Chapter Text
The knife hits Fili’s tunic and there’s the unmistakable noise of metal on metal; but the surface isn’t flat, and the knife slides off what Thorin realizes is one of Fili’s hidden blades. There’s a lot of force behind his motion however and it sinks down into the soft skin beside the dagger, his fist slipping off and slamming into his nephew’s chest, followed by a crack of bone.
Fili cries out, waking immediately with the pain blossoming in his chest and trying to roll up off the ground, bringing both hands to his chest. Blood seeps into his tunic.
You missed. Again! Before he can fight back!
Thorin sneers and raises the dagger, slamming it down toward Fili’s chest again.
“Uncle!”
A hand reaches out, pushing and reaching for Thorin’s arms, and he turns the knife, dragging it across the offending limbs which prevent him from reaching the Crown Prince again, another voice shrieks with pain and crimson blood spills.
Yes, yes. Bleed them both out. Keep going! Aim for the neck, finish them off.
Kili reels back, holding his sliced arm; Fili is gasping, eyes wide. But when Thorin lunges at the golden-haired prince, he still manages to roll away toward his brother. Kili jumps forward, trying to protect Fili who attempts to shout for help, but it’s a mere whisper of what it should be. Kili slips in his own blood, falling across Fili’s middle, and the blond whimpers with the hit.
You’re too slow! Others will be here! Why haven’t you killed the eldest? Are you that useless? You don’t deserve your gold if you can’t protect it. You don’t deserve anything if you can’t rid yourself of one threat.
Something snaps in Thorin’s head, and he looks down at his two nephews. Kili, intentionally or not, now lays on top of Fili, pressed chest to chest. They both look up, fear and pain twisting their usual features.
Thorin gasps. “What am I doing?”
Finish him! Redeem yourself!
“Thorin!” From the doorway, Dwalin looks on, horrified and confused.
Quickly!
The voice presses again, and he loses sight of his most valuable treasures again. Thorin leaps for Fili, all thoughts pressed aside momentarily in hopes that if pleasing the voice will make it go away, at least for a little awhile.
Kili lifts an arm as Thorin comes down towards Fili’s neck. The blade nicks his arm, then through the side of Fili’s neck, deflected, and the point slams into the cold stone. There’s screaming, shouting, but somehow it sounds distant.
Useless, worthless. You don’t deserve anything. You don’t deserve to live. They’d be better off without you. None of this would have happened if you didn’t exist!
Thorin turns the blade on himself, holding it above his chest. He drives it towards his own heart, but Dwalin was on the move as soon as he swung at his nephews. He’s there and grasping at Thorin’s wrists, snagging them and pulling them back away from his King’s heart.
“Thorin, stop!”
Get him, slit his throat--
Thorin spins the knife towards Dwalin, using the momentum to push it back towards his close friend’s neck.
Fatigue is setting in after struggling with his nephews, and Dwalin easily sidesteps the maneuver and disarms Thorin. Dwalin shoves him back into the corner, pushing him down to a sitting position and hovering over.
Failure. It’s gone now. Everything we worked for. You can’t even kill a pair of dwarflings.
Tears sting Thorin’s eyes and he looks up. The rest of the company has turned up - when did that happen? There’s frantic muttering and dwarves running about. In the center of all the attention lays Fili, with Oin hovering over him; there’s bloody wool and cloth laying next to him. Kili stands nearby, trying to get closer; Gloin has an arm wrapped around his uninjured half, trying to bandage his bleeding arm and asking him to sit down. He’s reaching and asking for his brother.
Maybe you did kill one. Maybe you aren’t as hopeless as you seem. Still, it took a lot of effort. If it’d been anybody else it would have been done properly the first time.
“No,” Thorin mutters.
“What?”
Thorin looks up to where Dwalin stares down, holding the bloody knife. His nephews’ blood.
“What did you say?”
“Is Fili okay?” Thorin asks, genuinely concerned, and still a little unsure of what he’s done, not willing to believe it.
Dwalin looks down angrily. “Strange time to start caring, just after attacking the lad.”
“Please, Dwalin. I need to know.”
“Why? So you can plan to attack him again?”
Yes.
“No, that’s not it at all--”
Fili lets out a pained shout, and Kili is clawing at Gloin and Bifur who struggle to hold him back, still trying to reach his brother’s side; his own arm bloody.
At least they may suffer as we have.
“Please! Let me be!”
Dwalin furrows his brow. “Fine. I’m taking you down to the cells,” he says. “Only safe place for you right now.”
“No, please, I need to know if F--”
“Nori, give me a hand,” he calls out, and the other dwarf appears with a frown; his tunic is covered in blood, and Thorin shakes his head, wondering which nephew it belonged too.
They might still perish from infection.
“No!” Thorin shouts again, and Nori looks to Dwalin, confused. There’s another shout from the back, Oin barking orders, and suddenly all he can hear is a pained wheezing sound. Fili. “Please, you don’t understand--”
“No, we definitely do not understand,” Balin says, walking up to the trio. “Why would you attack your own nephews? You’ve not been right for awhile, Thorin. I can see that. But what prompted this?”
They won’t believe you. And if they do, you’ll never become the respected King you could have been. You’ve failed in so many ways, Thorin. You’re weak, incompetent, an ignorant fool--
“Please,” Thorin pleads. “Please let me be.”
Balin pauses and then sighs. He nods to Nori and Dwalin. “Take him to the next room over. I need to speak with him. I have suspicions of what’s happening.”
He knows, he knows. You’re worthless.
“My nephews,” Thorin says, tears clouding his vision. “Will they be alright? Can I see them?”
Dwalin and Nori each grasp one of his arms and pull him forward. The other dwarves go silent as he’s dragged away, save Oin, Dori and Bofur who work frantically over Fili’s prone form. Thorin looks down to see blood splattered across the blond’s lips and chin, and his tunic stained crimson.
Kili is being held back against the wall; Gloin is trying to tie a bandage around his arm. His struggles are weak, and he stares at his still brother, tears down his cheeks.
Failed.
Dwalin pulls him out into the corridor and into the next room. “Sit,” he says, and Thorin lowers himself onto a crate by the wall.
Nori remains at the door, and Dwalin watches from just inside. They say nothing, and Thorin is both grateful and frustrated.
Useless. You can’t even remove two dwarflings. The biggest threats to your rule. The ones who covet your gold the most.
“They do not,” Thorin whispers. “They are loyal. I love them.”
Dwalin watches curiously, but Thorin takes no notice.
Now what? They know. They no longer trust you. You’ve lost everything for us. Even if they forgive you, they’ll never look at you the same way again. You’re sick, tainted, and they all know it could happen again. They’ll never trust you. They’ll never believe you.
A pain-filled scream from the room next door causes Thorin to jump and start to stand.
“Sit,” Dwalin says, his voice a low growl, and Thorin obeys.
Still alive, sadly. But he must be in such pain. At least we did something right.
“No! Nothing is right! You’re wrong!”
Nori and Dwalin exchange glances but hold their ground.
Thorin begins counting quietly in the corner, focusing his thoughts elsewhere so the voice stays away. He’s nearly to four hundred when Balin enters the room, his footsteps echoing in the nearly empty chamber.
“Thorin,” he says with an air of resignation.
“Four hundred twenty-three, four hundred twenty-four--”
“Thorin, stop,” Balin says. “Listen to me.”
He cannot be trusted. He will twist you.
“You’ve already done that!” Thorin screams, twisting his fingers into his own hair. “Four hundred twenty-five, four hundred twenty-six--”
Dwalin follows Balin across the room, clearly concerned for his older brother’s safety. Balin carries over another crate, placing it across from Thorin.
Don’t listen.
“Four hundred twenty-seven, four hundred twenty-eight...”
“How long have you heard the voice?”
Thorin looks up in surprise.
Balin nods knowingly. “Your are not the first, but I do hope you are the last,” he says with a sigh. “Both your father and your grandfather heard voices,” he said. “Your grandfather especially. It is a curse that has followed the line of Durin for generations. Gold sickness, they often call it.”
“My father and my grandfather?”
“Indeed,” Balin explains. “I’m afraid your grandfather was quite taken with it when Smaug attacked. Much would have been different if his mind had not been infested with those vile thoughts.”
“It is not always vile,” Thorin says. “It is often right.”
Balin shakes his head again. “No, it’s not. It’s manipulative. It will tell you what it needs to sway you. And it will overpower you, and try to batter you into submission.”
Thorin stares back, lips slightly parted, quite surprised.
“It’s well-documented,” Balin explains. “But hard to cure, unfortunately. Tell me, six months ago, could the voice have convinced you to attack you nephews?”
You knew that killing them was the right course of action. It still must be done.
“No,” Thorin whispers. “No,” he says again, meeting Balin’s gaze. He swallows, fisting the fabric of his tunic. “Please - are they alright?”
“Kili will be fine, physically. It’s bloody but should clean and stitch up.” He pauses and glances back toward the doorway.
Thorin’s breath hitches.
“Fili is too soon to tell. He’s losing a lot of blood. They’re doing their best.”
On cue, there’s another blood-curdling scream from his eldest nephew, followed by a shout from the younger.
Those sounds are very promising, aren’t they? You’re protecting your rule. It was the right thing to do.
Thorin’s hands move back up to his own head again, finding their way into his silver-streaked hair, and he closes his eyes. A moment later, Balin’s hands find their way onto Thorin’s, pulling them away from his head and holding them within his own.
“What is it telling you?”
“It keeps telling me that killing them was the right thing to do, to protect myself.”
“Why did you need to protect yourself?”
“Fili would take my crown.”
“Why do you believe that?”
Thorin furrows his brow in thought.
“Tell me, Thorin, has he ever done anything to contest your rule, to speak out against, to harm you?”
“On the battlements, earlier today, when I declared war, he was against me--”
“Was he? He called your name, and you told him to go and ready the others for battle. Do you know what he did? He listened. He put on his own armor, and helped the others, ready to lead everybody into a fight, under your command.”
“Did he?”
Balin nods, leaning back on the crate.
“Oh.”
Don’t listen to him.
Thorin winces.
“What did it say?”
“It says I shouldn’t listen to you.”
“What if I told you to pretend that voice is an orc. Or an elf. Would you ever listen to it again?”
“No, of course not!”
“That’s precisely what it is. It’s not healthy, Thorin, and it’s not helping you. It’s caused you to make some questionable decisions and to injure your kin.”
“How do I stop it?”
“It will be difficult to stop it completely,” Balin explains. “But for now, I want you to think of the voice as a malicious creature. The Goblin King, if you will. Cast it out, ignore it. If it’s difficult to ignore, I want you to talk to me.” Balin squeezes his hand. “We all want to support you. We know you are going to be a magnificent King who will lead Erebor back into greatness. We all want that. Do you understand? We wouldn’t have risked our lives to come this far with you if we believed otherwise.”
Don’t listen to him, you need me!
“I don’t need you,” Thorin says. “You have brought me nothing but discontent, fear and pain!” he shouts. Both Dwalin and Nori look concerned, but Balin smiles.
“Good. You’re stronger. You will overcome, and you will rule this mountain.”
“This isn’t going to be easy.”
“It never is. But you have twelve, thirteen with Mr. Baggins, to back you up.”
Thorin nods and closes his eyes, concentrating on his breathing. To his surprise, his mind is quiet; for the first time in weeks, the tension begins to leave his body.
“That’s it,” Balin says, observing the king’s posture. “That’s working. You’re doing well, Thorin.”
The pair sit in silence for a few minutes. Thorin eventually opens his eyes again. “I”m sorry for the pain I’ve caused.”
Balin claps a hand on his arm. “I forgive you. And I’m sure the rest will soon enough.”
Noise from the hallway distracts both of them, and they look up to see Gloin looking, making eye contact with Balin.
“I’ll be right back,” Balin explains. “Just keep breathing deeply.”
Thorin swallows audibly and nods, but his eyes follow Balin, who whispers to both Dwalin and Nori then heads out the door and follows Gloin back toward the other room.
I’ve been with you all your life. Why would I wish to cause you harm?
“Manipulative elf,” Thorin says.
I am you.
“No,” Thorin says. “You are not me. I would not have harmed my nephews. You should not be here. You’re wrong.”
“Thorin,” Dwalin says, coming nearer.
Thorin looks up at his closest ally and friend. “I’m sorry, Dwalin. I never meant to hurt anybody. It shouldn’t have happened.”
Dwalin nods. “It’ll get better from here.”
Somehow, that idea forces the first smiles from Thorin in some time. “I hope so.”
A shuffle announces Balin’s return, and he nods to Nori before returning to stand beside Dwalin. “Fili is stable for now,” he says. “Oin has stitched the damage and stopped the bleeding. He’s unconscious, but his body is resting.”
“Can I see him?”
“Kili is still awake,” Balin explains. “I doubt he will be ready to talk to you; he is still very agitated about Fili’s condition and requires rest for his own injury. I need to explain what is happening. Perhaps by morning.”
“I understand,” he sighs.
“Come. Everyone is heading back to bed. Others will take turns watching over Fili and Kili through the night. But we’ll sleep here.”
When Thorin wakes in the morning, he feels a vigor that has been absent for the last few years; and a noticeable absence of the voice. Dwalin still sleeps nearby, purposefully placed across the doorway, but Balin is folding away his blankets. He notices Thorin and turns to his friend with a soft smile.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Thorin replies, feeling much lighter. “Thank you.”
“I thought you might have,” the older dwarf replies. “I haven’t heard you snore like that in years, and you didn’t toss or turn like you often do.”
“My apologies for the snoring,” Thorin says.
“It’s fine,” Balin replies, moving the bundle of blankets into the corner, and giving Dwalin a quick shake.
“My nephews,” Thorin says. “Did you speak to them? Can I see them?”
“I spoke to Kili late last night,” he says. “And I understand from Gloin that Fili woke during his watch, and he tried to explain. He’s still very ill, and he’s not sure how much he understood.”
Thorin frowns.
“But they are both asleep, so if you would like to see them, you can.”
Both Balin and Dwalin escort him from his room to the one that Fili and Kili claimed. Inside the room some furs are piled in the center of the floor, stained crimson, as is the floor. But the two princes are against the wall now; Kili slumbers in a near-sitting position, his shoulders against the wall and more furs piled around him to support his body. There’s a bloody bandage around his arm; but even so, that arm protectively wraps around the body in front of him.
Laying between his legs, head pillowed on Kili’s abdomen, is Fili. White fabric is wound around his chest, and again around his throat, stained with blood. Thorin watches nervously for a rise and fall of the chest, and only exhales himself when he sees it. His heart sinks as he realizes that he caused this and he trembles.
Balin and Dwalin move closer until he can feel their arms against his, and he’s able to steady himself with their support. “I did this,” he whispers. “Why - how - could I let myself do this?”
“They’re strong lads,” Balin says. “Kili will survive. Fili is healing as we speak; we must keep him rested and clean of infection.”
“We should get him a proper bed. Dori will remember these halls. We should ask Dori to find a bed and have the others help him bring it here.”
“They’re already onto it,” Dwalin says.
“Thank you,” Thorin mutters, his eyes never leaving the slumbering pair.
There’s a light moan, and Kili shifts slightly, stretching in his uncomfortable position, then opening his eyes. He immediately goes rigid when he spots Thorin, and the arm closes over Fili again.
“Kili,” Thorin gasps.
“It alright, lad,” Balin says, purposefully moving to stand between Thorin and Kili. “He’s only come to talk. It’s safe. Just as we discussed last night.”
Kili’s wide eyes look Thorin up and down carefully, his movements short and jittery. It upsets Thorin to see his nephew so frightened; it hurts again knowing that his actions are responsible. He turns away, spotting a chair and moving to retrieve it. He sets the it down at a distance from the pair before seating himself. Only then does Kili appear to relax a little.
“Kili, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, it wasn’t me, it wasn’t the real me. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Kili manages. “Just a cut.”
Fili moans and shifts, and Kili’s hands immediately move to his brother’s, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“I’m here,” Kili whispers. “I’m here. It’s fine. Just rest, and you’ll be fine too.”
“Kili…” the elder moans hoarsely, and his eyes open, immediately fixing on his uncle. Unlike Kili, he doesn’t look at Thorin with fear or agitation. No, there’s anger there. Despite lying wounded and vulnerable, Fili is angry with him.
Somehow, that hurts Thorin more than Kili’s reaction, and he’s unsettled. Anger is not an emotion Fili throws around lightly. It’s very rare that his eldest nephew displays it, and that says more than words ever could.
Angry. He’ll never trust you again. You failed, and now he does have a reason to fight back.
“No,” Thorin whispers. “Leave me alone.”
“That’s right, fight it off,” Balin says, standing at his side, and Thorin begins to breath deeply, focusing his gaze on his nephews. Kili’s eyes dart between both Balin and Thorin for a moment; a moan from Fili brings it down to his brother.
“Throat sore,” Fili mutters hoarsely.
“I’ll get Oin,” Balin says and moves to leave.
“No!” Kili cries out. “Don’t leave us alone with him.”
“I’m here, lad,” Dwalin says, stepping in and standing at Kili’s side; Thorin feels a pang of hurt again when Kili visibly relaxes with Dwalin’s protection. It’s not long before Balin returns with Oin, who attends to the brothers.
“Come, Thorin. You have sworn war upon the others, and we should discuss what you really want.”
“I don’t want to leave them,” he looks down at Kili, who murmurs words in his brother’s ear as Oin changes the bloody dressing on Fili’s neck. “I need to stay with them.”
“They’ll rest easier if you’re not in the room. Come. You can return later. There’s situations to sort out, or they will face a greater threat. You owe it to them to attend to the impending battle.”
Thorin nods and stands. “Kili, Fili.” The pair turn in unison; still fear in Kili’s eyes and anger in Fili’s. “I’m sorry. I promise that was not me, and I will do my best to right this. You mean the world to me. Kili, I hold your safety dear to my heart. Fili, I will see you through to being the best king Erebor will remember. You are a far better soul than I.”
They don’t reply, at least not verbally. Kili diverts his gaze, and to Thorin’s relief, Fili’s gaze softens. He follows Balin out.
The mood remained tense for the following week; Kili refused Thorin entry without somebody else in the room with them. The blood was scrubbed from the floor. A large bed graced the room, as did a side table and set of drawers. Out of the all the rooms, it’s the the only one to look like a proper sleeping chamber. Fili regained some of his movement and was permitted to walk around the room; Oin still worried over infection and looked into the wounds daily, but thus far they appear clean. Kili’s arm was sore and weak; he was frustrated that he couldn't hold his sword. He could barely draw his bow, but it pained him greatly. Thorin felt the weight of guilt upon his shoulders.
Outside Erebor, Thorin defused the situation with the elves and men; which was fortunate, as word arrived that an army of orcs and goblins were approaching. The new King established a battle plan with Bard, Thranduil, Dain and Gandalf. The company dressed for the battle, with the exception of Thorin's nephews. Thorin deliberately withheld the battle news from them, knowing they would try to help, even injured as they were. With such unprecedented cooperation, the battle was won. Thorin was the most seriously wounded however; found unconscious by Beorn and rushed back into Erebor, where he was taken to a room.
When he finally opens his eyes, he is surprised to find Bilbo watching over him.
The hobbit draws back and jumps up. “He’s awake. He’s awake!” he calls out, and Thorin grumbles as an elf presses into view, checking over him before offering a smile; the entire time Bilbo hovers at his elbow.
“I’ll be right back,” Bilbo says. “Somebody is desperate to see you.”
Thorin turns his head on the soft pillow, watching the hobbit depart and expecting him to return with Balin or perhaps Dwalin. He’s very surprised when Kili enters, supporting Fili on his arm. And he’s even more surprised when the pair come to his bed, leaning down to hug him.
“What’s this?” he asks, confused. “I am pleased to see you both, but after I last saw you--”
“We’ve been hoping you would wake,” Kili replies, helping his injured brother to sit before taking a seat beside him.
“They said you were badly wounded,” Fili explains. “You’ve been unconscious for a few days.”
“Fili,” Thorin chokes. “You’re looking better. Are you feeling better?”
He lifts his shirt, revealing a pink scar on his chest; his neck is similarly scarred. “Thranduil helped,” he explains. “I’m still tired and sore and sometimes dizzy, but I feel much better. He says he treated me too late to avoid the scarring. But I’ll be fine.”
Thorin blinks back tears of joy. “Thank Mahal,” he whispers. “And Kili?”
The brunet smiles brightly. “I can hold my sword again,” he says, pulling back his sleeve to reveal a thick scar, more white in color than Fili’s.
“I’m so pleased,” he says again, tears coming to his eyes. “I was so worried about both of you. I never meant to harm you. I was sick--”
“We know. Balin explained more about it,” Fili says. “He asked if we’d heard the voices too.”
Thorin’s eyes go wide; he’d never considered this happening to his nephews. “Do you?”
“No,” Fili says with a smile. “He thinks that maybe we are each other’s voice. And that perhaps growing up away from Erebor played a role. But we understand that the voice made you sick, and we’re going to help you through it now that we know. Whenever you need us, we’ll be at your side.”
“And we wanted to let you know we forgive you,” Kili says. “And we were so scared we wouldn’t be able to tell you that. We love you, and we want to help you restore Erebor to greatness.”
Thorin smiles at Kili, reaching out a hand; Kili finds it with his own, then Fili’s joins them. “You forgive me,” he says, looking between the pair. “Thank you. That means more than all of Erebor’s gold.”