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“Bad Orc, die now!” The little figure charged, hair flying like black ribbons, barrelling into a huge, trunk-like leg.
There was an overly dramatic oof of pain, and the not-quite-Orc staggered back a step. Before it could right itself, a second figure – just a tad bigger than the first – sprung up from its ambush and flung itself around the shoulders of the giant.
“Filthy rat, you’ll meet your end today!”
And that was the interesting tableau Thorin was treated to the moment he entered the clearing. Dwalin, son of Fundin, second-in-command of the border troops, with a mighty scowl on his face as he flailed around. There was something on his leg; Thorin angled his head and realised it was a tiny Dwarfling, black-haired, bright-eyed and giggling as he clung onto Dwalin’s leg. Thorin’s eyebrow slowly rose as he surveyed the other small creature curled around Dwalin’s shoulders like a sort of golden limpet.
“Bad Orc?” Thorin said conversationally as he set down his weapons and leaned against the handle of one mattock.
“Uncle!” Kili, a five-year-old thing made of boundless energy and neverending eagerness, shrieked in delight as he dropped from his death-hold on Dwalin’s leg, and got up scampering towards Thorin.
The Dwarf leader sighed, bent down and opened his arms in time to scoop up the Dwarfling into his chest. He eyed the child’s wild black mane. “You are a complete mess, Kili. What have you been doing?” he chided, extending his knuckles towards the child’s nose and pinching it gently.
“Fighting Orcs,” Kili wriggled free with a radiant grin. “Fili and I are amaaaaazing at it!”
“Is that so?” Thorin snorted, before turning his head to stare at his other sister-son. Fili, five years older but not necessarily that much bigger, was perched on Dwalin’s back, his arms wound tightly around the warrior’s neck, sweat-dampened golden braids plastered against his cheeks. “And you, Fili, ‘filthy rat’? Mind your language, lad.”
Fili’s face scrunched up in the childish petulance he was starting to display more and more recently. “Mister Dwalin called them filthy rats,” he protested.
Thorin darted a glare at Dwalin, who was trying his honest best to hide his grin under his beard.
“Fili’s right,” Kili spoke up, not understanding at all what the fuss was about, but knowing that Fili must be right.
“Well, it does not matter what others call them,” Thorin arranged his features into his sternest expression. “Uncle Thorin does not like it when you speak like a little uncouth rascal. Do you understand?”
Kili was the quicker to respond. “Yes, Uncle,” he promised solemnly.
Fili took several more moments before his frown eased. Then he sighed like a long-suffering old soul. “I understand, Uncle.” That little flare in his gaze promised future rebellion.
They are reaching that age, Thorin thought to himself with some apprehension. Dis had mentioned it, Balin too. It was that age when Dwarflings discovered their inner defiance and exercised it every chance they get.
“All right,” Dwalin’s voice broke his reverie. The warrior Dwarf was striding across the clearing towards Thorin and Kili. “I think it’s time for little Dwarflings to clean up and go to bed.” He reached up and around, hoisting Fili off his shoulders and placing the boy on the ground. “Go on, laddie.”
“I hate cleaning up,” Kili glowered as Thorin set him down, crossing his arms, looking like a miniature version of his uncle.
“You needn’t clean up,” Fili tossed at his younger brother with a smirking smile. “You stink all the time anyway.”
“I do not!”
“Do too!”
“Lads!” Thorin bellowed, eyebrows knitting together. “I am giving you fifteen counts to get yourself cleaned up and in bed, or by Mahal, you will get an earful from me.”
Making faces at each other but keeping their mouths wisely shut, the two brothers of Durin scurried away from the clearing, taking the short, guarded path back to their encampment. It was not several paces over the path, when Fili paused and turned, holding out his hand, waiting for Kili to catch up. Hands wound together, the boys bounded along the path like flashes of gold and obsidian between the trees.
It was not until he was sure his sister-sons had reached the encampment that Thorin exhaled slowly and turned his eyes away.
“You’re hard on them,” Dwalin’s voice was much nearer to him now that the boys were gone.
“That I am,” Thorin acknowledged. “But you know what this world is like, how cruel life can be. Just one moment of foolishness, of distraction, and things can change. I cannot take any chances.”
“Aye, but they are wee Dwarfs still. Sometimes they’re allowed a little mischief.”
Thorin huffed a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “Coming from the great warrior Dwalin, who did not stop wrecking chaos in his father’s halls even when he was already a stripling.”
Dwalin shook his head with a sigh. “Keep reminding me that.” He fell quiet, then spoke again. “They will be safe, Thorin.”
Thorin paused in mid-action of testing the strength of the newly-forged swords. Perhaps Dwalin was right. That was what gnawed at him. This was the first time he had taken the boys out of their stronghold in Ered Luin to bring them to the Dwarven forges in the town of Men just outside the borders. The distance was short, so they had travelled on foot, and there had been no sightings of Orcs in that area for years. It would be safe. Just one more night of sleep in the woods, and by the next day they would be home. It had to be safe.
Dwalin was chuckling, saying something about Thorin being an overprotective matron, when the strange hissing sound cut through the air. It ended with a chilling thunk.
Thorin sprang up and yanked the crude arrow out of the tree-trunk. His heart leapt to his throat. “Orcs,” his head snapped around to Dwalin. “Orcs!”
++++++++++
The next moments were a frantic blur of limbs clashing and weapons hacking. The alarm resounded through the trees, punctuated by the roar of battle.
He raced towards the ravaged encampment, Dwalin close behind. Sword and double-axes flashed, stained black where they sliced flesh from bone. His gaze flashed wildly around him, seeking the tiny figures of his nephews. Each heartbeat they did not appear, fear mounted in him. No. No.
“Fili!” Thorin spun and thrust his blade through a squealing Orc. Around him, his Dwarven comrades did the same, whirling and slashing and stemming back the tide of Orcs. He screamed again, “Kili!” And his ears strained over the shrieks of bloodshed and death to catch their voices.
Nothing. He fought down the despair and hewed his way through more of those foul creatures. Then –
“Uncle!”
Thorin stopped dead in his tracks. His breath stilled, and his weapon-hand shook as he learnt the meaning of terror.
There was a small track weaving through the woods, just enough for a tribe of armed Orcs atop their Wargs to sneak through. And at the head of that track, the lead Orc leered at them from his perch on his Warg. There were few of those creatures left, most had been cut down, but it was triumph in the leader’s gaze for he had one arm effortlessly locked around two small, thrashing figures.
Fili, pale and terrified, struggled even more fiercely when he caught sight of his uncle. And Kili, tiny Kili, could barely be seen from behind the bulk of the Orc’s arm.
The Orc’s free arm rose, lifting his weapon – jagged-bladed and crusted with dried blood – and pointing it to the Dwarflings in his grasp. Kili stilled immediately, a weak mewl squeezing from him. Fili’s eyes were wide as they followed the movement of the blade gliding back and forth between himself and his younger brother.
A great hush fell across the Dwarven group, followed swiftly by enraged bellows. We’ll rip your heads from your shoulders, vile creatures! Release them!
The Wargs snarled, ears flattened against their great heads, but they were placated by the snarl from the Orc leader. Its voice was black and corrupted, reaching Thorin’s ears like a slithering snake. “At a price, Dwarves.”
Thorin raised his hand, silencing his comrades. His tone was clear and calm, neither of which he felt. “Name it.”
The Orc’s smile widened, revealing shards of blackened teeth beneath rotting gums. “Five hundred pieces of gold.”
His heart sank; Dwalin muttered a curse beside him. He kept his tone flat. “We do not have so many now. Give us time. We will – ”
“We come for the gold in three days.” He sheathed his blade in his makeshift baldric, arm tightening around his small captives.
The Orcs stirred, making to move, and Thorin felt himself bounding forward, his steps desperately slow against the leaps of the Wargs. “Don’t hurt them!” He roared, his voice cracking and lost to the leadened air. “I’ll kill you! I swear to Mahal I’ll flay you alive!”
The terrible figures grew smaller in the distance and just before they disappeared, Thorin saw them, clear as day –
Fili’s golden braids whipping in the wind. Kili’s eyes wide and dark and screaming for him.
Then they were gone.
++++++++++
The air was clammy and dank, as though a blanket chill had covered them. There were no deaths from that brief battle, and few injuries, but they moved slowly, as though pained, and it was not far from the truth. Their little heirs of Durin…their mischievous, scampering, brave little lads. For Fili and Kili belonged to all of them as much as their lives were bound to their young masters. None of them had spoken a word since the capture, and their leader, Thorin, was quieter still.
Dwalin paused before the clearing. The night was deep and Thorin sat on the wood of a fallen tree, hunched over. Clearing his throat to signal his presence, Dwalin stepped towards the other Dwarf.
“Thorin,” he began and his voice was startlingly loud in the chilly wind. “The lads. They would bear the burden of losing the boys. They would pay penance in any way – ”
“No,” Thorin spoke. His voice was hollow, sepulchral. “No one is to blame.”
Except Thorin himself, Dwalin read the rest of his unuttered sentence. “Thorin,” he sighed, feeling both exasperation and sadness and not quite knowing how to quell either. “It is not your fault!”
There was a long moment of silence from Thorin, dragging on until Dwalin thought he had not heard him. Then, Thorin’s dark head bowed even further. “I stood here, Dwalin.” His great shoulders shook. “I stood here toying with weapons while the Orcs took them!”
Dwalin was moving forward before he knew it. He grasped Thorin’s shoulder, not relinquishing his hold even as Thorin jerked like a snapped coil. His face was wild with fury and so much torment. “They – they may die and the last words in their ears would have been a scolding from their uncle.” His voice teetered dangerously close to madness.
Dwalin shook him once, hard and uncompromising. “Stop that,” he commanded. He seized Thorin’s head and pulled him in close, crushing their foreheads together. “Don’t say that. We will not lose ourselves to despair. Not now, Thorin!”
There was a single noise – something strangled and agonised – from Thorin. “There are no five hundred pieces of gold. And no help from Ered Luin can arrive in three days. We cannot wait for the trade.”
“Aye,” Dwalin nodded, his hand tightening in Thorin’s hair. “So what do we do?”
Thorin’s eyes fell shut, closing off his turmoil for a brief moment, and when they opened again, there was clarity in them. “We track the Orcs, hunt them down, make them pay.” Pure devastation in his gaze, focused in determination, sharpened with rage. “There will be no rest, no respite until we get Fili and Kili back, and tear the Orcs apart.”
“Good,” Dwalin breathed, lips turning up in a feral grin. “Good. Sound the order. The lads are ready and waiting.”
Three days and three nights, their given time. The lives of Fili and Kili, their stakes.
Thus the hunt began.
++++++++++
It seemed the journey would never end. The horrid, thick arm at his chest hindered his breathing and he fought to keep from panicking, and to slow his breaths so he did not choke himself. He did not cry either, for that would please the Orc and he would tighten his arm, as he did when Kili cried. He told Kili to quiet himself, terror making his voice angry. Kili had subsided then, sniffling until he was totally silent.
That scared Fili even more, until the Warg jostled them particularly hard, and the Orc’s arm shifted. He caught a glimpse of his little brother, eyes closed and dried tears still clinging onto his eyelashes. He had cried himself to sleep. That made Fili sad and relieved at the same time. Perhaps it would be better…if Kili stayed asleep for the next three days.
That would be no such luck for them.
The Wargs drew to a stop at a secluded spot in the woods. Fili’s gaze darted around him, and he could see now the Orcs’ hideout was nothing more than hasty tents of animal skins – that still smelled horrible – and rotted twigs. But it was isolated, hidden from above by a dark canopy of branch and leaf, and from all sides by thick undergrowth.
The Orc’s arm suddenly lifted and Fili found himself tossed to the ground. He barely had time to stifle his cry, clamber upright and reach out to break Kili’s fall as the younger Dwarfling was similarly flung. Kili landed right at his chest, and both boys fell back onto the ground, Kili startling awake with a whimper, Fili quickly hugging his brother close before he could cry again.
“Dwarf maggots,” the Orc hissed, kicking out with one foot and catching both boys with it. He laughed when they cried out and crouched in on themselves, the older Dwarfling wrapping his body protectively around the younger.
It became a game then. The other Orcs had gathered around and they screeched and struck and hurt, tossing sticks, stones, anything their paws could grab save weapons, at the Dwarflings until they grew bored of their sport.
And through it all, Fili gritted his teeth, made sure he kept Kili’s face tucked against his neck so he could not the malevolence in their deformed faces, and breathed deeply so the pain hurt him less. They spent the night that way, arms and legs wrapped so tightly around each other, none could tell where one Dwarfling began, and the other ended, and shivering against the cold and snarled promises of being eaten alive if the gold did not come.
++++++++++
They tracked and searched and scoured the woods, never resting, stopping only to breathe, regroup and refine their search, and they began anew. A night and day had passed, the deadline of three days looming yet closer, hanging over their heads like a death knell.
Some of them had given in and howled in frustration, others gnashed their teeth and combed the grounds with redoubled effort and anger. And together, they turned the woods over with revenge on their minds.
On the second night, they found them. The unmistakable tracks of foul beasts and their vile riders soiling the earth and plant.
Thorin’s hand clutched at Dwalin with renewed strength, and they shared a look that needed no voice.
We find them.
We take back what is ours.
And we exact vengeance.
++++++++++
There was that rumbling growl again from Kili.
“I’m hungry and thirsty,” Kili said quietly. As quietly as he ever could be, for Kili was never quiet. He had been very brave though, Fili knew. Many times Kili came close to crying, but each time, he swallowed and bit his lip and all that came out of his mouth were dry sobs.
“Me too,” Fili smiled through his fear. He stretched his cramped limbs as best as he could with Kili nestled against him. His whole body hurt.
“I’m scared.” And now Kili’s voice grew small and shaky.
Fili squeezed his eyes shut until the tears subsided without falling, then opened them and smiled. “Me too.”
“I hate Orcs. They stink.”
This time, Fili did not have to try hard to be able to smile. “I think so too,” he whispered, and let Kili take one of his braids to rub at his own cheek. It was a habit Kili took to since he was a squalling babe and could clutch at Fili’s hair, and never managed to break since.
The Orcs were more than just a stink. Fili looked around him and still shuddered even though he had watched the Orcs for two days and a night now. They looked like nothing even his worst nightmares could conjure up, or how the Dwarven stories described them. They were worse. Misshapened, bestial shapes riddled with festering sores. Gaping maws of sharp, stained teeth. Eyes full of hate. Mercifully, since that first night, the Orcs did little to bother them, more interested in scavenging the woods for scraps and carcasses.
“Little rat.” There was a sudden snarl in their direction.
Fili tensed, and Kili’s hand jerked painfully hard on his braid. They stared up at the advancing Orc. There was raw hunger in its black gaze.
“You.” The Orc pointed right at Fili. “Get up.”
Drawing in a trembling breath, Fili carefully pulled Kili aside and behind him, then rose slowly onto his knees. It was hard. He had been crouched in the same position for so long, he ached in many places. He just hoped the Orc would do no more than toss stones at him, because he knew now there were things worse than death. And there was Kili, whom he would protect with his life.
Hissing impatiently, the Orc grabbed him by the front of his tunic and hauled him upright. Fili’s hands came up instinctively to clutch at the fetid, damp hand, and the Orc shook him so hard his teeth clacked together and pain shot up and down his spine.
“Let go of him!” The small, ferocious yell came from behind Fili, and Fili’s heart grew cold. “Don’t you dare hurt my brother!”
A blur of black hair and the green of Kili’s tunic streaked past Fili and latched onto the leg of the Orc. Before Fili could scream at him to stop, Kili sank sharp little teeth into Orc flesh. The Orc howled, releasing Fili, and swiped at Kili, seizing the Dwarfling by the head and lifting him entirely off the ground by his hair. The little one kicked and thrashed, yelling with more fury than pain.
“No!” Now Fili screamed.
The other Orcs had gathered. More than the sneering hatred of the night before, there was bloodlust in their hollow orbs. They seemed to wait, hovering with a sort of morbid anticipation for blood to be shed.
The Orc arched his head with a malevolent laugh. “An arm or leg won’t matter.” His teeth glinted in the wan moonlight. His tongue snaked out, licking over his teeth.
“You can’t!” Fili cried again, his heart thudding in his chest. “You can’t do that.” His mind raced and he tried not to let his fear show on his face.
“And why not, little rat?”
“Because – ” Fili’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t think, eyes pinned to the flailing form of his younger brother and the pained cries, but he had to – he had to. “Because the five hundred pieces of gold are for both of us! Whole. Any…a-any less and you get less than five hundred.” Fili saw the Orc pause, and forged ahead in one rushed breath. “Without an arm, or leg, my Uncle will not pay in full.”
The Orc growled and snarled, but his arm lowered, setting Kili roughly onto the ground. “A few fingers then!”
“Get back, you miserable worm.”
That voice belonged to the leader Orc, Fili recognised it above the others for the cunning evil in its tone. The creature came forth, larger than the rest, stronger, its gaze devoid of mindless hunger. He reached down, picked Kili up by the neck of his tunic as if he were nothing but a toy, and threw him across to Fili with little care.
Fili caught his brother with shaking arms and a heart that refused to stop thumping. Kili was still angry and struggling, so Fili had to shove him behind once again and shush him quiet.
“We want the gold. In full,” the leader Orc leered. He reached out with a huge, thickly-ridged arm, his hand tangling painfully in Fili’s hair, pulling up his head and leaning so close his breath was rank on Fili’s face. “Such a clever little maggot. Your name?”
“Fili,” he said, fingernails digging into his palms so he would not flinch.
“And your mighty uncle?”
There was malicious spite in the Orc’s voice. Fili drew himself as taut and tall as he could, pulling his hurting shoulders back. “You will know his name, when he cuts your throat and feeds your flesh to your dogs.”
The Orc snatched his hand back with a hiss, pinpoints of cruelty gleaming in his lidless gaze. “There are other ways to suffer, Dwarfling.”
That was the last Fili heard before a sharp crack exploded across his cheek.
++++++++++
Thorin held up one hand, halting his company. There was movement ahead, an unnatural rustling of foliage. They were so near; it was all Thorin could do not to charge ahead. But the Orcs had Kili and Fili, and that was enough to force Thorin into slowing down, to take further caution, for if they startled the Orcs – and Thorin refused to think of the consequences. There was madness down that path. He could not let himself think that way.
He led his Dwarves in a wide arc, circling the Orc hideout. They fanned out in position, bristling and ready.
Then Thorin heard the screaming. No foul Orc tongue. It was the high-pitched shriek of a Dwarfling. His heart clenched. His hand convulsed on his sword. He would attack now –
Dwalin’s hand on his arm. Thorin drew in a breath, recognised the emotion in that Dwarfling cry as more frustration than pain. And he stayed his command.
++++++++++
His body was twisted awkwardly on the ground; he had landed so hard all breath had left his chest. He blinked rapidly, coppery-bitterness flooding his mouth, and he realised with strange calm that it was his own blood. Someone was screaming – Kili. Kili was screaming and his body was hunkered over Fili, small hands prodding at Fili’s face.
Breathe, breathe, breathe! Fili coughed violently, turned to one side and retched blood and saliva onto the soil.
“Fili…” Kili sobbed in earnest now. “You’re bleeding, blood, your face…” He babbled through his tears.
“Hush…” Fili croaked, and his cheek flared with pain where the Orc had struck him. His lip felt raw. Slowly, he raised himself onto his elbows, hugely relieved he did not seem to have any broken bones. Just many aches. Above him, owls thrilled in hooting screeches. He tried to smile but gave up when it pulled at his split lip. “Listen, Kili. Owls.”
The younger Dwarfling fell quiet as suddenly as he had started crying. His ears pricked up and now there was growing excitement in his eyes. “No, no!” He plastered his lips to Fili’s ear. “That’s Uncle.”
Fili stared at his younger brother, wanting to believe, terrified to believe. If it was true...then Uncle and the rest were coming. He looked around the Orc hideout, saw the creatures raise their heads in astonishment at the sudden noises breaking across the air.
Fili’s hand grabbed at Kili. “Run,” he hissed under his breath and tugged his brother close. “Follow me, run!”
++++++++++
They crept closer still, one torturous step after another, keeping themselves against the direction of the wind to mask their scent. This was not their way of fighting; they were born to swing their axes and mow down their enemies, but that was not when their loved ones were held hostage.
By the time they were near enough to strike, Thorin smelled the rank Orc flesh and Warg stench. He heard their hissing animal voices and foul speech, and knew he had to warn his nephews of the attack.
He thought of that little game that he used to play with Fili and Kili. He had taught Kili to hide in ambush, and wait, wait, until Fili’s guard was down. Then Thorin would give the signal and Kili would leap up with a victorious yell and tackle his older brother to the ground. He raised his head, cupped his hands around his mouth, and gave that same signal, hoping it would alert his nephews and warn them of danger.
And he prayed to Mahal for strength as he sprang up from his position and charged forward, his own scream lost in the resounding roars of his company rising around him like a chorus of battle horns.
Chaos erupted in the woods as they stormed the hideout. The Orcs were taken by surprise, screeching in impotent rage as they snatched at their crude weapons. They were not many, but they showed more skill with weapons than other tribes Thorin had encountered, and they put up a formidable fight.
He left the common Orcs to his company, the hacking metal of Dwarven battle axes and mattocks flashing at the peripherals of his vision as he turned his head this way and that, searching wildly for his nephews. Ahead, Dwalin’s group battled the Wargs, who were huge and cunning and needed no instruction from their riders to maim and mutilate.
“Fili! Kili!” Thorin bellowed. He feared to look. Should he see their bodies on the ground – no. No! He called for them again and again, desperation edging his screams.
“You will not find them.”
Him. That Orc.
Thorin turned slowly, gripping his sword hard.
“We knew you have no gold for the trade,” the Orc gave a sunless smile, dripping with malice. “So we ate them. Piece. By. Piece. No bodies.”
There was white. A blinding flare of murderous rage such as Thorin had never known. His body moved with pure instinct – the single-minded need to kill. He cut, and cut with his sword, little skill in strokes, bestowed unnatural strength by the grief and terror the Orc’s words had inspired. The Orc could do little against him, his weapon was disarmed, Thorin’s blade slicing him clean through the wrist.
Howling and spitting with agony, the Orc leader fell backward, black blood spurting from his stump and spattering across the ground. He thrashed on the ground, eyes rolling to the back of his head, one hand clutching at his ruined limb.
Thorin followed his movements with a measured gait, as the Orc writhed backwards and grovelled for mercy. Thorin looked at him, raised his sword, and sliced off his other hand. He did not hear the Orc’s sawing shriek. All was quiet in his ears. There, it looked right now, the Orc. Both hands gone at the wrist. Just bloody stumps. The Orc would defile no other innocent with his touch now.
Thorin.
He ignored the voice in his mind calling his name. He looked at the Orc’s legs, jittering on the ground. What use would the Orc have for them now that he did not have hands? He raised his sword again.
“Thorin!” Someone grabbed his arm, yanked it down and grasped his wrist tightly. “Don’t do it. Stop now.”
He looked up, staring at the face before his, seeing, and not really seeing Dwalin. “I can’t. I have to make him die. Slowly.”
Hands grasped his face. “We found them, Thorin. Fili and Kili. They ran and hid. They’re alive.”
The white began to dissipate from his mind, images bleeding into his eyes again. The dark of the woods, fractured moonlight…Dwalin’s face, lined with worry and joy and relief all at once.
“They – ” Thorin could not continue, the rest of his words choked in his throat.
“They’re crying for you now, Thorin. Go to them.” Dwalin let go of him. “Go, and let me finish this.”
The sword clattered from Thorin’s hand. He spun and raced across the ground. Orc carcasses were strewn about him. Dwarves – his men – had gathered ahead, crouching over something, voices raised in gladness. They parted as he arrived, and Thorin could see them now. Small figures amongst the grown Dwarves.
A noise – of gratitude and love and other things Thorin could not name – squeezed from his throat and he threw out his arms as Kili hurled himself into his chest, followed almost at once by Fili. He held them tight, burying his face in their black and golden heads, and thanked their Maker for keeping them alive. Kili bawled into his neck, the stress and fright of his ordeal finally sinking in and unleashing the tears in full force. He stroked the child’s head, letting him cry with all his energy. The other arm, he wrapped around his older nephew, who shed not a single tear, but trembled like a leaf in his embrace.
“My sister-sons…” Thorin spoke into their hair. “My lads…” He could not continue, and he did not need to. He held his nephews for a long time, the rest of his comrades hovering in a protective circle around them, Dwalin amongst them as he returned with his axes stained and sheathed. There was much wetness on Thorin’s cheeks that night, and it was not only from the boys’ tears.
++++++++++
The carcasses were burnt.
The company then travelled some distance away from the grounds of slaughter, that little bit closer to home, and set up camp in a quiet clearing. Even fatigued and battle-sore, some wounded, the Dwarves kept a tight guard of the camp.
The boys had fallen swiftly into slumber, wracked with exhaustion they were. Thorin and Dwalin carried them, once each, and set them carefully on stacked linens within their tent. Under the light of a blazing fire in camp, they examined the Dwarflings without waking them. Kili was covered with grime and dirt, his hair even more unruly than before, and dried tears covered his cheeks, clinging onto the light fluff there. He did not stir even once as he was cleaned and changed and kissed on his forehead.
Thorin then stared down at Fili, who was curled in on himself and muttering in his sleep. An ugly bruise marked his cheek and his lip was cut. The Orc who had done this was dead, made to suffer at the hands of Thorin, and executed by Dwalin. But he and his Orcs had done their work. Thorin kept his hands steady as he peeled the tunic off Fili, uncovering a multitude of bruises and cuts on his small body. Too many to count. Dwalin muttered Khuzdul curses and left the tent to calm himself. Thorin closed his eyes, and opened them again to continue his task of tending to his nephew’s injuries. He applied the salve, bandaged the cuts, and prayed that Fili was only damaged in the skin, and not in spirit. Flesh would heal, but the soul would bear scars for much, much longer.
He spent the night at his nephews’ side, watching them sleep and leaving none for himself. There was still niggling fear in him, that if he shut his eyes, they would once again disappear from sight. The Dwarflings slept through most of the next day, and awoke clamouring loudly for food and drink. The grown and battle-hardened Dwarves of the camp indulged the two little heirs, feeding them whatever they could scrounge from the forest, quite ignoring Thorin as he shook his head and advised his nephews to eat slower, and less because they would not want to overwhelm their starving bellies.
It was the second night after the rescue, that Thorin knew there were things he had to undo from his nephews’ minds. Fili, now lucid and fed, refused to accept any concern more than strictly necessary. He insisted on bathing by himself, scoffing that he was not a baby, and snarled that his injuries were light and needed no attention. Kili jumped at every sudden noise, and clung to his brother even more than usual.
Darkness had fallen. They were staying at the camp for yet another night, all agreeing not to move until Fili and Kili were ready for the rest of the journey home.
Kili had decided that Thorin must tuck them into bed, and would not tolerate anything less than being blanketed on both sides by Thorin and Fili. The older Dwarfling rolled his eyes, but obeyed. He seemed terribly tired, and fell asleep soon, turning on his side so that he faced away from Kili and Thorin.
Peering over to check that his brother was asleep, Kili then burrowed closer to Thorin. “I heard your call, Uncle,” he whispered conspiratorially, pride glowing in his voice. “I knew it was you.”
Thorin smiled and picked the stray curls away from Kili’s sparkling eyes. “Hoot twice like a barn owl…”
“And once like a screech owl,” Kili giggled. “We got Fili the last time.” Then, as with the lightning changes of moods in all younglings, his face fell. “Fili’s hurt, you know…” his voice wavered.
“I know…” Thorin’s hand stilled on Kili’s cheek. The little one was chewing on his bottom lip worriedly, as if he could not decide if he should explain himself. Then his face crumpled even more.
“Because of me…” Kili’s breath hitched.
“No…” Thorin hushed him. “No, Kili. You must not think like that.”
“But it’s true…”
“Yes it is,” Thorin nodded. “And you may have gotten hurt for Fili. I may have gotten hurt when I tried to save you. But there is no blame. We do that because we want to protect those we love.” He could see the wheels turning in Kili’s head as the Dwarfling tried to understand his words.
“When I grow up, it’ll be my turn to protect Fili,” Kili finally decided, eyes gleaming with childish but fierce determination.
“That’s right,” Thorin said, pinching Kili’s nose with his knuckles. “And to do that, you have to get enough sleep. So, hush, and close your eyes.” He tucked the blankets more snugly around Kili and it did not take long for the little one to fall asleep.
Thorin kept his eyes closed, listening to the rise and fall of his nephews’ breathing. Kili’s was deep and slow and measured, his body and mind sound asleep. So it was easy to pick out the other Dwarfling’s breathing – a beat faster, uneven, as one would sound in pretend-sleep. Thorin’s eyes remained close as he heard Fili get up from the linens and pad out of the tent. Thorin counted to three, before he got up and did the same.
There was no fear of loss that night, for there were more than enough Dwarves keeping watch. Fili would not get far even if he tried to stray away from the tent. So he was not surprised to see Fili seated on the ground just several paces away from the tent. He seemed to be staring intently at something laid out before him.
Thorin did not lighten his footfalls; he wanted Fili to hear his approach and not be alarmed. When he reached the child, he saw an array of weapons displayed on the ground. Carefully, he lowered himself and sat on the ground next to Fili.
“Trouble sleeping?” Thorin said quietly.
The Dwarfling turned his head. The bruise was still an angry mark on his cheek, and the cut on his lip still sore, but it was his eyes that stilled Thorin’s breath. The expression in them was flat and hard.
“I want knives, Uncle,” Fili replied, as naturally as if he was asking for treats.
Thorin kept his gaze level. “And why is that?”
Fili did not look away. “I need to protect Kili and myself.”
He inhaled slowly, but when he spoke again, he could not keep the grief from his voice. “I’ll never let another Orc touch a hair of Kili’s head. Or yours. I promise.”
The boy’s lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze flickered, and there, Thorin saw his desperate need to believe. Then his face shut down. “You weren’t there,” he hissed. “You weren’t there! They kicked us around because they thought it was funny. They hurt us! They were going to eat Kili alive and you weren’t there!” His voice rose to a shrill cry. “I need to protect us. I need knives, please!”
Fili’s eyes were bright and wild and so broken. “Oh, Fili…” Thorin said, his heart aching and torn. “I’m so sorry.”
The boy’s mouth opened, but no words issued. There was a sound from his throat, like a stifled whimper, then another, and another. The tears spilled then, and he looked for all of the world, like the terrified Dwarfling he was.
“Fili,” Thorin’s voice was hoarse. “Come here.” And he knew true gratefulness when Fili came to him, trembling arms curling tightly around his neck. He wept fitfully and desperately, choking on both tears and breaths. Thorin said nothing, but laid his cheek against Fili’s head, and pressed a steady hand against his back, until the boy’s sobs evened out and his slight weight sagged against Thorin.
“Fili?” Thorin cradled the boy as closely as he could without aggravating the wounds on his body. “Were you scared?”
The boy went still, then nodded.
“So was I,” Thorin confided. “Terrified. Of losing the both of you.”
Fili kept quiet for a long moment, before he sighed and lifted his head to look at Thorin. The earlier distress and hysteria had faded, leaving in their wake overwhelming exhaustion. “I’m tired now, Uncle. Can we go to sleep?” He looked like a heavy-eyed and tempestuous ten-year-old, and Thorin never thought he’d welcome the sight more than he did now.
“Good thought,” Thorin smiled, rising to his feet and carrying Fili with him. The boy was a tad too large to be carried now, but Thorin did it all the same.
They entered the tent, Fili’s head lolling against his neck sleepily, and Thorin raising an eyebrow when he saw that Kili had made several body-turns in his sleep and now occupied Thorin’s earlier space. There was no way around it, then. Thorin placed Fili carefully on the left of the linens, settled himself in the middle as lightly as he could without jostling either small, warm body to his side. Then, he wrapped his arms around both Dwarflings, and tried to work out how he was going to sleep as both boys immediately snuggled into him and did not budge.
“You love us, Uncle…” Kili murmured. Not a question. A statement of absolute certainty. Even in sleep, he was no less demanding.
“Yes I do,” Thorin replied, feeling like he was talking to himself.
“How much?” Now it was Fili’s turn.
“More than all the gold in the earth,” Thorin smiled, and he knew that to be right and true.
For the glitter of gold would not last, and there were things more precious than life itself.