AN: I went to go edit this chapter, ended up writing five more chapters and drowning in my inability to edit it all in a timely fashion. Bilbo will be in the next chapter, this one defined itself by taking place in a single twenty-four-hour period.

Chapter 6 - Waking Up

Dís found it difficult to go to sleep that night; to let Fíli and Kíli out of her view.

She went to her room, dressed for the night, and left her bed untouched.

She didn't bother knocking on her big brother's door. Thorin pulled the covers back for her as she went to him as she had as a dwarfling.

When the dragon came, she had been only ten years old and Thorin had carried her away from the flames. Taking her and Frerin to safety as their amad was lost to them.

When their adad had been lost to madness, when Mori died and Fíli lost, Thorin had held her together.

She buried herself in his embrace.

Thorin kissed her brow, whispering soft apologies and reassurances.

Neither of them looked up when the door opened again and Frerin joined them. Held between both her brothers, the tears finally came.

Tears for the years of grief. For the sorrow and despair, she hadn't let herself feel for Kíli's sake. Dís cried for the renewed fear she felt for her sons and the horrors they had experienced.

But most of all, she cried for joy and renewed hope for a future long abandoned in ashes.

Her children were safe.

Her children were home.

And they would not see Mori before her in the halls of their ancestors.

Her sons would live long happy lives and outlive her as children ought to.

Frerin brushed her hair back from her face. "We'll keep them both safe this time round," he swore to her.

"I will not survive their loss again," she said into Thorin's shoulder.

Thorin held her tighter, "Kíli has much to learn from you about leading our people and running Ered Luin. He knows his craft well enough for now."

That brought a smile to Dís's lips. Come spring, she wouldn't have to be parted from both her brothers and sons.

It wasn't their fault they had to leave her behind, no, it was the fault of men who would judge a female so differently. At least among her own kind, her standing as a drarrowdame was equal and more cherished by her kin. Women could never hope to make as much in business or trade as their male counterparts in the world of men.

The only reasons drarrowdames did not inherit the throne were because childbirth could be quite perilous and because whether or not they became warriors was entirely voluntary.

It was not voluntary for her brothers and sons. But as a warrior herself who had borne two children, Dís was widely respected and was less likely to be challenged than Thorin on any given issue.

Still, for Thorin to return her sons, his heirs, to her to raise as their next king and prince would be a departure from tradition.

Mothers trained daughters, fathers trained sons. The only difference for her sons was due to their royalty coming from her and not their father, Thorin had always been a defining figure in her boys' lives even before Mori's passing.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Thorin rubbed her arm, "Trained by you, I expect them to become the fiercest princes our people have ever seen."

She snorted, "You trained me."

"Nonsense," Thorin scoffed. "Never doubt that you are a creature of your own creation. It is not Durin's blood that makes you great, but your generous spirit that saw the need in our people and the strength to forge yourself to your needs."

Exhaustion pulled at her, her fear abating that this could be just a dream. When the end of winter came, Kíli would typically return to the Gulf of Lune with Frerin to work for the shipyards and trade vessels as Thorin travelled further south in search of jobs that might pay well for smithing.

They rarely paid dwarves well, but the gruelling work the three did was what allowed them to pour the majority of their funds toward sustaining Ered Luin.

Their people were not prosperous, but neither were they beggars and vagabonds.

"I know what you both give, do not think it is not valued. I do not resent you for leaving other duties to me."

Thorin hummed, "They will be lessened with Kíli helping you. And that extra time you can spend with Fíli. He has much more to learn, and heir or no, he is still a prince."

Frerin huffed, "Way less stressful though. I don't know how the two of you can handle being so terribly morose all the time."

Dís tucked herself in against Thorin as he reached around her yank on Frerin's braids.

Their brother yelped and struck back tickling fingers.

Tears turned to laughter and after a while, Dís found herself falling into a contented sleep, feeling safer than she had in decades.

oOo

"Where are you going?" Elrond asked.

"East."

"Why?"

"I hear they have a spider infestation, and I find peace no longer sits well with me," Glorfindel answered without meeting Elrond's gaze.

"They will return to you."

"I can wait," Glorfindel lied, Elrond could feel the lord's dread of his loved ones' mortality. "But I cannot remain still until then. Not when they age and I cannot."

Elrond squeezed his shoulder but let him go.

oOo

Galadriel smiled down at him.

Gandalf up at her, basking in her light as much as the warm sunshine.

"You've slept through all the drama, Mithrandir."

"Oh?" he asked with a slight frown.

Galadriel hushed him, "Mind it not, my friend. Not every trouble is yours to worry over."

"You mentioned it," he countered.

She hummed, "I did. I would treat it as a favour for you not pry. You may find yourself to be needed more as a friend than a knowledgeable wizard."

He pouted at her, "How long have I slept?"

She smiled widely, easily outshining the dawn.

oOo

Fíli woke his heart in his throat.

When he was little and still living in the Shire, he remembered how the other faunts had described him, how Bilbo's extended family would describe him.

Slow to trust.

Stubborn like his mad father.

Needs to learn forgiveness.

He needs to learn to not take every remark to heart.

Setting aside the violence in his history, it was in Fíli's nature to be less free than hobbits with his trust. He had learned from the elvish books, that dwarves were carved from stone, set in their ways, craving permance and loyalty, even as their hearts were born of Mahal's forges.

Quick to anger, forever love, and emotions that would burn long after the flames are hidden from sight.

Fíli had too few friends, and almost everyone in his circles had been deep thinkers, Fíli thus had had much cause to be self-aware and self-critical.

He knew that his judgement on Bilbo and Glorfindel was perhaps not proportional to their actions, that perhaps if he had just heard them out, their arguments and reasons would have persuaded him.

But he was hurt that they would lie to him. He was hurt that despite having an eclectic family that loved him, despite being well-fed and cared for, he had always been different.

So different as to not completely belong. He had held so much guilt for being the reason that Bilbo had been chased from the Shire, from his home in Bag End, that he could not forgive Bilbo for choosing it.

For having a choice.

Bilbo hadn't adopted Fíli for Fíli's benefit but for his own desire to have a family.

He knew that was doubly true for Glorfindel.

He wanted nothing to do with them, and he didn't want to explain it to his true family, not after having seen their grief. Not when he saw the indicators in his family wasn't or hadn't always had the opportunity to eat properly.

Fíli hated more that his return to them would somehow make him a greater burden.

As he had seemed to have woken earlier than the rest of the dwarves, he crept through the halls, scaling the steps to the first floor and finding the pantry with ease.

Last night, emotions had been running high and supper had long since passed.

Fíli checked the pantry, looking for signs of food rationing.

There wasn't much in the pantry, not compared to a hobbit's nor the great kitchens of Rivendell that served the whole community, but there were enough perishables to assuage his fear that he might make too much.

Besides they were supposedly royals and surely they had cause to celebrate today of all days.

Still, Fíli dug through the barrel of potatoes, taking the ones that looked the most aged, and the onions that were starting to go soft.

Bilbo had taught him to cook hobbit-sized meals but he had also taught him how to cook for the fell winter.

Fíli knew how to make a little go a long way.

He began by peeling the potatoes, not surprised when he found the kitchen knives as suited to weaponry as culinary pursuits. Though he was proficient at cooking, it wasn't a particular passion for him like it was for Bilbo, so Fíli enjoyed puzzling through balance and techniques that would have been used to forge the steel kitchen knives.

He let the stove as he began slicing up a ham that had been placed in an ice box. In the Shire, only the Thain had an icebox, food going to waste rarely being a concern for hobbits and the elves didn't eat enough meat to justify it.

Fíli worried that using this much food without permission would be overstepping, but counting Kíli, his mother, his two Durin uncles, Balin, Dwalin, and the three Ri uncles he had yet to meet, he thought it would be okay.

He started the stove and began to roll the dough for biscuits. He put the peeled potatoes in water with a lid before prepping the onions and garlic for the scrambled eggs.

He knew if his moving around hadn't woken the dwarves, the second the bacon hit the pan it would. So Fíli prepared the water for the coffee, grinding the beans in a mortar pestle.

Though the kitchen was clearly well-loved, or at least it had been once, the coffee strainer looked like it was the most often used object present. The beans were of poor quality, but coffee was one of those morning smells that filled the heart as his fath– Bilbo would say.

He put the biscuits in the oven and he pulled the potatoes out to mash them.

He was liberal with the butter and salt, and they came out perfectly fluffy.

The biscuits came out smelling wonderful as well. He set them aside as he sauteed the onions and garlic with oil and pepper flakes. Then he set them in a bowl aside and used the same pan with more oil.

From here he had to work quickly as the aroma of sizzling bacon overcame the apartment.

Luckily the cast iron pan was large and he was able to swiftly get the bacon strips done and set aside on a plate. As that cooled he threw the onions back into the pan with some milk. Once the milk began bubbling, he poured in the cracked eggs he had prepared and he scrambled them in.

Once he was done with the eggs, also light and fluffy, he cut the warm bacon up into bits and sprinkled it over the eggs.

While eating the bacon plain might have been more satisfying, with the eggs the meat would stretch further and be more filling.

With an appalling lack of greens, Fíli had a pleasing spread for his dwarvish family and he was able to set the table before anyone made it out of their rooms.

oOo

Dís woke warm and happy.

She didn't quite know why she was happy, maybe because of her dreams had been of seeing her beautiful boys all grown up.

What had woken her was not the sounds of footsteps above her room but the smells.

Mori was cooking.

She sighed happily, settling back into her husband's arms.

It took her a second for her brain to process the discordance between the two thoughts; if Mori was cooking, how was he still in bed with her?

Which is when she realised she was sandwiched between two warm forms.

And when she remembered that Mori was long gone.

The only dwarves that would be in her chambers these days were her brothers or her sons.

Sons.

The memories of last night hit her like a boulder.

The smell of coffee joined the scents from breakfast.

Who would be up early enough to make breakfast and coffee.

Horror followed the thought: Kíli.

"Mahal save us," she cursed, her brothers jerking awake as she pushed at them to let her up. She didn't bother to change out of her nightgown as she freed herself from the bed.

"What is it?" Frerin moaned.

"Kíli is in the kitchen," she answered.

Thorin joined her in cursing, hot on her heels as they clambered up the steps, where they almost barreled poor Kíli who stood stock still staring at the scene before them.

Dís felt her jaw open with a pop.

Fíli smiled at them uncertainty, "I didn't know how much food I should have made but you said others would be here and I wanted to–"

Dís squeezed Kíli's shoulder as she stepped around him to go to her youngest son. She cupped Fíli's face between her hands, "You did not have to do all this, but never that anything in this home is not meant for you, my son." She fumbled over her next words, not because her Westron was worse than others, but because she wasn't used to speaking to her kin about matters of the heart with it. "Your father, Mori, he used to cook for us all too." She rested her forehead against his. "Thank you, Fíli."

His smile was brilliant if a bit bashful.

Balin and Dwalin entered the room, fully dressed. Their chamber was the first bedroom by the steps and they would have heard if someone entered from above. They wouldn't have rushed to get up for one of their charges getting up early which seldom happened anyway. The smell of food hadn't panicked them like it had the rest of them.

Balin laughed, "I'll go get the Ri's then, shall I?"

Thorin nodded, "We'll make an announcement tomorrow."

Balin bowed before exiting the apartment, the many locks tumbling over and Dwalin locked up behind him.

"Announcement?" Fíli asked.

"We're princes," Kíli answered. "All of Ered Luin and the Iron Hills held a vigil after… after."

Dís ran her fingers lightly over Fíli's hair, as golden as her mother's hair and Frerin's. "You just missed Dain, our cousin who is Lord of the Iron Hills."

Fíli flushed slightly but leaned into her touch. Having learned last night that Fíli no longer remembered his language, she had feared what more he had forgotten, but it seemed he hadn't forgotten enough of her to lose his trust of her.

He hadn't forgotten so much of her to unlearn the safety of her touch.

Truly, she had so much to be grateful for, that she vowed to do her best to set aside her grief of years lost.

oOo

Nori didn't feel much these days. When Mori had died, it was as if his heart had died with him.

He didn't become an alcoholic, quite simply, because they couldn't afford it.

Instead, he did jobs Dori thought were beneath both his station and honour.

He collected debts from minor nobles. Collecting taxes from those who could afford both the tax and the skill to avoid it.

Thorin clearly hated to ask him to do this type of work, but Nori could hardly hear rock songs anymore. He didn't have the presence of mind to go back to the mines. And the dwarves of Ered Luin held the market for crafting instruments. Nori was but one child from Ereborian refugees.

So Nori welcomed the work.

When he was called a thief for collecting taxes from those wealthy enough to pay their dues combined with the nimble-fingered magic tricks he did for the dwarflings, Nori didn't waste his breath to correct them.

He felt nothing after all, he couldn't muster the energy to pay them mind, much less be mad at them.

The same could not be said for Dori. Dori was always angry, always agitated. He acted like a dwarf who had lost a child in Mori, not a brother.

Everything and anything could get him grumbling.

He was so emotional.

Nori envied him that.

When Dori heard the rumours that one of his brothers had become a thief, he had just about lost his mind.

Nori for his part had laughed himself sick at Dori's reaction and refused to correct the misconception. It had been thirty years, and so willing to believe the worst in Nori, Dori had yet to realise he worked for Thorin and Lady Dís.

Nori worried for Ori, but Ori wanted nothing to do with their arguing. He pretended it didn't exist. Whether he was a criminal or not, didn't seem to bother Ori one way or another. Though the rift between his two older brothers bothered him enough that he would stop talking to Nori for days at a time in retribution.

Nori couldn't fault him for it.

Mornings were the only truly peaceful moments Nori shared with Ori. Dori slept in late and Nori hardly slept at all while Ori was an early riser.

Thus when there was a knock at the door, Nori groaned and waved Ori to stay seated with his morning tea as he answered the door.

"What do you want?" Nori demanded when he met the gaze of their intruder.

Balin smiled at him, eyes sparkling, "You've been invited to a royal breakfast."

"No," Nori answered.

Balin, the bastard, smiled wider, "That wasn't a question, laddie."

Ori had already risen to wake Dori.

The pair of them re-imerged from their room in some of their better clothes.

"Is that what you're going to wear?" Dori asked Nori.

"Yep," Nori responded.

Your twin brother was a prince.

My brother is dead.

The old argument passed between them silent, the words no longer necessary to complete the chastisement.

Balin cleared his throat before saying in Westeron, "Remember to talk in the Common Speech."

The three of them stared at him as if he had just spoken in elvish.

"Why?" Nori asked in the Common Speech.

Balin's blue eyes twinkled mischievously, "Come, the food's cooling and I want my coffee."

Nori exchanged a look with Dori and Ori ended up to be the first to follow.

Being the first through the door, Ori gasped.

Dori pushed Nori aside to see whatever had dared to upset their precious dwarfling, only to freeze along side him.

Nori sighed before shoving Dori aside, because his brother deserved it, and looking for the disturbance.

At first, Nori didn't see them. He thought he was seeing double for a moment, Frerin twice, once beside Dís and again on the other side of Thorin.

But then he realised the Frerin beside Dís had no beard, and when their gaze met, Nori forgot to breathe.

Unlike the other royals whose eyes were sapphire blue, Fíli had had his father's aquamarine eyes.

Mori's eyes.

The same eyes Nori was looking into now.

"Prince Fíli?" he asked, voice breaking.

Nephew.

The dwarfling looked as timid as Ori, however his voice was clear when he said, "Hello, uncles?"

He spoke in the Common Speech and Balin's earlier warning now made sense.

Men had saved their young prince.

Prince Fíli was alive.

Mori's second son was alive.

And while it didn't make Mori's murder any easier to deal with, it did perhaps make his loss less tragic. Because Nori knew that his twin would rest easier in the halls of their ancestors knowing he had given his life for his wife and children.

Mori had died protecting his family, and with his last breath, he had not failed them.

"Come eat," Princess Dís beckoned. "Fíli has cooked for us."

Nori looked at the table for the first time, the spread of food looked… more than appetising. It was a feast, one Nori would never have been able to afford and hadn't wanted since his brother's death.

Food had lost its flavour when he remembered too well Mori's cooking.

But here was Mori's lost son returned to them.

Some purpose returned to Nori then, strengthened by the food that bloomed with incredible flavour and fed a heart he had long been starving.

Nori had no One. Not all dwarrow lived in the same time as their One. Many described the compulsion to find their soul half in a dissatisfaction in their craft while those who had no One's described finding utter peace in their craft. The latter lived with a devotion to their craft with the knowledge that when they passed on they would bring no regrets with them.

Balin who had lost his One described the same. That while he missed his partner, he was content to live his life in devotion to his king so that when he passed on, he could do so without looking back.

Nori had never dared to ask Dís how she felt about losing Mori. But Nori had felt so empty, his craft did not sing to him, not until now.

Now? Now, he felt as if he had something to live for. To ensure both Mori's sons would survive this life together. Mori might not have been Nori's One, as platonic and familiar soul halves did happen, but he had been Nori's direction in life.

When he returned home that night, Nori's desire to craft hit him like an avalanche. He took what savings he had and bought wood, horse hair, and steel string.

After every night of "thieving" Nori would lock himself in his room with tools he hadn't touched in thirty years.

Crafting for his nephews gifts worthy of princes, worthy of the dwarflings who had given him back a reason for living.

oOo

AN: Please let me know what you want to see from world building and character development? The first half of this story will take place before the quest to Erebor.