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Chapter Text

Kíli yelped as his brother kicked his legs out from under him. Laughing, Fíli punched the air in momentary victory. Kíli, sensing a narrow opportunity for revenge, sprang up and tackled the fair-haired dwarf.

“Hey!” Fíli puffed indignantly. “I already won!” he rolled over and secured his younger brother in a headlock.

“Not fair,” Kíli whined, voice slightly strained. “I wasn’t ready for that.” With a bit of effort, he managed to wriggle out from his brother’s tight grasp.

The two dwarves grappled for a moment, neither one gaining much leverage. Each step brought them closer and closer to the edge of the riverbank. Their antics were carrying them precariously close to the edge of the riverbank.

“Stop pulling my hair!”

“Did you just try to bite me?”

Birds squawked and flew out of the trees, alarmed by the loud bickering.

A misstep and a sharp cry later, the brothers found themselves tumbling down the steep bank. Narrowly avoiding the trees on the way down, they rolled to a stop mere inches from the edge of the swift waters in a tangled mass of limbs.

Kíli felt the cold water lapping at his fingers, which were slowly growing numb; his arm had been pinned under Fíli’s torso. “Well, that could have been worse,” he panted.

The two brothers untangled themselves and caught their breath.

“It was a bit too close for comfort,” Fíli grumbled. “We must be more careful next time.”

Kíli snickered at his brother’s disgruntled expression. There was a leaf in Fíli’s hair.

“Kíli, I’m being serious! Look at my face. This is my serious face.” He furrowed his brow and pursed his lips for emphasis. “We could have been washed all the way down to the trading port. Imagine the time it would have taken us to get back.”

“Sorry.” Kíli had to suppress a laugh. “It’s just…leaf…” unable to contain himself, he let out a guffaw.

Despite himself, Fíli smiled. He plucked the leaf from his hair and tried to stick it in Kíli’s. The younger dwarf, in hysterics, swatted his brother’s hand away, successfully deflecting the assault.

The sound of crunching leaves snapped the pair back to reality and brought their attention to the top of the riverbank.

Dwalin peered over the edge with his hands on his hips and his brow wrinkled in confusion.  “What are you two doing?” he asked disapprovingly.

“Erm…we fell?” Fíli gave a sheepish smile.

“I have been looking for you two. You must return to Erebor. A dragon is coming!”

Fíli and Kíli exchanged a surprised look.

“Dragon?” Kíli frowned. He had never seen a dragon before in his life, and his imagination conjured images of majestic, fire-breathing creatures. He stared at Dwalin with rapt attention.

“Yes, dragon. Make haste. King Thorin awaits you…and pray tell him that we are all awaiting his command!” Dwalin ran off, leaving Kíli slightly disappointed; he had hoped to learn more about the dragon. Heeding Dwalin’s words, Fíli and Kíli scrambled back up the riverbank.

“Look!” Fíli cried upon reaching the top. He pointed at the distant treetops.

Kíli gazed in wonder at the woods. The trees were burning like torches and the scent of pine needles was in the air. He had a sudden desire to see the dragon (from a safe distance, of course). It was hard to believe that there was a creature that could set fire to the whole forest. He would have to get Fíli to go see it with him later. Kíli shook his head, clearing it of such thoughts. Now was not the time to be distracted by childish fantasies.

The hot, dry wind whistled past the two young dwarves as they sprinted back to Erebor. It only took them minutes to reach the back door. The halls of the city under the mountain were eerily silent, save for their rapid footfalls on the stone floors. There was not a single dwarf in sight in the normally crowded corridors. Fíli and Kíli moved with ease, knowing every twist and turn within. They reached the throne room far faster than they would have on a normal afternoon; nobody was there to block their way. Upon entry to the throne room, they found Thorin in a foul mood.

“Took you two long enough to get here,” he muttered contemptuously, just loud enough for his nephews to hear.

Kíli opened his mouth, about to tell his uncle that he and Fíli had in fact made it back in record time. Fíli elbowed him and the younger one quickly shut his mouth.

“What should be done about the dragon?” Fíli asked, looking at his uncle’s feet. “Our warriors are awaiting orders,” he added, remembering what Dwalin had said.

“Let them do what they may—I have no desire to venture to the gates.” Thorin’s eyes were cold and calculating. He betrayed no emotion.

Fíli met his uncle’s eyes with surprise, jaw dropping slightly. “Uncle, our people need you. They cannot face the dragon alone.”

“They will not be alone.” Thorin’s lips twitched in amusement. “You and your brother will stand on my behalf.”

A beat of silence.

“Sorry, what?” Kíli stammered, speaking out of turn and looking utterly baffled.

“Have I not made myself clear?” Thorin was further enraged by his youngest nephew’s innocent response. “You and Fíli are to join the warriors at the gates.”

Boom! The floor of the throne room shuddered violently. Kíli shifted uncomfortably. Now that the dragon was so close, he no longer felt any desire to see it.

“It seems that Smaug has arrived,” Thorin said, lacing his fingers together. “You have a job to do.”

“We’ve never even seen battle!” Fíli protested, “let alone fight one against a dragon!”

“There is a first time for everything,” Thorin said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Run along, now. Do not test my patience today.”

“You can’t do this! We’re barely of fighting age!” Fíli shouted, storming up to the dais.

Thorin stood up and glared at his oldest nephew. “You have overstepped your limits,” he growled, moving within inches of Fíli’s nose and staring him down with icy blue eyes. “You are a presumptuous dwarf who lacks the ability to follow commands without question. Get out of my sight. Both of you!”

The two dwarves scurried from the throne room. After a bit of thought, Kíli decided that he would take the dragon over the wrath of his uncle any day. He was certain it would have better breath, too.

After the departure of Fíli and Kíli, Thorin fell back in his chair heavily. He had been a less than satisfactory uncle to his nephews since the Battle of Khazad-dûm. How was he to be a loving uncle while he was still haunted by the memories of his grandfather’s demise and his father’s descent into madness? No, it was much better to distance himself from his nephews than to show weakness before them. Boom! Thorin almost rushed to the gates to help defend his home, but caught himself before he could reach the doors of the throne room. He couldn’t just show up in the great hall after saying he wouldn’t fight. With a heavy heart, he made for the hidden pass and fled to Dale in shame.

Hearts racing, Fíli and Kíli made their way down to the armoury, slowing down only to descend the narrow stairway. Boom! They sifted through the remaining weapons, tossing aside items they had not been trained to use. Fíli had a preference for wielding two swords, one in each hand, while Kíli found trust in the bow and arrow. Each found what he was looking for, and Kíli picked up a sword for good measure. Both went without armour as they were lacking the time and knowledge to make sense of all the buckles.

Kíli hesitated at the base of the stairs, shooting his brother an uneasy glance. Fíli gave him a nod of encouragement, and the two headed for the gates. They slipped into the great hall unnoticed, joining the throng of dwarf-warriors.

Boom! The iron gates were beginning to give. Kíli looked up at his older brother, running his fingers along the string of his bow.

“Do you think we’ll survive the night?”

Fíli tightened his grip on his swords. “Let’s hope for the best.”

Boom!

Kíli took a deep breath and pushed his messy dark hair out of his eyes.

“Oi! What do you think you are doing?” came a shout from behind them.

The two dwarves whirled around to find Bofur staring at them in surprise.

“This is no place for young’uns!”

Before either of the brothers could cough up a response, the gates burst open with a final boom! and the dragon’s flames torched the front line. It definitely did not look like the dragon from Kíli’s imagination.

“Get to safety!” Bofur cried over the din of panicking dwarves. He disappeared into the crowd.

“What do we do?” Kíli shouted to his brother.

“Do I look like I know how to fight a dragon?!” Fíli dodged a flying chunk of stone, raising an arm to shield his face.

“We obviously can’t stay here! We’ll end up causing more trouble!”

Fíli looked over his shoulder. To his dismay, the dragon’s talons had already collapsed the archway from which they had entered.

Kíli figured he might as well try to assist the defence of Erebor while his brother searched for a way out. He notched an arrow and released it. The twang of the unfamiliar bow was lost in the clamor, and the young dwarf watched his arrow bounce harmlessly off the dragon’s red scales.

“Make for the gates!” Fíli shouted. “It’s the only way out!”

Kíli let one more arrow fly in the dragon’s direction before scrambling after Fíli. As they neared the gates, a poorly aimed arrow grazed his side. Warm blood trickled down his side, and he began to wish he had worn armour.

The two brothers loped around the pillars, dodging spurts of flame as the dragon worked its way into Erebor. Smaug disregarded Fíli and Kíli. Not worth the trouble, he thought. Not enough meat on them for a mouthful. Seemingly out of nowhere, an axe struck his right leg. He roared in indignation, incinerating another line of dwarves.

“Fíli!”

The dwarf turned at his brother’s cry, just in time to see the dragon’s sweeping red tail before it collided with him and Kíli, sending them into the far wall with a painful thud. The room seemed abnormally bright, every noise muted. He could just make out his brother’s crumpled, inert form through the dust before losing consciousness. Whether the pounding was the footsteps of the dragon or of his own heart he did not know.

Chapter Text

Fíli woke to a dull ringing in his ears. Disoriented, he attempted to recall the events of the previous night. “Fell down a riverbank…” he murmured to no one in particular. “Leaf…Dwalin…dragon…dragon!” His eyes flew open as he remembered Smaug’s horrific assault on Erebor. Bofur had told them to run…and then what? He wracked his brains, trying desperately to remember. “Falling stones…pillars…walls!” his fingers twitched as he remembered cracking his skull on hard rock. “Kíli!” he blurted suddenly, forcing himself into a sitting position and internally cursing as his head screamed at him to lie back down. He blinked, trying to rid the dark spots that blossomed across his eyes.

Ignoring the blood pounding in his head, Fíli dragged himself with stiff, jerky movements over to his brother, who was sprawled face down on the cold stone floor, motionless. Reaching out with a trembling hand, he touched his brother’s back.

“Kíli,” he said hoarsely, exhaustion in his voice.

No response.

With shaking arms, Fíli heaved his brother onto his back and took the younger one’s battered face in his hands. His throat tightened as he wiped the thin trickle of blood from his brother’s mouth with his thumb. “Kíli, wake up.”

Still, no response.

“Kíli, look at me.” The fair-haired dwarf tensed as gave his brother a gentle shake. He whipped his head back and forth, searching for help among the dead bodies.  “Kíli, this isn’t funny anymore!” he wailed, voice strained. “Kíli!”

Heavy footsteps resonated through the hall, echoing off the stone walls with a hollow clatter. Dwalin appeared at Fíli’s shoulder, having been brought by the racket. “What is going on?” he stopped short, confusion in his eyes. Confusion morphed into anger. “What are you doing here?” he questioned accusingly. His eyes drifted to Thorin’s youngest nephew, and his brow furrowed as his anger was quickly replaced by concern.

“Never mind that,” Fíli muttered distractedly, searching desperately for a pulse in his brother’s wrist with shaking hands. The throbbing in his head was getting worse, and dark spots once again threatened to obscure his vision. He willed them to go away as he searched for signs of life in his unresponsive brother.

“Bofur!” Dwalin bellowed over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the small scene.

“Aye, just a moment!” came the distant response, echoing across the stony hall.

Dwalin knelt by the dark-haired dwarf and began checking for vitals. His face remained smooth and impassive, offering no clues to his thoughts. “Bofur, get over here!” he thundered.

Bofur pattered towards Dwalin’s voice. “I said, just a moment!” he huffed. “No need to rush me. I was busy trying to salvage the…” the normally temperate dwarf’s voice trailed off as he arrived, his annoyance vaporizing and eyes widening in shock. “Get him to Dale,” he said, his voice flat. “Now.”

With a nod, Dwalin scooped the young dwarf effortlessly off the floor and dashed towards the shattered gate with a brisk and powerful gait. “Hang in there, little one,” he murmured softly, hoping beyond hope that he would make it to the healers in time.

Fíli tried to follow, but his headache got the better of him and he stumbled, blinking hard and muttering a foul curse in Dwarvish as he tried to regain his balance.

“You alright there, laddie?” Bofur exclaimed, hopping forward and grabbing Fíli’s arm to steady him.

“Yeah, fine.”

“Are you certain? Your nose is bleeding.”

 “Wha—?” he wiped his nose with the back of his hand and was surprised to see crimson on his skin. He let out a groan. “Oh.” Fíli felt the warm liquid drip down his upper lip and looked down to see a drop of red land on his boot. He was vaguely aware of being hoisted onto Bofur’s back before going under.

Thorin sat by the fireside chafing his face with his hands, disgusted by his flight from his home and abandonment of his nephews. He shivered slightly despite the warmth of the room, haunted by the fact that he had possibly just sent his only heirs to their demise. He dropped his hands to his lap and looked up at the opulent ceiling. The weary dwarf sighed with longing, wishing only for Fíli and Kíli to bound into the room as they used to, laughing with shouts of, “Uncle!” as they leaped into his outstretched arms. He felt a certain warmth and comfort whenever they were around, and he missed it very much. Much more than he would admit even to himself. One night, many years ago, Fíli and Kíli had gotten into a scrape with a pack of wargs just outside the border of Dale. The dwarflings stayed with Thorin that night, still shaky from their narrow escape from the beasts’ reeking maws. Thorin had watched his nephews, unable to fall asleep himself. They were only kids, then. He swore that he would always protect them; they would always be sons to him. No matter how tall they grew, he would always love them as a father should. Curse this, curse my weakness, he thought darkly, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into the palms of his calloused hands. He let his head drop and his shoulders hunched in defeat; he had been unable to fulfill his promise to his beloved nephews. Thrain had been driven to madness by grief after the death of Thror. If his nephews didn’t last the night…Thorin was certain he would be going the same way.

The front door was kicked open, and the king’s head snapped up in surprise. His hand went instinctively towards the sword he had thrown unceremoniously on the sheepskin rug by the armchair.

Dwalin burst into the sitting room, cradling Kíli against his chest. Thorin’s heart leaped into his throat at the sight of his lifeless and battle-worn nephew.

“I need help!” Dwalin called, looking around wildly. His eyes glided over Thorin, and the king shrank slightly into the shadows, relieved that he had escaped the notice of one of his most loyal officers. A sharp stab of pain shot through Thorin’s chest as he watched the hawk-like healers swarm around his youngest nephew. The healers swiftly bore Kíli to another room, all shouting over each other while Dwalin scurried anxiously behind. The door shut with a sharp bang and the sitting room fell silent once more.

Thorin jerked his head up sharply at the sound of pattering footsteps. Bofur darted through the open front door bearing Fíli. Thorin bit down on his tongue as his innards twisted. Not Fíli, too. The king thought desperately. He tasted metal in his mouth.

“Thorin!” Bofur exclaimed in surprise, doing a double-take as he saw his king crouched in the corner. “We thought you dead!”

“It is better I were,” Thorin muttered, too quiet for Bofur to hear. He closed his eyes and turned away, unable to endure the sight.

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Fíli was lying flat on his back, staring at the wooden beams on the ceiling. There was a crick in the back of his neck, but the healer had forbidden him to move. He puffed out his cheeks and drummed his fingers on his thigh impatiently.  All he wanted was to see his brother, and the stupid healer was just ambling about, taking her time!

“Stop moving so much,” the healer admonished, pausing her chants. “It’ll only take longer for the incantation to work.”

Stupid incantation, he thought. I wouldn’t move so much if the incantation wasn’t so obnoxiously long. The healer wouldn’t give him any information on his brother, either. Not a single word on his condition. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. Not even if he was dead or alive. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed. He absolutely had to see his brother before—

“Stop moving!” the healer screeched impatiently, jerking the young dwarf unceremoniously out of his thoughts.

“I didn’t do anything!” Fíli retorted, just as loudly.

The healer harrumphed, folding her sinewy arms across her chest. She continued chanting under her breath, circling the straw mat. Fíli felt a sudden urge to prod her long nose…and the temptation grew as he kept staring at its eccentric shape. Dismissing the urge, his thoughts returned to his brother. Surely, Kíli would be alright. But he wasn’t so sure. His brother had caught most of the brunt of the dragon’s tail and was in far-worse condition. If it was taking so long for the healer just to fix a simple headache, it would not be so easy for them to fix his brother. His thoughts grew progressively darker as he dwelled on Kíli’s alleged condition. He exhaled in relief when the screechy, long-nosed healer called him from his thoughts.

“All done,” the healer purred in a falsely sweet voice, obviously trying to mask her immense irritation with Fíli.

Fíli exhaled with relief and rolled off the mat onto his feet. The healer retired gratefully to her room, and Fíli flew out the bedroom door, all in a dither.

The young dwarf bounded into the sitting room in a flurry of limbs, nearly plowing into Bofur.

“Kíli!” he panted, gripping Bofur by the shoulders and giving him a hard shake. “I need to see Kíli.”

“Calm down, laddie!” The older dwarf exclaimed, his teeth rattling. He forced Fíli down into a chair. “This is no way to be behaving around your uncle!”

“Uncle?”Fíli looked past Bofur and noticed Thorin for the first time. The king under the mountain was hunched in the corner of the room by the hearth, staring into the low-burning fire with a hardened expression. He looked up and met his nephew’s fiery eyes with an icy glare. For a moment, Fíli thought he saw his uncle’s face soften with relief, but it was gone so quickly that the young dwarf was convinced it was just a trick of the firelight. He greets me with a glare, after sending us to battle a dragon as big as the meadow. He rolled his eyes with contempt and turned back to Bofur.

“Where’s Kíli?”

Bofur hesitated, taking a deep breath. “It would be best for you not to see him at the moment.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Deafening silence weighed heavily on the young dwarf. His breath hitched as he contemplated the meaning of those words. “What do you mean?” he stammered. “He needs me. I have to go to him. Please,” he gasped, desperation growing with every word.

Bofur bit the inside of his cheek and frowned slightly, looking into Fíli’s pleading eyes. “I promised the healers I would keep you out of there,” he said quietly, barely opening his mouth.

“No!” Fíli shouted, leaping up from his seat and startling the other dwarf into jumping a foot backwards in alarm.

“Shh!” Bofur hissed, trying both to silence the suddenly unruly dwarf and to cover up his previous scare. “You’ll wake the whole house!” He looked around at Thorin and breathed in relief; the king under the mountain was still staring silently at the embers and had not noticed Bofur’s little mishap.  

Fíli glanced over his shoulder. Seeing no one, he turned back to the flustered dwarf. “No!” he repeated, more quietly this time, but with twice the amount of adamancy. “You can’t do this! Not to me! Not to Kíli!” an impending sense of hopelessness came over the young dwarf and he looked away. His eyes fell on a painting of the Battle of Khazad-dûm, and he decided the harsh paint strokes and dark, tumultuous colors were an accurate depiction of his feelings.

“I truly am sorry, laddie. I have to keep you out,” Bofur sighed, knitting his eyebrows and placing a hand on Fíli’s shoulder apologetically. “I wish I could do something for ya.”

Fíli jerked his shoulder away from the well-intentioned dwarf before locking eyes with the other. “Take me to him.”

Bofur shied away from the look of pure rage on the younger dwarf’s face and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

“NOW!”

“I made a promise. You are not to be allowed—oof!” Bofur grunted as the fair-haired dwarf collided with him, having thrown himself violently at the older dwarf. With a sharp exhale, Bofur landed flat on his back with a thump.

“I DON’T CARE WHETHER I’M ALLOWED OR NOT JUST TAKE ME TO HIM!” Fíli bellowed. One hand flew to the empty sheath on his belt while his other hand went for Bofur’s throat. He was breathing hard, holding back tears of frustration and anger. Bofur remained perfectly still, eyes shining with sadness and guilt.

“Fíli, that’s enough.” The low voice conjured an unexpected image of water rolling gently over stones in a riverbed.

The young dwarf whirled around at his uncle’s voice. Thorin’s expression remained impassive, but he had wrapped his arms around himself as if he were physically trying to hold himself together. He continued looking into the glowing embers and made no further sound.  

Fíli turned slowly back to Bofur, who looked up at the young dwarf, pleading silently. Fíli’s eyes widened as he realized the extent of his onslaught, and he immediately released the older dwarf, who gasped and rolled over.

Fíli waited for Bofur to regain his breath before crawling over and fisting the rough fabric of the older dwarf’s shirt. The fury had melted from his face, and Bofur saw the pitiful frailty of a lost dwarfling. “I need this. Please,” the young dwarf choked, voice breaking on the last word.

Bofur closed his eyes and felt his heart shatter, wishing nothing more than to erase the image of Fíli’s anguished face.

When Thorin had retired to his bedroom, Fíli crept silently down the lavish corridor to the room Bofur had pointed him towards. He flinched at every squeak of the mahogany floorboards, certain he would be caught. Haltingly, he approached the dark green door. The young dwarf hesitated. He knew Dwalin was still inside. Fíli reached for the decorated brass doorknob with a trembling hand. What if he’s dead? The tormented dwarf quickly retracted his hand, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head to dismiss the thought. He bit his lip and reached out once more, tightening his hand around the icy doorknob. A shudder shook him, and he drew in a single, ragged breath. He twisted the doorknob and slipped in, quickly shutting the door behind him.

At the sight of his brother, Fíli’s blood turned cold. He bolted past a sleeping Dwalin and fell to his knees at the edge of the mat, hysteria threatening to escape his parted lips. He grasped Kíli’s cold, lifeless hand and clasped it tight to his chest. The tortured dwarf rocked back and forth, trying in vain to calm himself. “No…no…no…” he whimpered, his face crumpling. “Please, Kíli…just wake up. Just wake up…” his shallow breathing mirrored that of his brother as his cries grew softer and softer. His vision blurred as he blinked moisture from his eyes. It was such that he was oblivious to the opening of the door.

Thorin stood unmoving with his hand still on the ornate doorknob, held in place by the back-and-forth motion of his distraught nephew. His heart wrenched and he let his lips part, breath catching in his throat. So this is how the world ends, thought he. Not with a bang, but with a whimper.

Chapter Text

Fíli, time is running out. Things have been set in motion that we cannot understand. Your brother must live. Seek my daughter. You will find her in the woods.

The young dwarf woke with a start, feeling as if he had been roughly shoved. He looked over, half-expecting to see his brother with a mischievous grin. But Kíli was motionless, save for the slight rise and fall of his chest. Fíli clenched his fists, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat. No, I can't lose him. He looked over at the chair next to the door. Dwalin was no longer there. The dream had been unsettling, but he could not bring himself to believe that there really was hope for his brother.

“You are forbidden to listen to anything those impertinent creatures have said to you.”

Fíli's started at the gruff voice behind him and looked around to see Thorin standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a look of stony discontent on his face.

Fíli stared blankly at his uncle. “Erm...what?” he said haltingly.

“Do not tell me you learnt nothing of the uncouth antics of elves.”

“Er...sorry, but you completely lost me there.” Fíli wracked his brains trying to recall any one time an elf had been boorish. He began to wish he had paid attention more often in class.

“Oh for goodness sake, you are an imbecile!” Thorin hissed with disdain. “Elves are selfish. Elves are full of hate. And do not fail to remember Elrond, the intruder of thoughts.” The older dwarf uncrossed his arms and with a mocking smirk, clasped his hands together in front of him. “The seer of the future, the bringer of dreams,” he cooed, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I will not have you running off on his count!” Thorin crossed his arms again, returning to his previously disdainful stance.

“Lord Elrond? From Rivendell?” Fíli cocked his head slightly to the side, frowning.

“No, Elrond of Gondor,” Thorin shouted in exasperation, unfolding his arms once more. “He is not to be trusted. Everything he has shown you is a lie.”

Fíli was stunned by his uncle's brashness. “But he said his daughter could save Kíli...” the young dwarf said quietly, turning away from his uncle and back to his brother. “What if he's telling the truth?”

“The ways of elves are twisted. They abandon the ones in need. What makes you think they would extend their kindness so willingly? Elrond could easily lure you into the forest to hurt you.”

Fíli whirled around and rose to his feet, meeting his uncle's eyes with a venomous glare. “What makes you think you're any different?” the young dwarf spat, abruptly overcome with anger. “What makes you think you don't hurt us?”

Thorin exhaled sharply, wincing. Control your emotions, he chastised himself. Fight back! “I cannot believe you have the audacity to question me!” he took a threatening step forward towards his nephew.

The two dwarves shot daggers at each other, ice locked with fire, until Fíli exhaled in defeat.

“Stop it. Stop this,” the young dwarf said bleakly, lowering his eyes and letting his shoulders drop. “Whatever you're doing, whatever you're hoping to accomplish with this, just stop.”

Thorin stood motionless, shocked by the pain and weariness in his nephew's voice. “I...I don't...” he stammered.

“I'm going. If there's a chance I can save my brother, I'm taking it.” Fíli set his jaw, steeling himself for his next words. “My brother is the only family I have left.”

The king under the mountain stepped back to the doorframe, agony ripping through every cell in his body. He closed his eyes. “Fíli...”

The young dwarf gritted his teeth and turned away from his uncle. He took a deep breath and reached forward, brushing Kíli's forehead with a steady hand. “I'm going to save you, okay? I'll be back soon.” He was vividly aware of Thorin's presence as he gazed at his brother. “Right,” he coughed awkwardly. “See you in a bit.”

Rising, Fíli stormed past his uncle, knocking into his shoulder. He strode into the sitting room without so much as a passing glance at the king.

Thorin stumbled numbly as his nephew pushed past him. What have I done? Muffled voices floated in from the sitting room. The king could just barely make out Bofur's startled inquiry and Fíli's curt response. He flinched as the front door was thrown open with a crash. My fault. Another alarmed question. Another sharp response. Another crash as the front door was slammed shut. Thorin covered his face with his hands and fell back against the wall, sliding down to the floor. One nephew sentenced to death. One nephew driven away. What am I? The wretched dwarf clawed at his face, welcoming the physical pain. Anything to distract him from his mental suffering. He felt the beginning of a scream building in his chest. Quick, pattering footsteps resonated across the sitting room and into the hall. Thorin swallowed and took his hands from his bloodied face. His tormented image slid into an unreadable mask with ease, the result of many years of practice in the presence of his nephews.

“What did ya do to Fíli?” Bofur chastised, pit-patting down the corridor.

Thorin flicked his tongue across his dry lips. His eyes focused on a speck of dust drifting through the air. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Why did he—”

“I SAID NOTHING!” Thorin flew to his feet and snagged the chair from the corner, throwing it in the direction of Bofur's voice. There was a crash and a yelp as Bofur leaped back and scuttled into the sitting room.

Nothing at all. Thorin slid back against the wall, pulling his knees to his chest and allowing his composure to shatter. Nothing at all.

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Fíli stood at the edge of the woods, shivering slightly from the chill. He couldn't quite remember the name of the forest. Something-wood...oh, now I really wish I paid attention. He gave his head a quick shake. Don't get distracted. Steeling himself, he stepped forward into the dank gloom.

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One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight... Fíli counted his steps. No, no, no, it was twenty steps north. But which way is north? He swore as a large spider zipped past his toes. The young dwarf shuddered. He never did like bugs. Especially furry ones twice the size of his face. He sighed dejectedly, giving up hope of finding his way. Fíli trudged over to the nearest tree and plopped down heavily, leaning his head against the fat trunk. He inhaled deeply, trying not to cough on the rancid air. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The forest was rather dark and damp. It smelled of decay, and thick fog swirled about close to the ground. All sorts of queer noises filled the darkness in an unsettling cacophony. He could almost feel a hundred different sets of menacing eyes watching him from behind the leaves. Fear dawned on him as he contemplated the very real possibility that he would be stuck here forever. “No!” he blurted out loud. He kneaded his forehead with his hands. Stop it. You'll get out of this place. You have to. Kíli needs you. Now get up and keep walking. The young dwarf dragged himself to his feet and continued roaming the woods.

Peering through the dense branches, Fíli could just barely see a ray of sunlight in the distance. There must be a clearing! Maybe I can get my bearings there. The young dwarf scrambled towards the light, slipping and tripping over loose stones and roots in his haste. Breaking out of the darkness, the dwarf gasped and hovered for a moment on his toes before splashing into a shallow stream. Swearing and sputtering, he scrambled back onto the bank. And there he sat for a good long while. He took in the sight of the sparkling water, reveling at the beauty that was absent from the muggy, dark forest. The air was surprisingly clean, and he found himself entranced by the slow, steady movement of the stream. He cocked his head as something brighter in the riverbed caught his eye. Reaching into the frigid water, he wrapped his fingers around a smooth metal object. A fragment of light was inlaid in the bow of the iron key. No, not light, Fíli realized after a moment of scrutiny. It's part of a stone. The small fragment appeared to be bursting with light and energy, almost as if it were alive. The young dwarf was fascinated by the impossibility of its existence. It's as if it brings peace to the woods...everything seems so beautiful...and...quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. The woods behind him were silent. Fíli froze, too terrified to move as a thin metal sword tapped the side of his neck.