his older brother, the old warrior dwarf even found himself looking forward to their hugs and hair pulling and grins. He struggled so with returning them but he tried. It took years but eventually, at least within the privacy of their own home, the exiled king would rejoice in the sharing of hugs and close embraces, though such were still rare as golden ore. As he was learning, ever so slowly, he desired to show his sister-sons that he truly did care for them, though he struggled to show it.

His affection came in the form of names.

Dis came to tease that if the boys had been much younger, they would have thought themselves to be blessed with multiple names like the legends of old. Upon Fili, Thorin would bestow 'little king' 'golden fighter' 'fierce little boar' 'mighty little pebble' and 'beardling' which was the favorite. Kili was just as receptive to the names of the heart, finding himself to be known as 'little prince' 'quick little snake' 'little rabbit' 'tiny gem' and 'my little raven' which was one Thorin used most often. Eventually, Thorin was even comfortable enough with some of the names to use them around Dwalin.

Until Fili had asked him to stop.

Maybe those memories, those regrets, were what made Fili's mind freeze as he stared at his uncle. Memories of a simpler time, when he would finish training with a frustrated blush to his cheeks, tears in his eyes and Thorin would give him a gentle smile and stroke his hair. So many memories. Thorin had been a solid fixture in his life, even before the untimely death of his father. Before Kili had been born, his memories were murky, being as young as he was but he still remembered Thorin always being there. He could not remember any specifics but he knew the feeling of security that was Thorin. It was solid as the foundation of the mountains.

Yet this Azog…he'd nearly taken that away.

"He was going to kill you." Fili's voice didn't really sound like his own, at least according to his ears. He was supposed to be strong, firm and noble, all the things that his uncle had taught him. Instead, it felt broken, quivering. It was as if all his years of practice and training had been stripped away and he was once again a young boy on his first sparring session, petrified of what was to come. "He was going to kill you." Fili didn't think he could say much else but it was only proper that he should try. His uncle's blue eyes were serving as the only thing real right now. "He was going to kill you and I did nothing."

That was perhaps the worst part of it. By all accounts, he should have been rushing Azog before Thorin ever fell. He should have been charging forward, swords drawn and singing for blood.

He hadn't.

"I just stood there, like stupid, frightened child." Hands fisted into the fabric of his pants, Fili turned his eyes away, though his uncle's hand still stayed firm on his chin. "I should have charged, I should have rushed him without another moment's delay. I should have been threatening to take HIS head, not him to yours!"

"Fili—"

"I have no excuse," The young prince continued without pause, though he kept his eyes diverted away. "You trained me to be strong, to be brave. We were supposed to be fighting by your side, not hiding like a bunch of frightened children." Bring me the dwarf's head, that's what that accursed orc had said and he had only felt raw fear and ice coldness in his veins. He should have been on fire with rage, he should have been a blazing fury of sword, knife and fist. "I failed. I failed you, I failed the company, I failed my brother. I failed our line."

"Nonsense." Thorin's tone was gentle but sharp. "Look at me, Fili."

Reluctantly, he obeyed. "I know you wanted revenge, Uncle. I also know you were trying to buy us time." He shook his head "I should have…"

"He was being an idiot." Kili cut in, from his slumped form next to Thorin's side. "He never shoulda run after the stupid orc. Not then. He coulda been killed. We just had to wait…"

"Wait for what, Kili?" The golden haired prince had the appearance of formality, calmness but the tremor of his voice gave it away, as did the shaking of his shoulders when he spoke. "Yes, Gandalf summoned the Eagles but unless you were keeping secrets from me…did we know that then?" He certainly had not. "Did we know then that Gandalf had a way for us to get away?"

Kili froze, paused, considered. Truthfully, so much had happened at once, so much panic and fear, that he really had a hard time what order it even occurred in. It seemed to all flow together like a mash of emotion. "I…" When HAD he realized Gandalf had summoned the Eagles? It must have been before but yet, he could only remember horror at what his uncle had been doing. He really didn't remember much else, he wasn't really sure there had BEEN anything else. Just pain, fear, loneliness, anguish, guilt but mostly fear, terror.

"Uncle was trying to give us a chance!" Fili cried in protest. He felt like his nerves were on hair trigger. He knew that his uncle was prideful but he also knew that the dwarf never would have charged alone without a reason. He had been trying to give them a fighting chance, though Mahal as his witness, he should have ignored it and charged after him. He should have! He should have charged or sent Kili away or screamed in protest or something. Something. That was the root of it. He should have done SOMETHING!

"A chance for what? Where was there to go?! He coulda died and we would have still been stuck in those trees and then everyone woulda died and if we're going to die, I want us to die together—" Kili's tone was breaking, choking up.

"Enough!" Thorin's voice rang sharp, strong and loud enough for the few birds to scramble away. "Itkitî!"

Fili went quiet.

Kili dropped his head and leaned into his uncle's grip again.

"Both of you. I want you to heed me well. I will not deny that I made mistakes. I have in the past and I shall in the future, just as you have and just as you will." He eyed Kili. "I was acting more emotional than rational when I charged Azog even if I had the intentions that your brother said." Shifting his gaze to Fili, he stated, "You're a smart lad. So, that should make this simple…you did nothing wrong—"

"Because I did nothing." Fili interrupted.

"Listen." Thorin spoke firmly. "I do not blame you for any of this. Freezing as you did…I did the same in my first battle."

"But this wasn't my first." The Prince of Erebor protested. "We'd been fighting before and I never froze, not like that. Yet, when it came to the most important battle, I was utterly useless." Fili's face flushed in frustration. "I should have acted. You and Dwalin trained me to respond and I failed." Wind lost from his sails, he slumped and this time he accepted the embrace of his elder as he pulled him tight into his side. "I failed."

"Nay." Thorin insisted again. "Seeing someone you love in danger, seeing someone you care about walking to a horrific opponent, an opponent that has only been fed by nighttime tales and legends, the heart will freeze, it does not know what to do and if the mind cannot be guided by the heart, we will go still as shadow." He eyed his heir intensely. "I should have thought about how you two would react. That was my error." It was a rare thing to hear an apology or admission of wrong-doing from Thorin Oakenshield but the older dwarf could not see anything other way to describe such things. If he was intent on attacking Azog, he should have told Dwalin to avert his sister-sons' attention, to usher them towards safety. Something. "What is done is done and I shall hear no more cursing of yourself on the matter. Am I clear?"

Fili set eyes upon his uncle and he saw nothing but compassion in sight. There was no anger or disappointment and yet his heart was not settled. As he lay his head against his uncle's shsoulder again, he found his thoughts drifting back and all he could hear was 'bring me the dwarf's head' over and over. The scent of his uncle was helping and when Thorin's free hand settled into his own hair, all his energy shifted to focus on that. The familiar stroke and feel of those thick calloused fingers was settling, at least somewhat. He did not feel like he was drifting in the pain of the previous night any longer. While hardly what he wanted to feel (he wanted all this pain and fear to wash away) it was settling his shaking body.

"The battle still haunts your sight behind your eyes."

Thorin's inquiry was more a statement than a question and Fili nodded slightly against the shoulder of his elder. "I have tried not to linger on it. Like you've taught me. We only seek out lessons in our battles because to dwell on them will drive us mad." Squezzing his eyes tightly shut, the Prince confessed "But the sight will not go away. The chants will not go away." He accepted the tight grip on his hand from Kili though his younger brother stayed silent. "I am far too old to be fearful of sleep and yet I am. I see it…hear it when I am awake so what shall I drift into if I go into sleep?"

A heavy sigh left Thorin's chest and the Dwarf King asked, soft as a whisper of wind, "Do you think my dreams are not haunted? Do you think that I, having seen more battles than days of life you lay claim to, am never fearful of the images that night will paint?"

Fili went quiet. "No. But you never fall under their weight."

For a moment, Thorin was quiet then said "Because I have two sister-sons and a sister that help me to hold the load." Digging his fingers into the blond braids, Thorin gently rubbed the tresses, saying "I have learned over time to harbor the pains but they are still there." He considered, thinking a long moment then asked "Kili has told me the pains that lay on his heart. Tell me what thoughts plague you." He gave Kili a soft half smile and the younger dwarf may or may not have nuzzled a little closer into his uncle's chest though his tongue kept still.

"You bleeding." Fili convinced his tongue to cooperate. "You bleeding out and I can only stand and watch. You losing your head to that…that…" he murmured an unpleasant term in Khuzdul, "and he gloats over it." Fili shifted, suddenly uncomfortable looked up into his uncle's eyes. "You were bleeding. I've never seen you bleed like that, Uncle. I…I'm no fool. I know battles and wounds and gashes and cuts bring blood but I've never seen it like that. And you did not answer me or Kili when we called to you. You looked gone in that eagle's talon. Like…like you had already passed to Mahal's presence."

Fili shuddered, wrapped his arms tight about his shoulders to try and stay their trembling. "I cannot take that image away. Even after you and Kili left, all I could see and think of was that you were bleeding out somewhere and I was just sitting here, letting it happen. I know Gandalf healed you but…but I keep wondering if it was wrong, if it was complete, if I am going to wake up and find you gone." Tears in his eyes that he refused to let fall, the golden haired boy (for he truly was still more boy than adult) "Heir to you I may be but I have no desire to utilize that role until you are too old to move and your beard trails the floor with silver."

Kili nodded in agreement with his brother though he said nothing.

The elder heir clarified "That is what I see, Thorin…Uncle. You dying, over and over from wounds that will not stop bleeding."

OOO

Thorin held the silence of the world for a long time after Fili's confession. It rang of reflections of Kili's. Fear for him, fear for his life. He should not have been surprised. His little ones, they had always been the most loyal of dwarves even before they could lift a sparring sword. Fili had shown no fear as a youngling, shouting curses at any that would speak ill against him. The fear of losing him, Thorin was both touched and troubled by it. He saw the fear that kept his eldest heir adrift and much as he longed to anchor him, he could not take away the facts of a conflict.

It was the way of battle but he knew all too well the horror of finding a loved one with the blood drained from them and their eyes empty. The look on Frerin's face would never truly leave his memory. The idea of his sister-sons, his Fili and his Kili, having a similar image forged into their minds turned his stomach. He would not wish such a fate on his worst enemy, let along the two dwarves who had laid a claim to his heart a long time ago with childish grins and giggles of youth. He still saw those faces, youthful and innocent, reflected in these strong fighters who sat by his side.

He admitted that he had faint memories of the end of the conflict with Azog and awaking with Gandalf and the Eagles. Hearing the account, from both his sister-sons, only painted a clear picture of how horrific he must have appeared. He knew his nephews had an idolizing view of him and that while many things had served to rationalize it, this was a horrific blow to them. He was strong and had always served as their protector, staking such a claim on his dying breath. It was a blow to the spirit to have that image shattered, even if it was inevitable.

Now, the wounds he had suffered haunted their minds. Fili, like his brother, would not anchor and his heart drifted.

Frowning, jaw clenched tight in thought, the Dwarf King very suddenly pushed his sister-sons away.

Kili blinked "Uncle?"

Thorin gave him no reply. He simply cast aside his large coat, tossing it to the ground. He wrestled with the leather and chainmail, slipping it off down to the dark navy undershirt. Without another word as explanation, he unbound the ties that held the tunic shut and shrugged it off, baring his chest.

There were scars and there would be for some time but they were closed.

Reaching out, Thorin took Fili's hand in one of his and Kili's in the other. "We are creatures of touch, as Mahal as deemed us. So, dear sister-sons, touch and anchor your hearts that I am injured but whole. I shall not be bleeding out on you this eve nor any coming hereafter."

It may have appeared odd to any other race but among the people of Mahal, it was utterly understandable.

Fili let his fingers brush over the bite marks from the warg and while it was jagged and coarse, it was closed. It was sealed. There was dried blood and it was fresh but it was dried. It was clotted and bound and the remaining life blood in his uncle would continue to circulate as it should and not spill out onto the broken ground. He would not leave.

The images in his mind became just that-images.

Kili's hands trembled, fearful of causing pain as they caressed over the crusted gashes. It was another thing entirely to see and feel them up close. They would scar, he could sense it through his fingertips. It would always be a dip in flesh, a change in tone. But the skin was stitched and whole once more. It would not break apart to cast his uncle into Mahal's domain.

The fear that pumped in his veins ran cold then eased and dissipated.

The hearts of the two heirs to Erebor slowed, calmed, as they took in wound after wound, satisfying their minds that yes, as horrible as the bleeding and as gruesome as the attack had been, it was over and done and their uncle was whole. He was sitting before them, with a beating heart and thumping lungs.

Thorin gave them a moment then took each of their hands and lay it over his chest, above his heart. "Are you satisfied that I am well?"

With the reassuring pump against their fingertips, first a golden head then a dark haired one, nodded. "Yes, Uncle."

"Good." Leaning forward, Thorin lay a hand behind each of their heads and gently brushed foreheads with them each in turn "Targ mim, kurkarukê. I am not going anywhere."

Notes: Khuzdul Translations: itkitî —Be silent!(plural)
Targ mim-Little Beard/Beardling
Kurkarukê-my tiny raven