Chapter Text
Fili took a deep, long draught of his mug of ale. A small group of his fellow dwarves stood nearby around a keg, and he watched them over the rim of his mug. They were laughing, joking and shoving each other playfully as they recounted - much embellished - tales of the hunt they had all gone on earlier that day. At the center of the group, laughing loudest and drinking most, stood his brother Kili.
“I thought I was done for,” Kili crowed, gesturing enough for his ale to slop over the rim of his mug. “A cliff at my back, that huge old wolf baring down on my front.”
“Ah, but you got him, didn’t you?” cheered Grórin, who was a few years younger than Kili and adored him, “Shot an arrow right between his eyes!” There was more cheering and drinking, and a round of slapping Kili on the back.
Fili sat quietly, removed from the others, who it seemed had all but forgotten he was there. Never mind that he had been the one to distract the wolf long enough for Kili to shoot his arrow, or that it was he who had spotted the wolf pack in time to sound the alarm before their hunting party was ambushed. Kili was the finest archer in this part of the mountains, and that was what was celebrated.
Fili loved his brother, more than anything. He did not truly begrudge the younger dwarf his skill, or his popularity. But sometimes it was a little like standing too close to the white-hot fires of a forge; there was a light in Kili, brilliant and alluring, that drew all those around him in like moths to flame. He often brought warmth and light to their lives, which was greatly needed as they were constantly surrounded by the gloom of their homeless wanderings. But sometimes it was too much, and Fili found himself blistering as he fell back behind the light of his brother, and shadows crept across his heart.
That was not to say that Fili himself was unpopular. He had many friends, and often found himself at the center of the group at his brother’s side. But it tired him sometimes, to be constantly so surrounded by the movement and noise of their kin, and he longed for the quieter moments when it was only the two of them. When every smile Kili gave was his and his alone, when it was his shoulder that Kili leaned against, and his ear into which Kili murmured his best jokes. No, he did not begrudge Kili his popularity, but perhaps he did begrudge the others Kili’s attention.
Such thoughts hit deep and hard, and with increasing frequency, but they were near impossible to hold onto for long. When Kili caught his eye and turned that bright smile like a ray of pure sunlight on him, all dark thoughts vanished like a puff of smoke; though hollowness still sat heavy in the pit of his stomach.
The younger dwarf disentangled himself from their friends and dropped onto the bench beside Fili with a cheerful thunk, close enough to nudge his shoulder in silent, familiar greeting.
“You are quiet tonight, brother,” Kili teased. “Wolf got your tongue?”
A slow, reluctant smile spread Fili’s lips. It was drawn unbidden at Kili’s mere presence, and a part of Fili hated him for that. Not truly; he could never really hate Kili. In fact, he doubted anyone could. Anger, perhaps, was the better word; it angered him that his feelings were so easily swayed. Angered him that he gave in helplessly to Kili every time, and perhaps most of all that Kili seemed entirely unaware of the effect he had on those around him.
Fili shook his head, but before he could come up with an answer the other dwarves were already calling Kili back. “Come on,” they shouted, rosy-cheeked and brimming with ale. “We’re up to the wall for a game of darts!” And there, Fili had lost his brother’s attention yet again.
“Let’s go,” Kili agreed in excitement, rising and pulling Fili’s arm to urge him up. “We’ll show those drunkards a thing or two about aim.” The other dwarves had already gone on, the echoes of their playful boasts and jeers ringing down the hallway back to Fili and Kili’s ears.
Fili shook his head, remaining stubbornly in his seat. Most nights he would have joined them happily; he would have put himself at the center of their group at his brother’s side, whether they cared to have him there or not. But he was tired, and his heart was heavy with the weight of jealousy and sadness that he himself only partially understood. “You go on,” he urged, not wanting to ruin the younger dwarf’s fun. “I am tired and believe I shall head to bed.”
Kili paused, a frown creasing his forehead. “Are you all right?” he asked, concern darkening his eyes. It only made Fili feel all the more as though he should slink away into some hole in the ground; his hurt feelings were based and unfounded, and he turned them unfairly against his innocent brother, even in his own mind. “Were you injured?” Kili pressed, reaching toward Fili as though to check for himself. His eyes had widened in surprise and worry, as he had only just realized he had never asked after the skirmish earlier. To be fair, Fili had given him no reason to ask, and in fact was not hurt except for the inevitable odd scrape or bruise that were of no concern. Or rather, he was not hurt in body.
“I am fine,” he assured, clasping Kili’s forearm in an affirming gesture that thwarted Kili’s attempts to inspect him. “Only tired. Go on with the others if you wish; I fear I will be dull company tonight.”
Kili was convinced, if not entirely reassured, and slowly stepped toward the door. “Goodnight, then,” he said in farewell, hesitance in his eyes as he glanced back toward his brother. He could feel Fili’s gloom, though he did not understand it. Truthfully he had felt it growing for some time now, but had thus far failed to convince Fili to confide in him. He suspected Fili was pining for some dwarven lady, or some other matter equally trivial, but it still troubled him that Fili would not talk to him about it; they had shared everything with each other when they were younger, and were not accustomed to keeping secrets from one another. Kili was beginning to think he would have to seek Thorin’s council on the matter, though he wasn’t sure what help the older dwarf might be able to provide.
But the laughter of their friends still echoed distantly through the stone tunnels back to them, and Kili was drawn to it. Fili’s smile, though forced, went some way to assuring him that the matter could at least wait until morning and, setting aside his concern, Kili raced off after their kin.
Fili watched him go, heart heavy and darkness creeping quickly back in as he was left alone. He turned away from the sounds of laughter, draining the last drops of ale from his mug, and turning his boots in the opposite direction toward his bed. The stone halls were mostly empty, the hour late and nearly all of the older dwarves asleep already. Fili’s boots scraped softly and the sound echoed as he plodded toward his chambers.
The halls were beautiful, in their own way, though according to Thorin’s stories they were no match for the former glory of Erebor. They had come to stay here in the Iron Hills with their kinsman Dain and his people a few years ago. It was not the first time they'd enjoyed Dain's hospitality, and likely would not be the last. He was Thorin's closest kin, except for Fili and Kili themselves.
Most of the refugees of Erebor, few though they were, had broken up and drifted off to far corners of the world long ago. But Fili and Kili stayed at Thorin’s side; others joined them for a while, from time to time, remnants of their fallen kingdom flocking to their crownless king’s side, only to realize that Thorin still had nothing to give them and drift away again. It was for the best, really, Thorin was restless, the weight of their exile falling heaviest on his heart, and they rarely stayed in one place for long. Too large a company would find it difficult to keep up with Thorin’s nomadic wanderings.
They had stayed in the Iron Hills surprisingly long this time. But Fili had seen the restlessness darkening Thorin’s eyes again these past few weeks and knew it would not now be long until they left. Already he could feel himself growing distant from these halls in his mind. Where for a time they had become familiar and assuring, now they became restrictive, like an ill-fitting chest guard. It was time to move on.
In a base way, Fili was grateful for Thorin’s wandering ways. While he enjoyed the relative comfort of the cities and outposts they visited, and he took pleasure in the company of their kin, in many ways it was easier on the road. On the road, especially when it was only Thorin, Kili, and himself, their adventures were shared alike; Kili shared with him every mishap, every moment of excitement, every new experience they discovered. But too often when they were among others Kili’s attentions wandered, he made too many friends, too easily. And while Fili too made friends, and together they found fine company wherever they went, always deep in the dark corners of his heart Fili begrudged the attention Kili showered on those around them and longed for the isolation of the wilds where he had to share Kili with only Thorin.
He kicked off his boots carelessly and dropped with a sigh onto the bed that was his for the duration of their stay. The bed was soft and familiar, and yet it chafed him and in a strange way he longed for hard ground and the quiet crackle of a campfire. But there was nothing for it just then, and he put such thoughts aside. Wrapping himself up tightly in his blankets he closed his eyes and listened to the slow beat of his aching heart. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.
Sometime later Fili was pulled out of a light doze as the mattress under him shifted and cool air hit his back. He didn’t turn to look as Kili’s familiar body pressed against his back. Kili smelled of ale and fresh air from the outer wall, and his body was already warm and soft with oncoming sleep. Fili tensed slightly, but shifted over obligingly to allow his brother room; Kili hadn’t come crawling into his bed at night since they were very young, but Fili welcomed it all the same.
Kili slipped an arm around Fili, drawing in close to him and pressing his face into the dip between FIli’s shoulder blades. “We will be leaving soon,” he murmured, knowing Fili was awake and echoing his earlier thoughts. “No more than a day or two, I expect. I saw Thorin gathering supplies earlier today.”
Fili nodded, fingers curling in the rough wool of the blanket he clutched to his chest. He had nothing helpful to offer, so he said nothing. Kili always took it harder when time came to leave; he made friends easily, but always grieved when it came time to part from him, even though he knew that they would probably return again for a time, eventually.
“Where do you think we’ll go next?” Kili asked when Fili failed to break the silence.
“I don’t know,” Fili answered quietly. He didn’t particularly want to think about where they would go; it was the journey he longed for. Kili apparently caught the undertone of impatience in his brother’s voice, because he fell silent and they both lay quietly for a time.
Fili was just beginning to believe that Kili had fallen asleep when the younger dwarf spoke once more. His voice was soft, so soft that Fili might have easily missed it, and there was a low sadness to it that spoke of the gentleness in Kili’s heart. It was easy to forget or overlook that gentleness sometimes, in the midst of his usual cheer and playfulness. But it was his words, more than his tone, that rent Fili’s heart. “Why do you no longer talk to me as you used to?” Kili asked, voice little more than a whisper. It brought up old memories of when they were children and had spent long, lonely night huddled in each other’s arms.
Fili swallowed, back stiffening slightly. He’d thought he had kept at least most of his black moods from his brother’s awareness. How was he to answer that? He had never lied to Kili, but this was a truth he did not think he could tell. In truth, he wasn’t entirely certain he understood the answer himself. So he didn’t speak, half hoping to feign sleep though he knew Kili wouldn’t believe it.
Silence fell between them, Fili remaining silent and Kili not speaking again until a heavy blanket of sleep had fallen over both of them. Kili tightened his arm around his brother, warm puffs of his breath ghosting across the back of Fili’s neck. “I miss you,” Kili whispered, words slow and a little muddled as the realm of dreams claimed him.
Fili’s heart twisted and hot tears stung his eyes. He was a fool. Sweet, innocent Kili had never intentionally injured him, and yet he kept pushing Kili away; punishing his younger brother for something that neither of them could control. He swallowed back the ache in his chest, feeling as though he had somehow turned traitor to the one he loved above all else. “I miss you too,” he mumbled into his pillow, knowing Kili wouldn’t hear. Somehow, he vowed, he would find a way to bridge the distance that had fallen between them; he would purge the shadows that had fallen over his heart and heal the terrible hurt that leaked into Kili’s voice. Maybe someday he could be worthy of his brother’s love once more.