A Promise Unforgotten
Fíli's mood does not improve in the days they reside within Rivendell. In fact it grows worse, until there is a permanent dark cloud hovering over his golden brother.
Kíli tries to engage with him, to convince him to sneak into the kitchens to try new elven food, fight in the nightly debates with the twins over the dinner table - but each and every request is met with a cold shoulder and an even colder stare.
He stops trying once he catches Dwalin's knowing look over a mug of ale and abruptly remembers the old warrior's warning. Instead, he waits until Fíli rises every morning and disappears to one of the elven training rings to practise his craft before venturing out to explore the hidden treasures of the Last Homely House. Alone.
It is strange at first, to be completely by himself. He's so used to Fíli being over his shoulder, or Dwalin barking orders and correcting his stances, to the weight of his uncle's gaze on his shoulders. But as the days pass and Fíli continues to withdraw, Kíli finds new ways to entertain himself.
Even as the days grow colder, the skies above remain clear, a deeper blue than the brilliant sapphires they used to mine in the depths of the Blue Mountains. The gardens are sprawling with life: winding greenery reaching endlessly towards a sun they will never touch, winter flowers blooming in dozens of different shades - from the delicate white snowdrops to golden yellow buttercups to twilight shades of pansies, poking through the fresh earth.
Every nook he discovers, every secret cranny that unfurls before him, a strange sort of familiarity washes over him. As if he has done this before, as if he has seen these things.
The joy in them is new though, he knows that much. Whatever he may have experienced or lived before, for the first time, Kíli is enjoying exploring Rivendell, putting the knowledge of plants and life Billa has spent months teaching him to good use. He spends hours in the garden, sketching and writing little notes in the little book Billa bound for him until his fingers are permanently smudged with charcoal. He trains when he feels the urge to stretch his legs and work until his arms and legs and lungs are burning - but only because he desires to, not because he feels he has to.
It is a stranger notion than being alone, having the option to choose.
The air is cold as he inhales and exhales, and it burns like a fire in the pit of his chest. A sharp enough bite to smooth the edge of his frustration.
At least Thorin's mood has improved over their time with the elves. Like even the mention of Billa from Lord Elrond on that first night was enough to tame the surly beast of his temper.
Kíli sighs, resting his arms against his knees; the stone bench beneath him is cold, the chill seeping through his worn leather trousers, despite the sunlight beating down overhead. The light bounces off the runestone in his hand as he traces the grooves in it carefully with one finger.
He dreamt of her again. The strange woman with the hair like sunlight.
"Thinking of your mother?"
Thorin is standing over him. There's a few pieces of parchment in one hand, the other resting in his pocket.
Kíli smiles, squinting against the sun, "She gift you with a talisman as well?"
"She tried," her uncle says as he sits on the bench beside him, "but you know I do not believe in her superstitions. Our luck is what we make of it."
"Of course."
"Then again," Thorin smiles as he pulls his hand free from the pocket, revealing his own small runestone, "a little bit of extra luck has never hurt anyone."
Kíli snorts, shaking his head, "I s'pose not, uncle."
Thorin replaces the runestone in his pocket. Silence falls between them, broken only by the distant buzzing of wildlife in the garden and the trickle of a winter stream. This has become one of Kíli's favourite spots, close enough to the great Elven architecture that he does not need to sprint back in time for dinner, but far enough away to feel remote, separate.
"A few days ago you asked me about Billa."
Kíli blinks, and it takes a few moments for his brain to recall the moment in the woods, "Oh. I forgot about that."
It feels like a lifetime ago now.
"You asked if I ever had dreams of her?"
A flash of autumn appears in Kíli's gaze and he startles, hand snapping up to grasp - a leaf. It is just an amber leaf from one of the nearby trees, not golden hair, streaked with the first shades of dawn-
"The answer is yes."
Kíli glances at Thorin. His arms are resting on his knees, gaze fixed on some far off point he cannot see. For the first time in days, there is an uneasiness in his uncle, an undercurrent of worry and anticipation.
"Yes?"
"I had many dreams of Billa before I met her," his uncle continues. "Dreams of another life, another path I could have once followed."
Killi thinks of stone cells, murmured conversations under cold starlight, soft knowing eyes, a brush of skin against skin.
"Do you think she could have loved me?"
"From the look in your eye," his uncle's voice rumbles across him, "you have had similar dreams."
Kíli is not sure how to respond. He stares down at the runestone in his hand, focuses on the bite of the cold material beneath his rough fingers. Tries not to think of how an icy chill makes his stomach churn, how up until a few years ago he loved the cold bite of snow and now it terrifies him.
"Kíli," Thorin continues, "There are many regrets I have from that life, some of which I still feel deeply, but the biggest regret is not allowing you and your brother to live."
His head snaps up, "Uncle-"
Thorin raises a hand, "It does not matter how much of that life you remember, or how much your dreams have revealed to you. What does matter is that in this life, we make better choices."
A hand tightens on his shoulder, and Kíli could have sworn his uncle's eyes are almost misty.
"What I was hoping to say to you, that morning in the woods, is that your life, your choices are your own to make," Thorin says. "I will support you in whatever path you decide to follow, should that lead you to the Lonely Mountain or away from it."
The words settle between them, an easy silence falling between the two kin, until finally Kíli says, "Is this what you told Fíli, before we left?"
Thorin nods, "I told him of my plan, that the choice was his to stay or go. That he was not duty bound to follow me."
"He chose to go."
"Hm," his uncle nods, "I worry now that he may be regretting that choice."
Kíli shakes his head, "I don't think that is what is wrong with him. He would not have blindly followed you."
"Wouldn't he have?" Thorin asks. The question hangs in the air, before his uncle shakes his head and exhales, "I suppose it does not matter now. I have to trust he will find his own way, as you will do."
His uncle stands, his hand going to the pocket the runestone resides in.
"Uncle," Thorin pauses, turning to look down at him. "I will follow you to Erebor, to reclaim the mountain."
"You do not have to."
"I know," Kíli smiles. "What lies beyond the mountain, that path is up to me to decide, and that is all I need. Who knows what I might discover on the journey there?"
"What promise?"
"That I would come back to her."
Thorin stares, and then nods his head, "So it will be."
His uncle starts to walk away, heading back towards the path that will lead him out of the garden and to the main house.
"You know, Uncle," Kíli raises his voice, so it is just audible, "the twins told me an interesting rumour the other day about sightings of a Hobbit warrior travelling with a Wizard and a dwarf not far from here."
Thorin's lips quirk, "She promised not to follow us. But I admit, I would have been disappointed if she had stayed put."
"You asked her to remain in Hobbiton."
"No," Thorin snorts, "I asked her to stay safe."
Then his uncle is gone, vanishing into the overgrowth that kept Kíli's spot hidden from the rest of the world.
A/N: Well, what on earth is going on with Fíli eh? Also, thanks to the person who pointed out I was writing WHITE Orc not PALE Orc, I have now corrected this. Apologies!
