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Thorin stares down at Kíli, brow furrowed and nostrils flaring. He is almost steaming in the winter chill and the air around them rings with the echo of his rebukes; the final razor sharp condemnation hanging heavy. He takes one last hissing breath before he turns sharply without another word. He strides away, his back ramrod straight and his anger palpably shrouding him like a fog, and for a moment there's nothing but a thick, tense stillness left in his wake.
Fíli finally breaks it as he sucks in a breath as their uncle vanishes through the gate, and lets out a low whistle through his teeth. He turns just in time to see Kíli let out an exasperated cry and throw his sword down, his hair flying around him wildly.
Kíli winces internally at the harsh ringing sound the blade makes as it clatters to the ground and he bites down on the automatic reaction to scoop it up again and check for damage, instead turning away and balling his fists by his sides.
"Brother..."
Fíli's low voice comes from behind him, quiet and sombre. It's jarring; at odds with his normally good-humoured countenance, and Kíli hates it. He hunches his shoulders and feels his jaw click as his teeth grind together in an effort to keep his frustration at bay. A heavy hand comes to rest on his shoulder, thick fingers digging into the tense muscle.
"It does you no good to sulk."
Kíli whirls round angrily, shrugging off Fíli's hand roughly.
"I'm not sulking!"
Fíli raises an eyebrow and Kíli bristles at the smirk the older dwarf miserably fails to hide behind his golden beard. There's an impotent anger thrumming under his skin, static sparking along his nerve points and he can feel it edging him towards a foolish choice. His knuckles crack; the leather of his gauntlets creaking as his fists tighten and Fíli holds his hands up placatingly.
"I know you are frustrated, but it is for your own good that he is so harsh."
Kíli snorts bitterly and kicks the dirt. Fíli takes a deep breath, keeping his voice calm and steady, and Kíli hates how he feels soothed by it, as though he were some skittish gelding.
"He pushes us so hard because there is much to be learnt. We have to be ready, Kíli, you know that."
Kíli grimaces and lets out a low huff of air, fighting and failing the urge to roll his eyes. Fíli catches the flicker but doesn't react, instead taking a step closer and continuing on.
"There is much to do if we are to accompany Thorin on the quest to Erebor. He will need the best of us to fight alongside him, and he expects you and I to be an example. We are mountain dwarves and -"
"We were mountain dwarves. Now we are just blacksmiths and traders without a home. We have no mountain, Fíli," interrupts Kíli bitterly. "We barely have anything."
Fíli grasps his brother's shoulder again and speaks earnestly, his eyes bright.
"And that is why it is so important. A king without a kingdom must fight doubly hard to protect his people and his birthright; his heirs even more so."
Kíli squirms under Fíli's grip as the older dwarf ducks his head a little to try and catch his eye.
'What is it? Something has been troubling you for weeks now and you do not hide yourself well."
"There is nothing -"
Fíli raises an eyebrow again and tugs sharply at a curl of dark hair brushing the stubble on Kíli's chin.
"Try again, little brother. Despite what you tell yourself, you are not a master at subtlety."
Kíli frowns and jerks the hair from Fíli's fingers petulantly. He turns away slightly, eyes sliding over his discarded sword in the dirt, and his fingers flex as he tries to marshall his thoughts.
"...He does not treat me as an heir."
Fíli doesn't say anything and Kíli swallows before he carries on.
"He treats me as a disappointment."
He feels foolish saying it aloud; a sulking dwarfling babe throwing his toys, but he can't help it. It's not as though he doesn't know that Fíli is the important one. It is Fíli who is in line to the throne; Fíli who will take on the mantle of King and all the responsibilities that follow should Thorin never produce a child of his own. He understands that, as well the consequential result of him being no more than a spare, but he has never felt it as keenly as he has these past few weeks.
Fíli smiles, a little sadly, and squeezes Kíli's shoulder again.
"He does not."
Kíli looks at him disbelievingly for a moment and them gestures to himself.
"Of course he does! I'm just a burden to him. I'm too tall, too skinny, too beardless. I might as well be an elf for all the joy I bring him." He drops his head, hating himself for being so petty. "You are his favourite, Fíli. You are everyone's favourite."
Fíli scoffs and stretches his head back for a second, looking up into the wide open sky above. His face looks older then, weathered and mature in way it hasn't before, and something curls in Kíli's gut. Fíli sighs deeply and looks back at him.
"I can assure you that is not the case. I'm just older, and people expect a certain level of responsibility. It's nothing more than that."
"Of course it is. Look at you." Kíli waves his hand encompassing Fíli's face and body. "You're everything a crown prince is supposed to be. You have your own handcrafted battle blades. You had your duty braids before your 67th birthday. Even your hair is golden - a sign of luck and prosperity as Balin is so eager to keep telling us." He slouches back and feels stupid for his bitterness. "You're every inch the beacon you were born to be."
Fíli reaches up to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of Kíli's neck, his warm hand cupping around his brother's skull. He leans closer, his voice pitched low and warm.
"And you are a clear and indisputable son of Durín. There is no dwarf in Middle Earth who could look upon you and fail to see the royal blood running through your veins."
He squeezes Kíli's neck and leans in, pulling his brother's head down so he can speak directly into his ear.
"When we return to Erebor, which we will do as is our right, there will be much to be done. Our people will need strong leaders. Leaders who do not break under the pressures that will be heaped upon them. All will look to us, Kíli, and we must be able to look back."
Kíli's gaze had been directed across the yard but his eyes dart back to his brother as he speaks, and he stares at the side of Fíli's face where it's pressed closed against his own.
"The responsibility that weighs on my shoulders rests just as heavily on yours, though you may not realise it. That is why he is so tough on you. You are younger and infinitely more precious to him."
Kíli pulls away slightly and looks up under his brow to catch his brother's gaze. Fíli shakes him a little by the nape and stares back, his expression full of affection. There is a moment where neither move, eyes locked, before Kíli leans forward and knocks his head roughly against his brother's. They stay like that, leaning into each other, Fíli's hand still tight and warm around Kíli's neck as their foreheads rest together.
After a minute or so, and almost regretfully, Fíli pulls back and with another little shake, takes his hand from Kíli's neck. He smiles, bright and golden.
"Now then, let's pick up your sword and make sure no damage has been done before Mr. Dwalin finds out you threw it away like an old rag and wrings your neck. There's a smart lad."
Kíli punches him in the arm and Fíli falls back, laughing as the younger dwarf darts to grab his sword and catch up as he saunters towards the gate. He throws an arm around Kíli's shoulders and pulls him in close. Kíli leans into him, smiling and relishing the solid and familiar weight. He reaches up and tugs one of the golden braids in Fíli's beard.
"When did you become so wise?"
Fíli snorts and reaches over to ruffle Kíli's hair, laughing loudly as the younger dwarf bats him away.
"Well someone round here has to be."