25 October TA 2942
Thorin stopped dead in his tracks. What in Durin's name…? With wide eyes, he stared at green wreaths lining the hallway outside his door. Big, red bows adorned each, and their bodies were laden with everything from dried flowers to nuts, and glass beads to lace. The sharp, fresh scent of evergreen filled the air, a not-unpleasant smell by any means, but as Thorin's slow walk resumed, then accelerated, dread and anger surged to life.
What are they thinking? Had the brownies not understood him? Had Angelica lied about their dedication?
He rounded the corner at a jog, determined to assess the extent of the damage done, only to draw to a halt in the doorway of Bombur's dining hall. There sat Bofur, an outlandishly altered form of his habitual hat upon his head. Red, it was, with fuzzy white trim and matching white puffs affixed to each winged tip.
"And a merry morning to you, Thorin," Bofur greeted with a wide grin, lifting his mug in a salute. Others throughout the hall did likewise, and Thorin was aghast to see a handful of miners at their favored table wearing hats of the same coloring as Bofur's, though the miners' hats were in a style more akin to something Gandalf would wear. Many toothy smiles were framed by white-matted beards, announcing that whatever it was they drank, it was not water, tea, or ale this morn.
Chin lowered and eyes hooded, Thorin made his way to Bofur's side and fell onto the bench beside him. "Mahal."
Keen brown-green eyes met his own, somber beneath the air of jocularity. Bofur snatched a pitcher from the center of the table and poured him a mug of something white and creamy.
"Milk?" Thorin asked with disdain as he accepted the cup. Was that what the miners had been drinking? It boggled the mind. Milk was for the invalid or dwarflings. He stared at the toymaker.
"Eggnog," Bofur corrected with a waggle of the brows. "And don't be asking me where Bombur came up with this, for he's not telling." Bofur sipped his own mug. "Grows on you, this nog of his, though."
Thorin tentatively sampled his own offering, brows lifting at the flavorful swallow of cream, nutmeg and bourbon. Despite himself, Thorin's lips twitched. No wonder the beverage seemed popular. What dwarf wouldn't be won over by a splash of bourbon?
Before he could broach the topic foremost upon his mind, his friend said, "The decorations are a nice bit, too, I'll warrant." As Thorin stiffened, Bofur pointed at him with his mug. "It's for Bilbo."
That quite literally stole Thorin's thunder. "Bilbo?"
Bofur nodded, taking another sip from his mug. "Our hobbit's been homesick. Aye, and I'm sure you've noticed."
Thorin rubbed his brow. Why Bilbo stayed, he didn't know. Bilbo did not speak iglishmêk or Khuzdul, and there was no safe way to ask in Common. The hobbit was always welcome in his Halls – Thorin wouldn't deny him if Bilbo longed to settled in Erebor permanently – but the entire Company knew how Bilbo longed for Bag End. "Whose idea was this?" he asked.
"That would be our Kíli."
"Kíli?" Thorin's brows rose in surprise.
"Aye." Bofur's lips quirked. "Lad's been busy. I'm guessing he wanted to surprise Bilbo, because I heard not a word of this being in the works. Nary one rumor. He must have hand-picked his assistants well."
Or, Thorin thought, his enterprising nephew had figured out that the brownies hadn't departed and managed to recruit them to his cause. He drummed the fingers of one hand upon the wood tabletop. Three years to go. Three years and all the secrecy could be set aside at last. "Perhaps," he said, "it's time I have a chat with Kíli." Little did he want to broach the subject, but Thorin needed to know if the brownies had disobeyed him.
"Talking again, are you?" Bofur asked around a wicked grin.
Thorin scowled, not deigning to dignify that with a response. Since he'd ordered the brownies into hiding, relations had been strained between himself and his youngest nephew. The lad refused to see sense. But by Durin, he'd never expected Kíli to prove so unyielding on the matter. He missed Kíli's cheer.
"I'd ask you to think long and hard before you chastise him, Thorin," Bofur said in a casual voice, his hatted head tilted as he looked elsewhere.
Thorin followed Bofur's gaze. Smiles. Laughter. Mahal. He rubbed his face with his free hand. How long had it been since he'd seen such excitement upon his people's faces? Thorin gestured to the room around them with the index finger of the hand holding his mug. "You know why this is a bad idea."
Bofur sipped his eggnog before answering. "Aye, I know what it is you fear, and I'm appreciating your intentions." Bofur turned sideways in his seat, body facing Thorin. "But our twins would not wish you to hobble our people, Thorin. They'd never wish the dread and apathy claiming these Halls to win. This plan of Kíli's? It's long since needed."
"Needed?" Thorin asked, tapping fingers upon smooth sides of his mug. "Wreaths and bows?"
"It's called fun, Thorin. You should try it sometime." The twinkle in Bofur's eye informed Thorin he was being teased, not a shocking thing from this particular dwarf. "Fun," Bofur repeated, his gaze turning to the room's other occupants. "'tis not so frightening." Then more seriously, "I'd be speaking up if I saw danger in it."
Thorin's hand tightened about his mug. He took a swig of creamy eggnog, jaw tight. He'd expected Bofur to be the one who most understood his actions. Looking into Bofur's eyes, the doubts Thorin had been fighting since that fateful night when he'd ordered the brownies to disappear returned.
Bofur tugged upon one earlobe as he folded the other arm upon the table's surface. "As you track down your nephew, be keeping your eyes open. Kíli has done much to aid his people this day. If you listen and watch, you'll not fail to see it."
Thorin inclined his head. Mayhap Bofur had the right of it. A sudden decision. It was past time to mend things with Kíli. He'd round up his nephew – perhaps both nephews for the sake of peace – and have them at his table for dinner this night. It had been far too long since the three had done so with no one else present. And as Bofur had suggested, he'd do some listening before he confronted Kíli about the decorations.
Another bob of the head, this one more decisive. Setting down his mug, Thorin exited the dining hall in search of his youngest nephew.
OoOoOo
The moment Thorin's footsteps faded down the hallway, Kíli smirked and hefted the crate of decorations he'd saved especially for his uncle's quarters. Balancing it upon one arm, he opened his door and tiptoed to the opposite direction, shooting wary glances over his shoulder.
At his uncle's door, he nodded to the guard on duty.
"Morning, Prince," the warrior greeted, opening the door for him. Grizzled brows climbed as the guard got a look at Kíli's burden. "Ye sure that's a good idea?"
Kíli beamed at him, seizing the opportunity to spread the tale he'd told dozens of dwarves earlier that morning. "I'm sure you've noticed the decorations by now."
"Aye, hard to miss," the warrior said, one hand upon the pommel of his mace while the other scratched at his nose. "But the king, laddie…"
I'll drag you into this, Uncle, if I must do so with you kicking and screaming all the while. Kíli's grin turned razor-sharp. Leaning close conspiratorially, he said, "This was all Thorin's idea." As the guard's eyes rounded, Kíli nodded his head somberly. "I think he's attempting to place the credit elsewhere. Bashful about this entire business for some reason." A significant look. "But he was adamant we celebrate Yule for his friend, Bilbo. You have met Bilbo, yes?"
"Oh, aye, I've seen the hobbit about," the guard ventured.
Seen the hobbit about? It was time his people appreciated Bilbo, too, Kíli grumbled to himself. With a smile, he said, "Erebor would not have been won without him, though Bilbo is too shy to say as much. But seeing as he's missing his home, the king thought it a grand idea for us all to celebrate Yule together. It is from the Shire, you know."
"Is that a fact?" The warrior's bushy brows rose again. His whistled low. "I'd heard about the halfling's contribution—"
"Contribution?" Kíli interrupted with a dismissive laugh. "Couldn't have done it without him, let me tell you." Then without beating an eye, he added, *And Thorin thought maybe we could lure our Helpers back at the same time.*
The guard stiffened and looked both ways furtively before responding. *How might that be?*
"All Fool's was their idea," Kíli whispered, nodding when the dwarf reacted with surprise. "I think they wished us more happiness, and when we didn't follow up on that…?" He shrugged his shoulders.
The guard stroked his beard, then signed, *Will he seek them if they fail to return?*
Unlikely. Not unless Kíli's arm-twisting was successful. But he plastered another bright smile upon his face. "I believe so." Kíli clapped him on the arm.
"Yule, eh?" the guard asked as if chewing upon the word. His green eyes drifted to Kíli's crate. "Ye need help with this, then?"
And let his uncle's displeasure fall upon this guard? "No, I'd like to see to it myself." Make certain it's as overdone as one of Bofur's charred biscuits.
Not a second later, the youngest of the line of Durin plunked his crate down in the center of Thorin's main room. A grin dancing about his lips, he pulled out beribboned garlands and began to decorate.
OoOoOo
Clove snickered behind one hand as Kíli set to work. She was tempted to assist him, but from the look upon his face, Kíli was determined to do this on his own. He was going to confront his uncle, of that she was certain.
How they owed this prince. She patted his shoulder, pleased to see his grin flash in return, and set about changing the linens upon Thorin's bed. Red sheets. Perfect to liven things up, she thought with another, silent chortle.
OoOoOo
An hour passed. Then two.
But Kíli, Thorin found, was not easily located this day. Guards directed Thorin from one corner of Erebor to another, and at each location, Thorin was informed Kíli had been there much earlier in the morning.
Like chasing a ghost. Aggravating, without doubt, but worse, as he accepted his people's hails and listened to their conversations, his temper climbed to realize the decorations, Yule – all of it – was attributed to him. Eru help him. His dwarves were convinced this meant he intended to locate their Helpers, too.
Do I have you to thank for this, my sister-son? A tic claimed his left eye and the vein in his right temple pulsated. He longed to roar in frustration, but how could he when his people looked upon him with gratitude and thanked him, telling each other what a wise king they had.
"Aye, we have a true Durin on the throne now."
*Do ye think yer plan will work, my king? Will our Helpers return?*
"'tis not often a king minds his people so well."
*Do ye plan to search for our Helpers now?*
On and on, the comments flowed, fraying his patience until his jaw ached from biting back angry words. He could not utter a one of them, not when facing the new spark on visages that had too often been resigned and apathetic of late. The Ringwraiths were having their effect as Angelica had warned. He'd not realized how bad it had become until today as it lifted.
OoOoOo
"What's this?"
Tíra beamed up at Prince Kíli's entrance, butterflies filling her belly as she lifted her hand to show him her project. She'd been sitting on a cushion upon the floor all day with a squat crafting table before her. The object in her hand was a simple enough thing, a crystal pendant that unscrewed at the top to allow one to fill it with things they cherished. Each was uniquely filed and sanded to a fantastical, whimsical form suitable to a dwarrowmaid's tastes. "Pepper told us how scents that bring back good memories can counter the fear that has attacked many," she said. "These are for the females in the mountain."
Kíli lifted it from her hand for a closer inspection, a pleased smile on his face. "Good idea. Something they can carry with them at all times."
Tíra shrugged. "My dam's idea," she admitted. "We want to do the same for the men, too, but somehow I don't think many will want to wear something so feminine."
Kíli squatted beside her, dangling the chain between two fingers for her to reclaim. She blushed as their fingers met. "If it's scents we are after," he said, "a simple leather sachet on a cord would suffice."
Tíra scrunched her nose in thought. "You're right. Simple." Then smiling up at him, "Know any leatherworkers who might be up to the task? We want them to be unique, all of them."
He tweaked her nose. "As it happens, I do."
A thought. "Did you do it?" At his curious look, she added, "Decorate your uncle's quarters?"
He pressed one finger to his lips with a wink.
Tíra could not rip her eyes from the door long after he left. Then, fanning herself, she decided unequivocally - Kíli could charm a dragon from its hoard. One side of her mouth hiked upwards. If Smaug had been female, he'd have had her eating out of the palm of his hands in five minutes flat.
OoOoOo
Fíli walked down hallways, his pace slow and brow creased in thought. He smiled at each greeting and watched with care every nuance on people's faces and postures. Overnight, Erebor had changed. Conversations sprang up where the day before guards had stood watch in stony silence. There was laughter. Erebor was embracing Yule wholeheartedly, and its people were all the better for it.
There were more fingers flying about the brownies than he'd seen in months, too. Time would tell, but he dared to hope this change might get through to Thorin. If his uncle would but ease up on his restrictions a bit, all would benefit. Like Thorin, Fíli wanted to be absolutely sure the Nine never got wind of their Faerie denizens, but Fíli also wanted more access to his own brownie. He'd take what he could get and be thankful for it, but he hungered for the simple luxury of a quiet talk. The night before, his lady had set her hand on his, and it had been all he could do not to haul her into his arms. He wanted the freedom—
"Fíli!"
At his brother's voice, Fíli halted and twisted about, lips twitching. "Why did you not tell me?" he demanded with a smile as Kíli jogged to his side.
"Tell you?"
Fíli was not buying that innocent look. Not at all. He lifted one brow. "Yule?"
Kíli shrugged one shoulder, his jaw suddenly tight. "With everyone else so steeped in secrets, I thought it only fitting I have one as well."
As Aleks was wont to say, Hold up. Fíli stopped, hand reaching for his brother's arm. "Secrets?" What he read in his brother's dark eyes told him this was no joking matter. Kíli knew something. What? Faerie? The Nazgûl? This wasn't about Fíli hiding a budding romance from him. It was far more serious.
But then Kíli shrugged with a bright smile, "So what do you think?"
Truthfully? Fíli thought his brother had stumbled upon knowledge Thorin and Radagast had forbidden him and now suffered at the lack of trust displayed, but Fíli could not speak such words. Not directly. "I think you are a genius. If you need my help, you've but to say the word." As Kíli ascertained the sincerity of his words, his brother's cheeks reddened. "And," Fíli said softly, "our uncle is a mithril-headed fool not to heed you." He waited for and held Kíli's gaze as it snapped back to him.
Brother stared at brother and a host of silent messages streamed between them. Fíli hoped Kíli would read his faith in him, and at last, Kíli inclined his head, his taut stance relaxing.
"I also think someone has been avoiding him today," Fíli added.
Kíli threw him a lop-sided grin. "Who could that be?"
A short look.
Kíli shook his head, his grin dimming. "Not avoiding." More seriously, "Working."
"Working?" Fíli asked, hands clasped behind his back. "Dare I ask what else you have up your sleeve?"
His brother gave him an enigmatic smile in return. Fíli was none-too reassured when his brother winked, clapped him on the shoulder, and departed. All without answering his question.
OoOoOo
By the end of the day, Thorin could well have torn his beard out in frustration. By Mahal, when had his nephew become as elusive as a brownie? He opened his door with more force than needed but then paused upon his threshold. The temper that had begun to subside flamed anew, and the infernal tic once more twitched his eye as he stalked forward. Garlands and wreaths adorned his walls, many bearing the weight of small glass bulbs in his family's colors of blue and mithril-silver. The comfortable cushions that had softened his chairs now sported fabric of green embellished with…
He bent at the waist for a closer look, and his jaw unhinged. Were those…elves…on his pillows? Thorin picked one up, incredulous, then with an aborted growl, he hurled it across the room.
It was plain. He'd lost control of the situation.
Raking a hand through his hair, he made his way to the table. A warm fire snapped within the hearth beyond it, and the scent of evergreen tickled his nose with every whiff. The table had been set with two plates, a platter of rich meats and cheeses, and a pitcher of his favored malt beer.
Was all of this some kind of joke? Had the brownies…?
A knock preceded his nephew's arrival. Kíli. Thorin's brows rose. Kíli had not willingly sought him out since March.
Mahal. He'd had little peace since the night he'd informed the brownie, Angelica, of his will. Not from without, and not from within. With Kíli for company, it was unlikely that would change this night.
Thorin crossed arms before his chest. "You have some explaining to do."
Kíli never paused. His nephew smiled at him politely, claimed a plate, and began to fill it with choice cuts of meat and cheese. "Is that so?"
The tic returned anew. By Durin, did the lad not understand…? "Aye, it is so," he said ominously. "What right did you have?"
Kíli straightened. "Decorating?"
"Using my name," Thorin thundered. He waved one arm. "The entire mountain believes me responsible for—"
"You're welcome."
"Excuse me?"
"I said you are welcome," Kíli said in a calm voice that only made Thorin growl low in his throat. "This was needed, Uncle. Our people are hurting. When I heard of Bilbo's Yule, it seemed the right thing to do."
Thorin's anger developed a leak. He rubbed his face – it seemed to be all he'd done this day. It could be innocent. The entire situation could be just as Kíli claimed. Thorin could not ask if Kíli had recruited the brownies, for Kíli was not supposed to know they yet dwelled within the mountain. Should Kíli remain ignorant, Thorin preferred to leave things be.
Tied by my own secrets, he thought sourly.
That was when his sister-son claimed a seat, poured himself a glass of malt beer, and smirked up at him. Thorin must have stared, nonplussed, at his nephew too long, for the next words from Kíli's mouth were, "The great Thorin Oakenshield, afraid to dine with his nephew?"
OoOoOo
His mother was right.
Kíli was grateful he'd sought her advice before confronting Thorin. Looking into his uncle's tired face, Kíli felt the resentment and anger he'd harbored for months subside. Though his bearing was one of pride, Thorin looked like he'd had no restful sleep in far too long. And while a part of Kíli thought it appropriate, he was grudgingly moved to sympathy.
His uncle stared at him for a moment. Trying to figure out what prompted my change of heart, Kíli supposed. Good luck with that, Kíli thought. He was not a Durin for nothing.
At last, Thorin snorted, then laughed outright, the sound more burdened than Kíli had anticipated. "Dare I ask what I did to merit this honor?" Thorin asked him.
Kíli decided not to broach any topic of contention between them. Not yet. Instead, he turned guileless eyes upon his uncle. "Do I need a reason?"
Thorin dropped into the chair opposite him and claimed the pitcher with a short, possessive frown Kíli's way. By the aroma wafting from Kíli's glass, the pitcher contained Thorin's favorite, a beverage he was loathe to share. Amad's doing, Kíli thought, for he'd asked her to arrange this dinner.
"No," Thorin answered in a gruff voice. Then voice softening, "You never need reason to seek me out, Kíli."
Lifting his eyes to his uncle's, Kíli's chest tightened at the emotion openly displayed there. "Uncle…" He knew not what to say. He'd missed this, spending time with the dwarf who stood as a father to him.
Then Thorin wiped a hand down his face. "What have you done, Kíli?" Thorin's hand dropped to the table. "And why have you done this?" Thorin's fingers moved. *The Helpers, Kíli.*
So, the heart of the matter was laid bare between them. With elbows planted on the table, Kíli leaned forward. Perhaps this time Thorin would hear him. "You always taught me to do what I believed right." His uncle's face transitioned through a series of expressions, but before he could respond, Kíli added carefully, "Our friends are missed. Can you not understand what that is doing to our people?"
Based upon the flash of irritation across his face, his uncle did not like his words. Thorin took a drink of his malt beer, plainly delaying his answer. It was an encouraging sign in Kíli's eyes, for he'd expected his uncle to lay into him for his presumptuous acts this day. Setting down his stein, Thorin leaned back in his seat with a sigh. "When did I lose your trust?"
Kíli straightened. "This is not a matter of—"
"Is it not?" Thorin asked. His uncle studied him from beneath his brows as he settled one elbow on the arm of his chair, his chin dipping to rest upon his fist.
"Uncle," Kíli said. "I think the world of you. I always have."
Thorin's chin left its perch, and his hand reached across the table to touch Kíli's arm. "I have missed you," he said in a rough voice, and Kíli's chest once again tightened with emotion. Mahal, but Thorin had to make this harder, didn't he? A small flicker of amusement eased the pressure in Kíli's chest and throat.
"Why do you not trust me in this?" Thorin asked.
OoOoOo
Thorin waited, eyes intent upon every expression to cross his nephew's face. (Was that amusement sparking behind Kíli's brown eyes? Mahal. Likely, he grumbled to himself.) Kíli drummed his fingers upon the arms of his chair, head dipped.
He's grown, Thorin thought. Kíli was no longer the young dwarf who had insisted on a place beside him in the quest to reclaim their home.
At last, Kíli's eyes lifted, and Thorin steeled himself for the argument he knew was coming. "Why do you trust the rest of your people so little?"
Thorin's hand fisted upon the table, but he refused to let anger rule. "You have not all the facts."
"And whose fault is that?" Kíli snapped. His nephew stood, the chair scraping upon the ground as he shoved it from his path. He paced, body coiled with tension. No, he's not our dwarfling anymore. A bittersweet realization.
Thorin half-expected Kíli to storm from his quarters, but his nephew surprised him. With a determined look upon his face, Kíli reclaimed his seat. "I would aid you if you would but trust me." When Thorin failed to respond, disappointment crossed Kíli's face.
You are trusted, Sister-son. Words Thorin dared not voice, for he could not share with Kíli his reasons. But his heart ached at the pain he saw in Kíli's dark eyes.
Kíli sighed. "I don't wish to argue with you anymore."
"Then don't."
A disgruntled look flicked Thorin's way as Kíli added cheese slices to his plate. "I suggest a truce."
Truly? Thorin felt a burden slide from his shoulders. "A truce?" he asked in a mild tone of voice as he filled his own plate, selecting the spiced meats that pleased him best.
"Aye. You do know what that means, yes?" A glint in Kíli's eyes told Thorin he was once more being teased.
"I seem to recall the term," Thorin granted. Lips trembling with suppressed mirth, he added, "Though it's never been a word of which I've been fond. What dwarf turns away from a good fight?"
A hunk of Kíli's bread sailed through the air and hit him in the face. Thorin met Kíli's look of challenge. Irreverent dwarf. By Mahal, he had missed him. A laugh broke free of Thorin's constraint as he launched his own volley in return. Then another. In no time at all, the two were flinging bread across the table at each other and laughing hard enough that tears streamed down their bearded cheeks.
OoOoOo
That night marked the beginning. Thorin knew something had changed.
October ended, and November arrived. Day after day, as new touches were added to Erebor's Yule celebration – an event Bilbo had told him would not conclude until the end of the year as counted by hobbits – Thorin felt the effects of Kíli's actions ripple throughout the mountain…and himself. The Hall of the Forefathers was transformed overnight – he reluctantly decided not to ask questions though he was almost positive their brownies had something to do with it – into the single place every dwarf gravitated towards when not at work or sleeping. Boars and chickens roasted above big fire pits scattered throughout the room. Gay decorations, cozy chairs and tables, and the almost perpetual sound of music transformed a room meant to honor their ancestors into a place that felt like home the instant one cross its threshold. Its size mattered not.
The towering tree, however, had taken some getting used to. A queer notion, to cut down a tree and transport it indoors, only to decorate it with gems, glass and lace as well as small lanterns. But the dwarflings and dwarrowmaids loved it, and each day, more gaily-wrapped presents materialized under its wide girth. Thorin had been told by more than one dwarf that Kíli had informed them the pretty packages were for one special day of gift-giving. And his nephew directed them to him to find the answer as to when that might be.
Mayhap more than impudent. Thorin offered up Bilbo without a qualm, sending his people to the hobbit for their answers. It was, after all, Bilbo's holiday. Bilbo, he learned, in turn sent them all back to Kíli. What his nephew made of that, Thorin wasn't certain, but Thorin thought Bilbo's actions fitting.
With answer or without, speculation abounded like a foam rising up in a shaken ale. Whispers spread through the mountain as dwarves anticipated the pinnacle of the holiday with excitement.
Even Thorin got caught up in the merriment, letting down his guard and sitting amongst his people, talking and listening in an informal manner he'd not done since ascending to Erebor's throne. In a way his sire never would have done, nor his grandsire. Kíli, he decided as the days passed, was brilliant.
And perhaps their brownies, too, for he could not forget that they had urged him on this path all along.
OoOoOo
Thorin retired to his bedchamber, hair wet from bathing and muscles sore from his evening bout with Dwalin. Exhaust himself on the training field as he might, Thorin could not escape the dawning realization that he'd misjudged matters. Badly.
I am become Thranduil, he muttered to himself, displeased with the realization. Hadn't he scorned the Elvenking for believing ignorance would protect the elf's family? Yet here Thorin was, following the same path as he. Mahal. He dragged two hands down his face. The Elvenking had been wrong then. He remained wrong now.
Thorin's lips twitched with reluctant amusement. He'd underestimated his people's stubbornness, he acknowledged with a snort, changing into his sleeping braies and sitting upon the bed. Dwarves did not let things go. They were temperamental, opinionated, and fiercely possessive. The Helpers were theirs. Thorin suspected if he shared that Erebor had already lost nine of them to the men of Dale, he'd have an outright mutiny on his hands.
Or Bard might have a couple hundred dwarves on his doorstep with a grievance to air. Thorin snorted, enjoying the thought.
A knock upon the door preceded Dís's entrance. His sister closed the door behind her, stormy gray-blue eyes watchful as she claimed the seat nearest the bed and folded her hands upon her lap. Her silky beard sparkled with gemstones, and her dark marriage braid descended from her right temple to dangle across her chest. Though Fíli and Kíli's sire had died many decades past, he knew Dís would replait that braid every day until she left this life to join her Vili.
Stubborn, Thorin thought, the word this time bringing him satisfaction. Aye, they were all stubborn, and Thorin more than most.
"We need to talk," she said, her head cocking to one side.
"Aye," he said, unable to keep his conflicted emotions from leeching into his voice.
Dís frowned minutely, her beautiful face with its strong cheekbones and determined chin a balm to him. Of everyone in his life, he knew she would always, always, be there to guard his flank. What she read in his face, he couldn't say, but she reached out and grasped hold of his hand. "Still trying to carry the weight of the mountain by yourself, Brother-mine?"
"Always," he said, the long-standing exchange lifting his spirits.
Blue-gray eyes twinkled. "I wish to hear your thoughts about your sister-sons," she announced, leaning back in her seat. Her fingers moved. *I would hear from you the full of it, Thorin. The quest. These Helpers our people miss so. This need for secrecy in our very bedchambers. Do you not trust me?*
"Your sons," he said, voice rough with affection, "do our line proud." *Where to start?*
"I would ask you to share that with Kíli," she said aloud. *At the beginning, Brother. I cannot aid you if I do not understand what it is that is burdening you.*
Thorin rubbed his knuckles, two of them bruised from his bout with Dwalin. Aleks had once reminded him of what truly mattered, not by his exemplary behavior but by his mistakes. How often had Thorin watched the young satyr deny himself the comfort and aid he needed out of fear or pride? He learned, Thorin thought.
Perhaps it was time Thorin did, too. With a sigh, he relented. That night, he told her all: his descent into dragon sickness, Sauron's return and intent to wipe out the line of Durin, the One Ring, Faerie and their brownies. Alternating between Khuzdul and iglishmêk, he spoke long into the night.
Through it all, Dís listened. She prodded him when his recital faltered, her face never betraying aught but her support. When he'd finished, his sister reached over and squeezed his hand. "I am proud of you."
Thorin snorted in self-depreciation. "After my failures?" he asked harshly.
"It requires strength to confront your weaknesses, Thorin." A gentle smile. "You stumbled, I'll grant. But you did not fail." He grumbled under his breath, and she tapped his chin, reclaiming his attention. *Now I understand about the brownies.* A crooked smile, one so reminiscent of Kíli's to Thorin's mind. *I think they are right about celebrating.*
"We are dwarves, not elves," Thorin said.
Dís laughed at that, a rich, throaty sound. "Are we to be outdone by the pointy-ears?"
Thorin's lips twitched with reluctant amusement. "Is that what we are doing?"
*I think you should ask your brownies to follow the Nazgûl, Thorin. We have enemies we cannot see roaming our Halls. We must know everything they see, everything they do.*
OoOoOo
His sister's words followed him. Days passed, weeks, and Thorin made no decision. Nightly, he sat in the Hall of the Forefathers, sipping wassail, eggnog, or another Yule concoction from Bombur's kitchens, and debated. Kíli's words often came to mind. When, he wondered, had he begun to trust in wizards and their advice above his own kith and kin? When had the opinion of others supplanted faith in his people?
So much hinges on our success. Radagast had not steered them wrong before. Nor had Gandalf. A counter thought: Saruman the White falls into shadow. Proof, Thorin mused, that wizards were not infallible.
As winter's grasp tightened about the mountain, Thorin debated. His mistakes, so many of them during the quest, replayed through his mind. The day of the Battle of Five Armies, he'd learned the painful lesson, hadn't he? About how flawed his judgment could be. Mahal. He'd even drawn Orcrist on Bilbo and Aleks.
He could not make a mistake in this.
And so he delayed.