The unsettling sensation in Fíli's chest grew larger and larger with every passing glare, sniff of disdain, and haughty looks discreetly directed at his cousin.

Not like Thorin seemed at all affected by his clansmen's behaviour. He continued to laugh just as loudly at his own jokes, his teasing remained relentless, and his wit was as sharp as ever.

For all intent and purpose, Thorin remained unfazed.

"I don't understand how Farin's work can be considered a masterpiece!" Fíli had exclaimed one sunny afternoon as they meandered through Bilbo's garden. The light mountain breeze had picked up the scent of roses that were just coming into bloom, and gently carried it across the manicured lawn on which Fíli and Thorin were walking. It did nothing to quell Fíli's annoyance at having read Thorin's recommended novels, which, for the most part, amounted to nothing more than melodramatic tripe featuring deeply annoying characters.

Case and point – "Everyone in his book was so horrendously callous, condescending, and shallow!" Fíli continued his rant. Frankly, he suspected that Master Farin had based all of his characters off of that walking prick Thranduil, which begged the question – why? "I felt no sympathy towards any of them, and I simply did not care whether they lived or died! It brought me no pleasure reading about their problems!"

"But Cousin! The characters' unlikable qualities reflect a certain level of realism as to how people truly are," Thorin defended just as passionately. "Farin's work serves as a refreshing contrast to the myriad of insipid, one-dimensional characters that have dominated Dwarven literature for far too long! The author should be commended for taking the risk to write something bold and different!"

"That's not an excuse for writing unlikeable characters! The author could have easily written something novel with characters that are less horrible. Instead, as a reader, I am held hostage – Thorin?"

Thorin's gaze snapped back to Fíli, and he jerked to attention. "Apologies Cousin," he said with a rueful grin, "my mind wandered for a second. Could you please repeat what you said?"

From the corner of his eyes, Fíli spotted a group of Iron Hills Dwarves – a flurry of beaded braids and colourful tunics – passing them by. They visibly turned away from Thorin with disdainful sniffs.

Thorin's grin had not wavered.

Fíli had to give his cousin credit where it was due – Thorin Stonehelm was a fine actor.

It did not mean that Fíli was not disturbed by this situation though.

"This is all my fault and I need to fix it, but I don't know what to do, Kee!" Fíli buried his head in his arms on the breakfast table, jostling the fork by his elbow. "Thorin would not be facing so much animosity had he not stepped in to defend me!"

"Oh, I don't know about that," came Kíli's dry response along with the sound of his fork scraping across his near empty plate. "His personality alone is enough to attract a certain level of animosity towards his person."

Fíli lifted his head enough to give his brother a dirty glare. "You are not helping." He promptly buried his head back into his arms with a soft, defeated groan.

There was a long-suffering sigh and a second later, Fíli could feel his brother's hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. His shoulders automatically relax under the warmth of his touch.

"Look, this is most definitely not your fault, Fee. The blame lies entirely on the pettiness of the other Dwarves who could get angry at someone defending their family member."

"Be that as it may, if I hadn't stupidly wandered off –"

"Not your fault, Fee." This time, Kíli's tone was firm. "Had they not been so brazen and disrespectful, Cousin Thorin would not have had to step in."

At Fíli's stubborn silence, he tsked disapprovingly. "One of these days, I will break you out of your habit of blaming yourself for things beyond your control."

Fíli snorted a quick, self-deprecating sound and pulled himself up from his slouch. He propped his head in his fist, his elbows on the table. "Regardless, I still wish there was something I can do."

"Have you spoken to Uncle?"

Fíli nodded. "Uncle informed Lord Dain of the circumstances that caused Cousin Thorin's sudden unpopularity in court. Lord Dain was rather approving of his son's actions."

Kíli shrugged, picked up his fork again, and dug into the remnants of his breakfast. "At least Cousin Thorin will not have to deal with his father's wrath," he said between shovelling forkfuls of scrambled eggs into his mouth with gusto, clearly unperturbed by Thorin's perceived struggles. "He would also be protected from the animosity of the Iron Hills Court when he returns home."

"But he remains vulnerable in Erebor."

"Fee, as much as it pains me to say this, Cousin Thorin is clever and well-versed in handling his kinsmen," Kíli pointed out with his fork in hand. "He can take care of himself."

The uncomfortable truth settled like lead in his stomach and Fíli grimaced. Of course, Thorin could take care of himself. Fíli of all people knew that, especially after having experienced Thorin's more manipulative tendencies that no doubt stemmed from his upbringing in the Iron Hills court. Cousin Thorin was trained to be a skilled politician with his quick mind and silver tongue. Surely, he was taught how to defend himself against any attacks made to his person, and, if all else fails, weather the storm of chaos.

In comparison, Fíli must have seemed like a bumbling country Dwarf who could barely keep up with his surroundings, inexperienced and hopelessly honest that he was. He certainly felt like he was a woefully inadequate opponent when facing the slippery characters of the courtiers. If it were not for his cousin's not-so-gentle prodding, Fíli had no doubt that this Suitor Problem would end in an even bigger disaster.

The truth of the matter was that Fíli had very little to offer Cousin Thorin in terms of his help.

But that did not mean he shouldn't at least try to do something.

After all, for all of Thorin's annoying theatrics, his cousin had always tried to protect him in his own funny way, even when it meant bodily throwing himself in front of Fíli like a meat shield. Loyalty like that is hard to come by and it deserved all the reciprocation. The years spent trying to recruit Dwarves for their quest to reclaim Erebor had taught him that lesson above all else.

A deep slow sigh of resignation pierced through the haze of Fíli's thought-filled mind. He glanced up only to catch his brother frowning in annoyance. "I cannot stand it when you get all mopey and sad." Kíli gave a general hand wave at Fíli's slouched form. "I have an idea. I suppose if you were to openly show your support of him, you would do well to deter the others from trying anything rash."

Fíli blinked. "Kíli?"

Kíli looked like he had swallowed some recalcitrant lemons, but forced out, "What I am trying to say is maybe, you should consider spending more time with him. In public. For everyone to see." He finished the last bit of that sentence with a particularly unflattering grimace.

"But you don't like us spending time together," the blond said slowly after a few more seconds of stunned silence. Mahal wept. Was Kíli telling Fíli to be nice to Thorin, of all things?

As if reading his thoughts, Kíli's scowl grew fierce. "I don't like the little bastard one bit, and I hate it even more that you are paying him any attention!" He grabbed a piece of toast and violently slathered strawberry jam on it. "But! I suppose I can try to be more kind to him. He did help you escape, and he brought food for you afterwards, which, I suppose, was a thoughtful gesture."

The archer took a vicious bite of the toast. "For the record, I want to help you, not him. That is the only reason why I made my suggestion."

"Kee," Fíli said, oddly touched.

"In all honesty, I cannot even begin to understand what you see in him," Kíli continued his grumbling with his mouth full. "How can you even stand to be around him and his…his pompousness, and his insufferable need to preen himself. Not to mention, the way he talks, his mannerism and his stupid, overtly intricate braids –"

"Kíli, really now – "

"And those ridiculous shoes he likes to wear, and his face –"

"His what?"

"And let's not forget, those poncy, flouncy, horribly garish – "

"Kíli!" The blond laughed. "I thought you were trying to be kinder!"

Kíli huffed. "Try, being the operative word here."

"Well, thank you for trying, Kíli," Fíli said with a soft, bemused smile. Try to be kind. Just like how Fíli was trying to be kinder towards Tauriel. It looked like the both of them have their work cut out for them though Fíli suspected that his brother may come out as the winner. His brother, though quick to anger, had always been quicker to forgive and forget.

It really was only a matter of time for Kíli to warm up to Thorin. With luck, he may even become good friends with the cocky bastard.

"Mahal help us all when that happens," Fíli breathed out in sobering horror. The combined damage those two can wrought will be short of devastating.

"Hm?" Kíli paused, utensils in hand. The amount of food on his plate had grown substantially from the few slices of jam-laden toasts to a veritable mountain of gluttony in the brief seconds Fíli had looked away. "What was that, Fee?"

Fíli shook his head and gave a weak chuckle. "Nothing, just had a terrifying thought is all."

Armed with a new mission, Fíli wasted no time in marching off to find his wayward cousin after breakfast.

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise!" Thorin practically tittered from his sunny spot on the bench in Bilbo's garden. He had a leather-bound book opened in his lap with the maroon cover facing up, and a cooling mug of deep amber tea beside him. "What brings you to my lair today?"

"I will be sure to tell Bilbo that you called his garden a lair," Fíli replied, tone dry. "I was wondering if I can interest you to some friendly sparring? Although I would hate to distract you from your…" he leaned forward and squinted at the cover of the opened book: The Eternal Love of Fulla and Buri. Urgh. "…literature," he finished with much hesitation and even more disdain.

Thorin shot him a dirty look. "This is a Dwarven classic! If you had bothered to read it to the end, you would not be making that face."

"I don't need to." Fíli shrugged and rocked on his heels. "This being a Dwarven classic means one of two things – the story either ends in horrible, gruesome tragedy where everyone dies in a fire, or the protagonists live happily ever after."

Thorin opened his mouth to retort only to pause, perplexed. "Well. You're not wrong," he muttered grudgingly. "Still, there is more complexity to Fulla and Buri than merely a story with a fiery, tragic ending!"

"Complexity that you can explore at a different time." Preferably when Fíli is far, far away, doing something more riveting like watching paint dry. "So…is that a yes to sparring then?"

To Fíli's surprise, Thorin's brows furrowed in concern. "Cousin," he started slowly, "I understand the need to shake off the restlessness that grips us every now and then, but is sparring…the best option right now?" He casted a furtive look at the guards standing attention nearby.

As the meaning of Thorin's words fully sank in, a surge of embarrassment welled up in Fíli, mixed with annoyance. "I have sparred in worst conditions and Kíli isn't my keeper, so you can stop looking for him," he snapped. Besides, Kíli was spending time with that el- Miss Tauriel that afternoon.

Thorin held out a placating hand and instinctively leaned away with a wince. "I only ask because I worry, Cousin. I mean no offence."

Fíli kept up his glare but could feel the knot of annoyance in his mind unravel. Cousin Thorin undoubtedly knew that Fíli will not react well to this conversation; for his cousin to surge forward despite this knowledge only showed the depths of his concerns, especially given his tendency to dance around the issue with tall tales and false flattery.

He breathed out through his nose in a short sigh. "Thank you, Thorin, but your concern is unnecessary and unwarranted. I had sparred with Dwalin numerous times after the Battle without feeling any negative repercussions." Sure, his zealous enthusiasm for these sparring sessions had Balin and Dwalin a tad worried, but neither had felt the need to stop him, not with Uncle and his brother lying still as death in their healing tents, not when they understood all too well the bitter grief that threatened to creep into Fíli's mind if given a moment of respite.

At the very least, Fíli knew that sparring won't incite the same response as he had at the Party.

The warm weight of Thorin's hand on his shoulder brought him out of his light reverie. "If you are certain, Cousin," Thorin said, the tentative frown not leaving his face. "However, I reserve the right to stop the moment I sense something is wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong," Fíli insisted. "Now, shall we?"

Thorin sighed dramatically and slowly let go of Fíli. "I suppose we shall. Besides," he closed the book and leered, "I have been dying to know whether the stories of your battle prowess hold any water, Lion of Erebor."

For all of his floundering and theatrics, Thorin took surprisingly very little time to get ready. Within half an hour, the two find themselves in the blessedly empty training yard, circling each other with their swords drawn and leather armour donned on.

Thorin smirked, smug and loose-limbed as he gave his short sword a few practice swings. "Cousin!" he shouted across the field with gusto. A wholly unnecessary gesture given that the training arena was empty and Fíli was right there. "You may be more experienced with a sword, but I promise you, I will not make this battle easy!"

Fíli stopped testing his own grip on his twin swords to roll his eyes. Yeesh, was he this cocky and stupid when he was young? "Try not to cheat like you did with our berry throwing contest," he drawled out instead.

Then, he lunged for the kill.

Later, when asked, Thorin would vehemently deny letting loose a shrilled yelp as he brought his sword up in time to parry Fíli's blow. Now, Fíli could only concentrate on the weight of his sword striking another and the deafening clang of metal hitting metal that drowned out the rest of his cousin's outrage. Quick as a whip, Thorin sprung forward to deliver his own strike. He swung his sword up towards Fíli's chest only to meet air as the blond twisted away with little effort.

"That was – You just came at me! Without warning!" Thorin squawked. He ducked the swing in time for the sharpened steel to pass harmless over his head. "Oy! Watch it! You could have taken off a braid!"

"What a shame that would have been," Fíli muttered dry as the desert but never letting up. He whirled around, slashing his twin swords at the space his cousin had occupied a second ago, his blades singing in his hands. "If you have time to complain about your braids, then I clearly have to try harder."

Ignoring the yelps of protests, he pressed forward with nimble feet. One slash, two slashes, three – he delivered a flurry of quick cuts, never overextending like Dwalin had taught him. Thorin was fumbling to evade his onslaught of attacks and could only defend himself with side swipes that barely halted his blows but to Fíli's surprise, the little bastard was grinning in absolute delight.

No, Fíli narrowed his gaze and felt his pride sting a little, this just won't do.

He feinted to the left, springing forward and thrusting his right sword towards Thorin's heart. He watched Thorin's eyes widen and brought his sword to his vulnerable side on instinct.

Perfect.

He swung his left sword towards Thorin's unguarded right side, stopping inches away from his body. Thorin realized too late; he froze, mid-swing, as the naked metal held him in check.

"That is one point for me," Fíli smirked, pulling away. "Perhaps you should start taking this match more seriously, Cousin."

Thorin gaped with his eyes wide and his jaw dropped. He was heaving. "I –this was supposed to be a friendly spar!"

"It is a friendly spar," Fíli shrugged and lowered his blade, his lips curling a little. Unlike his cousin, he was only slightly out of breath. "I didn't lob off your braid, now did I?"

Thorin let out a sharp, breathless bark of laughter. "No, I suppose you didn't!" Shaking his head, the brunet grinned, white teeth flashing. "Shall we make this best two out of three?"

Fíli arched his brow and gave him an answering look before hefting his swords to battle position.

Best two out of three became best three out of five, then four out of six. They danced around each other, gliding across the training ground, exchanging blows as each became bolder at parrying, thrusting, slashing. Thorin may have had a slow start, but he was improving in leaps and bounds. He even managed to score a handful of points for nicking Fíli in the arms and legs.

He's good, Fíli realized, bringing his left sword down in a lazy arc. His cousin batted the swing away and pushed forward in a smooth motion. Fíli may have more battle experience but Thorin was adapting rapidly. No doubt his nimble mind was aiding him to strategize quickly to make up for his disadvantage.

Thorin would make a formidable foe, that is, if he stopped being so skittish every time Fíli came close to taking off one of his beloved braids.

Fíli ducked at Thorin's wide swing towards his torso and counterattacked with a strike of his own. His gaze narrowed when his cousin beamed at him when they made eye-contact.

Correction, Thorin would make a formidable foe if the little turd stopped being such a sassy little –

Bright laughter cut through Fíli's focus like Orcrist through a foe, and Fíli's head jerked to the sound of the noise. From the corner of his eyes, he could just make out two figures, one tall auburn-haired Elf leaning close to her smaller companion as if to whisper a secret. One of her hands reached over to grasp his shoulder in a gesture that spoke of closeness.

"Tauriel, you wouldn't!" Kíli – and it couldn't be anyone else but him from the sound of his voice – threw his head back and laughed, his hand reaching up to clasp hers.

Even at this distance, Fíli could see how much his brother positively glowed under that El– Tauriel's – affection.

He couldn't remember the last time his brother looked like that.

Something familiar, dark and acrid crawled up Fíli's chest like thick, choking vines and it wrapped around his torso, squeezing tightly until all the air in his lungs left in a warm rush. The staccato beat of his hammering heart, the tacky feeling of cooling sweat of his brow, the slight harshness of his breath, all of that faded away to the back of his mind. Instead, he could only focus on the two happy figures before him, and he could see every little detail as clearly as if he was viewing the world with a magnifying glass – the lax manner Kíli was patting the Elf's hand, the gentle twinkle that shone in his eyes, the sweet soft dimples on his face from his smile, the way his face was tilted up towards her in adoration.

A jolt of pain lanced up his chest but he couldn't look away, not when the Elf was leaning ever closer to his brother, and she was bending down now, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders like a curtain of fine silk. Kíli reached up to tuck a lock of auburn hair behind her ear with a low chuckle, and his hand stilled. Gently, ever so gently, he cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone and –

And he pulled her closer towards him, expression serene –

And she angled her face towards his, her eyes fluttering shut –

And he –

And he –

And Fíli could feel his chest burn.

Get away from him! Get away from him, get away, get away, get away, GET AWAY! GET AWAY!

"Cousin Fíli!"

A flash of metal came rushing towards him and Fíli's body reacted; without a second thought, he brought his sword up to meet the oncoming blade head-on, and a loud, harsh screech of steel grating against steel pierced the air. He pushed his opponent's blade away with a snarl and pivoted, elbowing the other in the gut twice before gripping his opponent's arm. In one breathless second, he sent the other flying over his shoulders with a perfectly executed toss.

"EEeeeeeeeeee – !"

At the high-pitched shriek, he snapped back into awareness as suddenly as having been doused in ice water. His eyes widened at the sight of his screeching cousin shoot through the air like a rock out of a catapult, slamming just as hard into the packed dirt with a loud thump. A cloud of thick, brown dust kicked up from where he landed.

"Thorin!" he cried in alarm and tossed his swords to the side as he rushed towards the groaning figure. Sinking down to his knees, Fíli immediately ran urgent hands over his cousin's chest and ribs to check for broken bones. "Thorin! I'm so sorry! Are you alright? Are you hurt anywhere? Nod once if you feel pain and I will – Wait, no, don't nod. You could've landed on your head. I'll go fetch a healer. I got get some –"

"I'm fine," Thorin wheezed out amidst Fíli's stream of worry. A light coating of dust fell from his person with every choked breath he took. "Just need a mo' – oh stop that." He caught one of Fíli's panicked hands in a firm grip. "Stop," he gritted out again, squeezing the hand in his grasp for good measure. "I'm fine. Just needed to catch…my breath." After a few gulps of air, "Help me up."

With his free hand, Fíli gently guided Thorin until he was sitting up comfortably. He shimmied closer to let Thorin lean against him. Some of the dust had gotten into his hair; Thorin would be peeved when he finds out.

"I am so, so sorry. I was distracted and it was utterly my fault. I swear I will make it up to –" Fíli paused. "Are you, are you laughing?"

Thorin's shoulders, which began to shake during Fíli's rambling, continued to grow more and more violent. At Fíli's question however, it seemed what little control he had over his composure finally snapped. He tossed his head back and guffawed.

"That was absolutely ridiculous!" his cousin howled out, tears collecting at the corner of his eyes. "You just went 'Whoosh', and then I went 'ahhh!'" He made a gesture with his hand in what Fíli thought was supposed to represent an object sailing through the air. "And then I bloody flew through the air! And went 'thump!'" His hands mimed a small explosion. "What even was that move anyway? That was madness! That was brilliant!"

Fíli could feel his cheeks flushed bright red in mortification. "Dwalin taught it to me, but the move doesn't have a name," he mumbled, with his head lowered. "I've been calling it the Dwarf Toss in my mind."

Thorin looked at him in silence with wide surprised eyes. Then, for the second time that afternoon, he broke out into loud guffaws. "The Dwarf Toss!" he wheezed, and Fíli could feel the red flush of embarrassment travel further down his chest. He was surprised that steam was not escaping through his ears at this point. "Why would you – that is ridiculous!"

At the feeling of a nudge on his shoulders, Fíli looked up. Thorin was still chortling as he haphazardly wiped the tears from his eyes. His eyes were shining with mirth and his cheeks were flushed rosy. Clearly, Fíli thought a little dourly, his fall didn't faze him at all.

"We need to come up with a better name for that move," Thorin announced with the authority of one born to royalty. "But first, you must teach me how you did that! That was amazing and magnificent!"

He stopped and peered over Fíli's shoulder, "Cousin Kíli! Did you see what Cousin Fíli did there? Looks like the Lion of Erebor has a few tricks up his sleeves!"

Fíli, who frankly forgot all about his brother in that brief, panicked second, snapped his head up. Kíli was staring back, his lips pressed together to create a thin line, previous traces of laughter gone entirely. Fíli may have mistaken, but his brother looked uncharacteristically tense. Before Fíli could figure out what was wrong, Kíli gave a terse nod and stalked off with Tauriel following silently behind with a small confused frown.

That was strange. And unnerving.

"Hmmm."

He turned back to look at Thorin, whose serious gaze flickered between the space where Kíli was standing and Fíli. "Hmmm what?" Fíli asked, suspicious.

"Nothing, nothing at all." Thorin shook his head lightly. "Just experiencing a small bout of dizziness. Nothing serious. Now, where were we? Best eight out of fifteen?"

They spent another hour duelling before they both conceded that a bath and a change of clothes were much needed before dinner, and following that, a trip to the night market.

"I shall see you in a few hours then," Cousin Thorin had announced with a wave on their way out of the training grounds. "That should just about give us enough time to make ourselves presentable."

"Only a few hours? Goodness, that is hardly any time at all," Fíli's intoned drily. "How will we ever manage to get ourselves sorted in such a tight schedule?"

"Some of us require more time to wash the dust off of them after being rudely introduced to the dirt ground," Thorin quipped back without missing a beat. "Perhaps, if the other party finds himself with extra time on his hand, he can use it to come up with a better name for his move than the unfortunate 'Dwarf Toss'."

And with a turn of his heels, he flounced off, leaving Fíli to stare after his retreating back.

"Oy! There is nothing wrong with 'Dwarf Toss!'" Fíli called out, his cheeks flushing again. His cousin did not bother to respond, the little turd.

Rolling his eyes once again, he stalked off to the Royal Wing after giving his personal guards a quick nod of acknowledgement as they seemingly materialised behind nearby pillars to follow him back.

Perhaps Thorin had been right. He could probably be a tad bit more creative with naming some of his signature battle moves, but Fíli had always been painfully practical and straightforward, both of which worked against him when it came to all things involving creativity.

Kíli had always been the more creative one.

His expression darkened. Kíli, who's madness he could not begin to understand. Honestly, what could he possibly see in that she-Elf? She was, understandably, beautiful in the way all Elves were with pale, flawless skin, high cheekbones and glorious fine hair like spun silk, and she must possess some spark of wit to her to have made his brother laugh so. But like all Elves, she exuded a chilling aloofness as if to think that all creature in Middle-Earth were beneath her, a stark contrast to his brother's warm and passionate heart.

Fíli snorted and stalked up to the door to his shared apartment with Kíli. Perhaps Kíli fancied himself a challenge, and he is taken by his own pride whenever he succeeded in making her feel…something, anything. If that is the case, then it will only be a matter of time before the novelty wears off and Kíli can cease this madness.

He pushed open the door with a sour taste in his mouth. The lie felt painfully hollow even to him.

"How was your day?"

He jolted. Kíli was seated a few paces away from him, dressed in his casual cotton tunic and trousers. In his hands were his favourite hunting knife and what seemed to be an oil-moistened cloth.

"Kíli? What are you doing here? I thought you'd be out longer with, er, Miss Tauriel."

"I had a few matters to attend to before dinner. We thought it'd be best to meet up tomorrow morning." Kíli shrugged and went back to oiling his knife. "So, how was it?" he asked without looking up. "I thought I saw you sparring with Thorin."

Fíli pressed his lips as the clenching pain in his heart flared up once again at the reminder of what Kíli had been doing at the training grounds. "It was, uh," he mumbled, trying to wrestle his bitter feelings down, "it was entertaining?"

"Entertaining," Kíli repeated.

Fíli hummed in agreement. He strolled to a nearby table and started removing his weaponry protective garbs in deft movements, arranging them in neat piles to be stored back into his personal chamber later. "Yes. Cousin Thorin is a surprisingly quick learner. He managed to get me a few times although I managed to win at the end."

He chuckled a little at the memory of Thorin screeching as he sailed through the air. In hindsight, it had been a pretty hilarious moment. "Hopefully, he will be up for another round of sparring sometime in the near future. It will be interesting to see what sort of tricks he will bring to the table the next time around. Cousin Thorin is" – quite a character, bizarre, not at all what Fíli had initially pinned him as, surprisingly endearing, a bit of a dramatic brat – "entertaining."

At Kíli's silence, he cleared his throat. "So, er, how about you? How was your day with Miss Tauriel?"

"It was fine," Kíli said curtly, which was surprising. Fíli would have expected his brother to be positively gushing about his – about how he and that she-Elf –

He shook his head. Not thinking about it.

"Alright, well, I will see you at dinner? I have to go make myself presentable now."

He grabbed his items off the table and was on his way to his bedroom when, "Say, Fíli. I have been thinking."

He turned and glanced at his brother, who was finally looking up from his task at hand. There was something in Kíli's voice, something uncharacteristically tentative, that made him pause. "Yes?"

"We haven't been spending a lot of time together, not since the…" he trailed off, the fight went unsaid. "Do you want to visit the night market with me after dinner?"

Fíli's heart lit up. The mere fact that Kíli wanted to spend time with him was a dream come true, and he had missed his brother terribly, had missed the closeness that they had once shared effortlessly. Although they had apologized to each other, that same level of closeness had not returned, each still walking on eggshells around the other least they spark another argument.

But then, he remembered. Thorin.

"Sorry Kíli," Fíli apologized with a wince, already knowing that his brother would not like his answer given his disdain towards Thorin. "I already agreed to visit the market with Cousin Thorin after dinner. Maybe another time?"

Kíli's expression grew stormy, but he nodded. "Another time, then."

"Another time. I promise," Fíli stressed with as much sincerity as he could muster. That seemed to have done the trick because Kíli returned a small smile.

"Alright, deal."

[AN] Surprise bitches, I'm back! And we have officially entered the second arc of the story \o/ Huzzah, we made it! (many years later…OTL)

Things are about to get complicated. For those who are cringing at the incest tag, now's a good time to call it quits for this fic because from here on end, Imma be developing that ship, or at least, attempt to. We'll see how successful I get.

Thank you once again to those who are (still) reading and reviewing. You guys are amazing and are everything a fanfic writer can wish for. 3

[1] Fíli did try to give his cousin's suggested readings a good ol' college try, but he couldn't make it past halfway through before flipping through the rest of the book and skimming the last couple of chapters. What he failed to realize was the reason why Thorin liked those books – they reflect, with a certain amount of accuracy – the callous, shallow personalities he encounters in the Iron Hills court, so he can relate to those novels on a deeper and more personal level than Fíli can.

Of course, the fact that those same callous, shallow characters die in a fire, well, that's just an added delightful bonus.

[2] As Cousin Thorin becomes more comfortable with Fíli, more of his real personality (read: as a grade A mischievous brat) is starting to shine through his act of being a conniving puppet master.

[3] Aside from the Dwarf Toss, some of Fíli's names for his other moves include the Spinning Slash and the Rib Strike. The names themselves are perfectly acceptable; it's just Thorin who is being a dramatic brat (see point 2.)