Archive of Our Own

Before Fíli even opens his eyes, he realizes the bed is cooler than it was when he’d first fallen asleep. He grunts, pulling the furs up to his neck, and reaches over to the space beside him.

It’s empty, of course, and he can’t help but feel disappointed.

He tries to remember if Ori had mentioned needing to get up early to get to the library, and though he can’t think of anything, he doesn’t trust his memory. He’d been half asleep when he’d fallen into bed last night, anyway, and while he remembers how soothing and sweet Ori’s words had been—which had been a nice change from their argument earlier—he can’t recall what exactly had been said.

With a sigh, Fíli kicks the furs back off and hauls himself out of bed. He knows he has a fairly full plate today, but he’s just glad he doesn’t have to deal with the council again. He’s not sure he can take another full day of one guild master threatening another’s honor for a larger plot in the marketplace, even with his mother there to help.

Fíli dresses, putting on one of his nicer tunics. The Moria company leaves just after midday, and Balin had asked that Fíli see them off, if only to show that Erebor and the king support the expedition. He might as well look the part, he thinks, choosing a coat that Dori had embroidered himself, gold thread against a rich dark blue. He wishes, yet again, that Ori was here to do his braids, but he manages on his own and decides he doesn’t look too terrible.

The minute he opens the door to leave his chambers, Kíli jumps out of nowhere, a smile on his face.

Fíli knows that smile. It means Kíli’s got an idea, and that usually doesn’t end very well.

“Fíli¡ My brother, my king!” he says, and Fíli rolls his eyes. “No, listen, this is a good one. Even Tauriel thinks so.”

Fíli starts heading to the private dining hall for breakfast, and Kíli follows like a puppy. “I’m sure.”

“She does! She said—and these are her exact words—‘you should talk to your brother about that.’”

“She says that about all your ideas, Kee. It doesn’t mean she likes them.”

“She does, though! It’s about archery, so I know she does. She said she’d help me.”

“Really?” Fíli raised an eyebrow. That was new. Usually Tauriel would hear Kíli explain his ideas, nod and offer suggestions, then hint that he should speak to Fíli about it so Fíli could turn him down. But if she’s offering to actually help, it might be an idea worth considering. “If you really want to, you can bring it up at open court today.”

“Yes!” Kíli beams, shaking Fíli’s arm. “You won’t regret it, Fee! It’s brilliant.”

Fíli grins. “You, being brilliant for once? I don’t buy it.”

“You’ll see!” Kíli winks and runs off just as Fíli arrives at the breakfast hall. It’s completely empty, which is nice—he’ll take the silence while he can.

He drags breakfast out a little longer than he probably should have, because by the time he gets to the throne room, Dwalin seems a little testier than usual, making sure everyone can see the glint of his axes, and Balin’s new replacement, a stout dwarrow named Flár, looks utterly terrified.

At least he’s got some sense, Fíli thinks, and calls for court to begin.

It’s the usual things he’s come to expect from open court—disputes over home expansions, marketplace squabbles, and rent disagreements. Most are handled swiftly; others take only minimal consideration, and at one point Fíli decides to put Flár to the test.

“What do you think?” he asks. An angry-looking grocer and the thief who supposedly stole from her stand before them. The grocer demands payment for the three apples that were stolen, and the thief, who can’t be a day over forty, looks on guiltily.

Flár looks surprised that Fíli asked, then considers for a moment. “It’s only a few apples,” he says, “and I doubt the boy has the coin to pay for it. Maybe have him work for the grocer for a day or two?”

“That’s a good idea,” Fíli says, and offers what he hopes is an encouraging smile. No one can replace Balin, but he thinks with some practice and a bit more confidence, Flár might do just nicely for open court. He turns to the dwarves in front of him, offers Flár’s compromise, and both thief and grocer accept after a little grumbling.

Fíli isn’t sure how much time passes, but soon Kíli and Tauriel are announced, and they walk in front of the throne together and bow as befits their station. Kíli has changed his clothing, Fíli notices, from the clothes he wears when he doesn’t expect to see anyone to a set of his finest blues. Tauriel, too, wears one of her nicer dwarvish-style dresses in a matching shade of midnight blue, with silver beading and embroidery that resembles the night sky.

“Brother, sister,” Fíli greets. “What issue do you bring before me?”

“A proposal for a youth program,” Kíli says, unable to hide his smile. “Erebor has seen trainers of all weapons return to stay, except for archers. It seems unacceptable that our future warriors, those who might wish to learn archery, don’t have the option.”

“Are you suggesting that you will teach them?” Fíli asks.

“Yes.” Kíli nods. “They have no obligation to participate in the program, save that they practice on their own. We will provide the bows, the arrows, and the targets. They need only prove their desire to learn.”

There are several things Fíli needs to tease out there, he knows, so he starts with the first. “Has any interest been shown for such a program?”

“We have five interested dwarflings already.”

“And you say ‘we’ will be providing the equipment. I assume that means the crown.”

“If it pleases Your Highness to fund us, yes.”

“This will not interfere with your duties?” It isn’t as though Kíli has all that much to do officially, anyway, but Fíli knows he has to at least ask.

“No,” Kíli announces, standing up a bit straighter. “I spoke with Master Balin earlier, and he has made a schedule that will allow one of us to train with them in the mornings and the other in the afternoons.”

Fíli turns to Tauriel then. “So you will be helping?”

“Yes,” Tauriel says, the corners of her mouth quirking into a smile. “I do think, out of all my husband’s brilliant ideas, this is one of the best.”

Fíli almost snorts in agreement, but he nods and smiles instead. “See if you can find ten participants, and then I will gladly fund your program so long as you’re still able to attend to your duties.”

He can almost see just how much willpower it takes Kíli not to fist-pump the air, but he and Tauriel bow with bright smiles and thank him before exiting.

A handful more cases are heard and judgment delivered before luncheon. Fíli tries not to look too disappointed when he doesn’t see Ori there, but he’s glad for the opportunity to chat with Balin one last time before he leaves.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do without you,” Fíli admits.

“You’ll do fine,” Balin chuckles.

“Not with the guild masters, I won’t.” Fíli takes a drink from his ale. “The only reason they haven’t actually dueled yet is because you always know how to talk them out of it.”

“Well, I would be a very terrible advisor if I didn’t know how to talk people out of dueling.” He gives Fíli a pointed look, and Fíli almost squirms in his chair. Balin had indeed settled disagreements between Fíli and Kíli when they were younger, and that was not something Fíli particularly wanted to relive. “Your mother will be plenty of help with that, I’m sure, and I know Flár will prove to be just as useful as I have been, if not more so.”

Fíli doesn’t want to say that he disagrees, not when Flár himself is close enough that he might possibly hear, so he just hums. If Flár was that intimidated by open court, he was in for a shock when he had to start going to council meetings. “You haven’t seen Ori today, have you? He doesn’t usually miss breakfast and luncheon.”

Balin opens his mouth to reply, and a burst of laughter erupts from Kíli’s end of the table. Some of the warriors Balin had chosen to join him on their expedition have fallen completely silent as Kíli tells one of his tall tales from a recent hunting trip.

“The beast looked me right in the eyes,” he says, standing up on his chair as he mimics pulling back an arrow from a bow, aiming right at the largest warrior, which elicits a softer round of chuckling. “So I loosed the arrow”—here he does so—“and it—“

“Bounced right off the hog’s forehead,” Fíli announces, making every single dwarf in the room laugh and Tauriel have to hide her smile.

“Fíli!” Kíli says, his invisible bow now forgotten as he jumps down from his chair. “This is a different story!”

“Pity, because that one’s my favorite.” Fíli grins, and Kíli huffs as he sits down again.

Balin stands then, his hands on the table with a smile. “If you would excuse us, Your Majesty, I do think we should pack up the ponies if we are to leave on time.”

There is a quiet round of grumbling, but Fíli nods. “We’ll see you this afternoon, then.”

As those headed for Moria stand and leave, bowing as they do so, the dining hall becomes significantly more quiet. Tauriel stands and takes her leave as well, with Kíli trailing behind, and it’s only Fíli left in the dining hall again.

He’s starting to wonder if he’s getting a little too lucky, what with all this silence, and then his mother walks in.

“You’ve just missed everyone,” Fíli says, and Dís nods.

“That was the plan, actually.” She swoops into the chair to his left, and one of the serving dwarves hurries over to clear her place and present her with her own lunch. “Thank you. Now, I think we have some things to discuss.”

That was never good news. “Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve spoken with the heads of the Weaver’s Guild and the Miner’s Guild, and the only way they’ll agree to a compromise is if the Merchant’s Guild gives up one-fifth of their space in the marketplace to be divided between them.”

Fíli sighs. “And the Merchant’s Guild would rather cut off their beards than do it.”

“Well, of course. Space in the marketplace is very limited.” Dís raises an eyebrow, and Fíli feels like he should be catching something there.

“So… what are you suggesting, then?”

“I’m suggesting we make the marketplace larger.” She pulls a folded-up piece of parchment from the bust of her dress and pushes her plate away as she spreads it out on the table.

It’s a map—well, a hastily-drawn copy of a map; the lines are unsure, but the labeling is clear and precise. The marketplace is in the center, with each stall marked, and it’s surrounded by the estimated thickness of the rest of the mountain around it.

“There’s enough room that, if we excavated just a little more, we could gain a few more stalls without threatening the integrity of the mountain,” Dís explains. “I had a look and a feel of the rock for myself, and to be perfectly honest, we could go deeper than that, but I’m afraid that might cause more trouble with the guilds than it’s worth. At the very least, we could add rows here and here, and that would give us twenty new stalls—“

“—And twenty stalls is exactly one-fifth of what the Merchant’s Guild owns,” Fíli says, suddenly excited. “That will give the Stonemason’s Guild work—a commission for the crown, no less—and take care of that problem as well.”

Dís nods. “Aye, and the Woodworker’s Guild will be able to build brand new stalls and perhaps have commissions of their own from the dwarves who will be moving into them. They won’t be able to complain about their lack of work then.”

“That would completely take care of the marketplace problem,” Fíli says, looking up at his mother in awe. She’d been sitting in on the council meetings for less than a week, and she’d already resolved one of the larger problems Fíli and Balin had been trying to find a resolution for over the last few weeks.

“Well, it would take care of one of them.” Dís folds the map back up again, but leaves it on the table. “We do still have the issue of taxes, but this will at least make some dwarves a little more satisfied, and we’ll have to take it while we can before anyone changes their minds about their demands.”

That was very likely, Fíli knew. “Can you bring it up at tomorrow’s meeting?”

“That was the plan. I only thought you might like to know ahead of time.” Dís flashes a smile, and Fíli knows he’s still paying for not telling her about her new position until after she’d already sat and observed one of the council meetings. She pulled her lunch close again. “It’s probably time for you to return to your people now.”

Fíli sighs, staring at his plate. “Can’t you do it for me?”

“Mm, I could, but I won’t. I’m very grateful for the day off, you see.” Dís sips at her ale. “I think I’ll go to the forges after the Moria caravan leaves, make myself something nice.”

“You’re the worst mother,” Fíli says, pouting, and Dís just laughs. He stands and kisses her forehead. “But the best advisor.”

“That’s more like it.” She holds his face close and knocks their foreheads together. “Now, go do your duty, son of mine, and let me enjoy this food in peace. Mahal knows I deserve it.”

“Only just,” Fíli says, heading for the door, and he laughs when a silver plate is chucked his way and hits the wall just to the right of his head. He’s lucky it wasn’t one of her throwing axes—her aim is incredibly more accurate with her real weapons.

The next hour is spent dealing with open court, albeit without Flár, who had left the dining hall with the Moria company. Fíli didn’t think he’d need Flár’s help, anyway, and from what he understood, Flár had a brother in the company. Fíli certainly wasn’t going to keep any dwarf from saying their goodbyes, not today.

Luckily, the quarrels are all easily resolved, and when Dwalin catches his attention and nods, once, Fíli announces that court is closed, and those interested should gather around the front gates to wish the Moria expedition well. This is met with grumbling—the line to air grievances is long, as it always is, and names are taken to allow those waiting to have the first opportunity to speak to the king next week. Fíli and Dwalin, meanwhile, escape around the tapestry behind the throne to the hidden door.

“Said goodbye to Balin yet?” Fíli asks.

“Aye,” Dwalin says. “Told him he’ll be lucky if his heart lasts long enough to get him there.”

“He’s a tough old dwarrow,” Fíli agrees, and Dwalin grunts.

“What about you?”

Fíli frowns. “What about me?”

“Said your goodbyes yet?”

“To Balin? I suppose.”

Dwalin gives him a look, the same look he gives him when he’s being especially thick, and Fíli gives it right back.

“Never mind,” Dwalin grumbles, and they fall silent.

When they have finally meandered their way through the hidden passages to the exit, a large crowd has already gathered outside the gates. Fíli counts fifteen ponies and thirteen dwarves, although Balin had given him an original list with fourteen names, including his own.

He doesn’t have time to ponder it, as Dwalin leads him toward the center of the crowd. A stone platform stands in front of the caravan, and as Fíli walks toward it, the crowd begins to cheer. Dís follows him close after, seemingly from nowhere, and stands to his right, hands folded behind her back.

Fíli takes the opportunity to look around him for a moment. Balin heads the company, and he is directly in Fíli’s line of sight, with the other members behind him in order of rank. The last pony, burdened with supplies, takes the rear, and all the other ponies have riders now.

Dwalin moves to stand to Fíli’s left, and just out of the corner of his eye, he can see a pointy bit of red hair that can’t be anyone but Nori. That’s odd, Fíli thinks. Usually, Nori keeps an eye on anything Fíli did outside Erebor’s gates, but he does so from a distance.

The crowd quiets, and Fíli turns back to Balin with a smile.

“Today, we send our friends and kin to reclaim what is rightfully ours,” he says, and the crowd roars. “Mahal has blessed us with the recovery of our home, with Erebor, and now that we have built up our strength, we look to Moria. Balin, son of Fundin, the leader of this company, has taken it upon himself to see Moria returned to the dwarves who call it home. For this, he will be named Lord Balin of Moria the moment this company arrives at the gates.”

There are more cheers, and even Balin himself looks surprised. He gives Fíli a grateful smile that reaches his eyes, and Fíli returns it, waiting for the commotion to quiet before continuing. “Each member of this company has been chosen by Balin, son of Fundin, as the best candidates for this task, and each of them has accepted. For this, we commend them, and bid them farewell and good journey. May their axes always be sharp and their beards grow ever longer!”

Music starts then, and Fíli steps away from the platform edge as the company begins to ride past at a walk, waving to the dwarflings who flutter tiny flags of Erebor at them. Fíli makes a point of making eye contact with each dwarf as they pass, nodding and smiling at them as a show of support. Some appear a bit taken aback, others merely return the gesture.

Dwalin moves suddenly from beside Fíli, and Fíli watches him dart toward the crowd. He can see Nori properly now, and he looks concerned, staring at something in front of him. Fíli follows his gaze to the last of the riding ponies. It carries the fourteenth member of Balin’s party, the one Fíli hadn’t seen earlier, and they are dressed entirely in a dark gray, with a hood over their head that leaves their face in darkness.

Gandalf is the only person Fíli has ever seen who has worn all gray, and he wonders briefly if they’re a wizard—albeit a dwarf-sized one—and turns to look at Nori again, but Dwalin has resumed his place, apparently having dealt with whatever he’d seen in the crowd. Fíli faces front again, and the last pony walks by.

To think, Ori almost went with them. Fíli finds himself infinitely glad that he didn't.

The dwarflings are allowed to chase them to the hill, and they do, flying kites and waving small flags. Fíli can hear one voice above the others, calling, “Adad! Adad!” Dís looks infinitely sad for only a moment, then turns and takes her leave.

Fíli’s not inclined to stay, either.

“I’m going back inside,” he tells Dwalin, and he and Nori soon follow.

It isn’t until Fíli reaches the throne room, far enough away from the crowd outside the mountain that he can’t hear the calls for fathers and mothers and the cheering of the crowd, that he realizes he has nothing to do for the rest of the day. He can’t remember the last time he’s had a truly free evening.

He should have known that wouldn’t be the case for very long.

“There was a Man in the crowd,” Dwalin says once the three of them are in private.

“Aye, I saw lots of Men in the crowd, considering that we live next to a city of them,” Fíli says, taking a seat and offering two to them, but the expression on Dwalin’s face is not one of jest, and neither move.

“He had a particular kind of knife,” Nori says. “One he shouldn’t have had, one with thieves’ marks on it. Dwarven thieves’ marks.”

Fíli blinks. That explains it, then. “Well, maybe he won it in a bet, or bought it fairly.”

Nori shakes his head. “He didn’t look like the fair type.”

“How do you think he got it, then?” Fíli asks. “It isn’t as though he—“

“There were disappearances in the Lower City,” Nori says. “Thieves, mainly those without family, disappeared in the middle of the night. Some turned up in the sewers, some didn’t. They’re nobody anyone would consider all that important, so nothing’s been done about it.”

Fíli’s stomach fills with dread. Nothing’s been done about it? How could something like that get past him without him knowing? “I—“

“You didn’t know because I didn’t tell you,” Nori says, and it doesn’t reassure Fíli like Nori apparently thinks it will. “I’ve had my eye on the situation, and it seemed to have stopped a month ago, so there wasn’t any action that needed to be taken besides catching the bastards doing it. Which I’ve been trying to do, believe me. I knew nearly all of the victims, and worked with half of them.”

“So you think this Man has something to do with them,” Fíli says.

“Aye.” Dwalin nods. “I told a couple of my guards to follow him and find out where he lives. They’ll report back in the morning and I’ll send another two out, if you don’t have a need for them.”

“No, no, we can afford to have plenty of guards for this.” Fíli sighs. People have died, and he didn’t even know about it. He can’t do a thing about it now except to give them justice. What sort of a king can’t even protect his people?

“We’ll handle it.” Nori glances toward the door, and a moment later there is a knock. “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, we’re the only ones who know—us and the thieves, anyway, and thieves don’t really give a warg’s arse about you to begin with.”

“Brilliant,” Fíli mutters, then calls, “Come in!” He turns to Nori and Dwalin, nodding. “Do what you think is best. I trust you both.”

They both give a short bow, then leave out of one door while the other opens. It’s Flár, and he looks almost guilty as he hands over a thick stack of parchment.

“The head of the Tailor’s Guild wants you to look over his tax proposal,” he says, and Fíli groans.  “He wants to discuss it at the next meeting.”

“It’s supposed to be my evening off,” Fíli says into his hand, but he takes the proposal anyway, skimming over the first page. “Thank you, I suppose. Though next time, maybe leave it for tomorrow.”

Flár’s eyes widen, and Fíli sighs again.

“I was only joking,” he says, and Flár visibly relaxes.

“Is there anything else I can do for Your Highness?” he asks, and Fíli shakes his head.

Not besides making this all go away for a bit, he thinks. “No, that’s all, thank you.”

Flár looks about to leave, then perks up as though remembering something. “Oh, I was told to let you know that dinner is in half an hour.”

Well, that’s as good an excuse as any to leave his work until after dinner. “Thank you for reminding me. I’ll be there on time.”

With a nod and a smile, Flár leaves, and the moment he does so, Fíli drops the proposal on his desk and stares at it for a moment. He knows he should at least skim over it, and he eventually does, straining his ears to make sure he’ll hear the eighteenth bell.

The moment he does, the proposal is left behind and he makes his way to dinner.

Fíli’s not sure how to feel when the chair to his right is empty for the third time that day. The dining hall is emptier than it usually is, what with Balin and other members of court gone, but it’s Sunday, so the entire Company is in attendance. It only makes Ori’s absence more striking, but no one asks or even mentions his name.

Soon enough, Bofur’s on the table again, leading everyone in song and sloshing ale everywhere. Kíli is quick to join, and soon enough they’ve linked arms and are dancing on the table together.

It was almost fun for a while, and Fíli very nearly turned to Ori’s chair to make a comment before realizing it was empty.

He stays as long as is polite, then excuses himself. He’s fairly sure no one notices save for Dwalin, who nods and watches him leave before returning to his viol.

The kitchens are empty except for Bombur’s apprentices, and Fíli manages to talk them into giving him another plate of the meat and potatoes that had been served at dinner, as well as a tankard to go with it. If Ori’s been working so hard he hasn’t eaten all day, Fíli thinks, he’ll need it.

The first place he looks is the library. It doesn’t happen too often, but sometimes Ori gets so caught up in his work that he completely loses track of time. That happened more frequently when he was still working on his account of their quest, but it wouldn’t surprise Fíli a bit if he’d just been reading and forgotten to eat.

The thought makes him smile, and he’s so sure that he’ll find Ori in the library that he’s shocked when he only finds Ori’s assistant—not his apprentice; Ori had made that very clear—reshelving a stack of books.

“Master Ori hasn’t been here all day,” she tells Fíli when he asks, knocking her hands together to dust them off. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon, but he was acting a bit funny yesterday. Maybe he’s not feeling well?”

That must have been after their argument, Fíli thinks, nodding and thanking her. Where else could he be, then? Ori might have taken a trip into the Upper City to see his brothers, but Nori was spending more time in the palace than elsewhere, and Dori usually didn’t keep Ori for this long.

Unless something had happened to Dori, and Ori hadn’t been able to send a message back.

Nori would know if that were the case, Fíli assures himself. Nori has eyes and ears all over Erebor, and someone would have reported back to him. And if Nori knew, Dwalin knew, and Dwalin would tell him. So Dori had to be fine.

The only other place Fíli can even think of is Ori’s chambers, and the thought makes him frown. If Ori’s in his own chambers, he likely doesn’t want to be disturbed, and Fíli weighs his options for a moment before deciding he’ll just knock and see.

It seems to take forever to walk to Ori’s rooms, and he listens outside the door for a few moments. When he can’t hear anything, he knocks, and he’s met with silence again.

“Ori?” he asks, placing his hand on the stone door, and, to his surprise, it opens easily.

The room is entirely dark, and Fíli fumbles around for a bit, eventually finding a candle and matches and lighting it. He’s only ever been in Ori’s room on a few occasions; it feels smaller than his own, even with two people sharing it, and after having to live in close quarters with his brothers for most of his life, Ori doesn’t ever seem to feel too comfortable in a room on his own.

He’s not there, of course, and nothing seems to be touched recently save for the wardrobe and the desk. On a whim, since it’s right next to where Fíli is standing, he opens the wardrobe to find it’s looking more sparse than he would have thought. And—yes, it is missing a few things he knows he’s seen Ori wear before, like the new purple coat Dori had made him, and green tunic that brings out the auburn strands in his hair and is just a little too tight for him in all the nicest places…

Fíli shakes that thought away and closes the wardrobe, walking over to the desk and setting the plate and tankard down. It’s a bit messy, with letters and blank parchment strewn across its top, with a small patch cleared for writing. When he looks a bit closer, on top of the letters he finds what looks like a list, with tick marks next to certain items and x’s next to others.

It’s a packing list, Fíli realizes, and he feels his stomach sink.

He sets the list back down and puts out the candle quickly, letting the door to Ori’s rooms slam shut behind him. His heart is pounding, and he knows, he knows where Ori’s gone, but he refuses to let himself think about that.

Ori wouldn’t leave without even saying goodbye. He wouldn’t.

He walks to his own chambers, then pauses and whirls on one of the two guards standing outside.

“Send for Captain Dwalin,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. “Have him come directly to my chambers. Tell him it’s important.”

The guard nods and takes off. Another guard replaces him almost immediately, and Fíli walks into his chambers and pushes the door shut with a slam behind him.

The change is instant. It becomes more difficult for Fíli to breathe, and he can hear his heart pound between his ears. He starts searching for something, anything that belonged to Ori, that might tell him what had happened and why he’d left.

A small voice in the back of his head tells him that he knows where Ori has gone, that he’s known all along, but he ignores it.

Ori’s book is gone, the one he’d been reading the night before when Fíli had fallen into bed half-asleep. So are his boots, and the deep blue socks he’d been knitting, and his favorite coat. His change of clothes, the ones he always leaves in Fíli’s rooms for emergencies, is still in the wardrobe, untouched.

Fíli moves to his desk. Ori always spends more time there than Fíli himself does, so Fíli’s not even sure what he’s looking for. Nothing seems out of place, although—

Although his quill has been used recently.

The blue-black ink Fíli favors is still on the nib. Fíli can’t remember the last time he used that quill, but he’s almost certain he would have flushed it out afterward. It’s not the kind Ori likes to use—“It’s too… frilly,” he’d said once with a frown—but no one else would dare use the king’s ink and quill.

Fíli starts searching for a note, or a scrap of paper. Ori’s clever; if someone had taken him from Fíli’s chamber—Fíli knows that’s unlikely now, but he can’t help but think it’s still possible—Ori would have done something to let Fíli know.

There’s nothing near the bed, or on the desk, or anywhere else. Fíli starts pacing in front of his bookshelves, dread starting to fill through him, and then he sees a scrap of cream parchment sticking out on the bottom shelf.

He reaches to grab it, and realizes that it’s situated between the book Ori had been reading and another-a copy of Ori’s history of their quest. Fíli smiles a bit, slipping the parchment out.

It’s folded haphazardly, with Fíli’s name on the front flap. It’s not Ori’s usual neat, steady hand; the accent and dot over the I’s in Fíli’s name are smudged. Fíli can’t get it open quickly enough; his hands are suddenly clumsy and shake the page as he reads.

No.

No, no, no—

Fíli walks backwards, the backs of his legs connecting with the side of the bed, and he sits on the edge as though in a daze.

The note is only confirmation of what he’s feared, what he’s refused to acknowledge. Having Ori’s words, Ori’s handwriting, as sloppy as it is on the parchment, is a blow Fíli isn’t sure how to cope with.

Ori wanted to leave. He wanted to leave, and he did, and he didn’t even say goodbye to Fíli in person.

There’s a heavy-handed knock at his door, and Fíli blearily calls for Dwalin to come in.

“Ori’s gone,” he says, staring at his desk. Were that quill, that ink bottle, that desk the last things he touched before he left? “He’s—he went with the Moria expedition.”

Dwalin doesn’t react as he walks inside the room. He glances down briefly, then looks up at Fíli, and slowly Fíli’s gaze turns to him.

“You knew,” Fíli says, his fists clenching, his fingernails digging into the flesh of his palm, but he can hardly feel it. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

“Aye,” Dwalin says, and Fíli isn’t sure he’s heard such a soft tone from Dwalin in decades. “It wasn’t my place to tell.”

“Nori told you,” Fíli says, and Dwalin nods. “Which means Nori and Dori knew.”

“They’re his brothers.”

“And I’m his king.” The words don’t have the sharpness Fíli had intended, and Dwalin takes a step closer, reaching for Fíli’s shoulder.

Fíli stands and steps away, turning his back to Dwalin.

There’s a sigh from behind him, and the sound of shifting leather. “We could probably catch up with them, if you wanted to send someone to get him.” Dwalin doesn’t sound enthusiastic.

The idea is a tempting one, but Fíli knows he’s already done wrong by Ori, and for all he knew, that was why Ori had left. By ordering him to stay, Fíli might as well have helped Ori right out the front gates.

He won’t make the same mistake again.

“No. No, it’s—let him go.”

“He talked to you about it, didn’t he?” Dwalin asks, genuinely curious, and Fíli turns back to him.

“He said he wanted to go. Yesterday.” He can feel his anger, previously sitting at a simmer, boil back over. “His brothers have known for Mahal knows how long, and he only just told me yesterday.”

Dwalin at least seems surprised by that, shaking his head. “Nori told me three weeks ago. Strange that he’d wait that long to tell you, unless he had a good reason.”

“He probably just wanted to leave here,” Fíli says. “To catch the best opportunity to go.”

“Is that what you think of him?”

“No,” Fíli admits, looking down at his hands. The note’s been crumpled, and he unclenches his fist and smooths out the parchment on his desk with his fingers. “No, he wouldn’t do that.”

The room is silent for a moment.

“Nori’s sending him a letter tomorrow,” Dwalin says. “Him and Dori both. You could send one, too. Balin said they’ll get it before they hit Mirkwood.”

Fíli shakes his head. It’s too raw, too fresh. He’s always had difficulty saying what he means, finding the right words, and he knows he’d be even worse at it now, ruin things even further. “Not now,” he says.

“They’ll be in elf territory for a long while,” Dwalin warns. “Can’t send ravens through the wood.”

Fíli shakes his head again. “I know.”

Dwalin shifts his weight on his feet, and Fíli speaks just as Dwalin looks like he’s about to.

“I told him to stay,” Fíli says, unable to look at Dwalin. “I ordered him to. I didn’t mean to get so upset; I don’t even know why I said it, but—“ He sighs, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Do you think he hates me for it?”

Dwalin looks surprised by the question, and he waits before speaking. “Did he seem like he hated you last night?”

“No,” Fíli says, meeting Dwalin’s gaze again. They had argued that afternoon, yes, but Ori had held him tightly that night, had listened to Fíli’s complaining about his day and comforted him.

“Then I’d say he doesn’t.”

“But I—“

“Lad,” Dwalin says, “it’d take a lot more than that to get him to hate you. He left because he’d been planning it for a while, not because of something you said when you were upset with him.”

Fíli nods. He knows Dwalin’s right, but he hadn’t even been able to apologize to Ori for what he’d said. He didn’t even really know if Ori would want to hear from him, anyway.

It’s quiet for an indeterminable amount of time. When Fíli looks up again, Dwalin has left and is closing the door, more gently than Fíli thought was possible from him, and Fíli is left alone again.

He undresses, his body performing the movements but his mind unable to concentrate. He’s only managed to take his boots and tunic off before he finds himself on the bed, on what he’s always thought of as his side of the bed, though more often than not they both ended up somewhere in the middle. He lies on his side, his nose just inches away from Ori’s pillow.

It still smells of the perfumed ribbons Ori braids into his hair, and Fíli plays with a piece of thread poking out of the bottom corner. It’s old; the pillows haven’t been replaced in a very long time, but Fíli is suddenly very grateful no one has bothered.

Though he felt exhausted only moments ago, now he can’t seem to fall asleep. How could he not have seen this coming? If only he’d realized when he’d first woke up, before the expedition left. He could have spoken to Ori, and maybe talked him out of it. But now he was off, heading toward unknown dangers and dressed like a wizard—because it was clear now; the dwarf in gray had to be Ori, and Balin must have given Fíli a false name on the roster of dwarves leaving for Moria.

Balin. He had lied to Fíli, had risked being condemned a traitor of the crown just to have Ori on the expedition. Fíli can’t do that to him, though, of course. He’d been right—Ori is the best scribe in Erebor, a decent fighter, and an all-around good dwarrow besides; how could Balin not pick him for the expedition? Fíli can’t fault Balin for it, as upset as it might make him.

He and Ori don’t have claims on each other, anyway, Fíli reminds himself. They aren’t courting, they aren’t married; neither of them have made any sort of declaration even in private. It’s just an arrangement, an agreement between two good friends so that they can both have comfort and company without having to be tied down.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Ori isn’t tied down. They’d had an understanding almost a decade old, yes, but it had never been decided as permanent.

Fíli wishes he could have gone with them, at the very least. But no, Ori’s gone off adventuring, and Fíli is stuck in Erebor, dealing with greedy dwarves much older than him who actually remember how things were and are still, even after four decades, letting him know exactly what they think of his rule. He has meetings and councils and his people to attend to, while Ori is getting to go fight orcs and…

And though Fíli trusts the warriors in their company are skilled, he does not trust them to keep Ori safe against Durin’s Bane.

Dwalin’s right, he thinks. He could join up with them easily, if he rode hard and fast. He could leave Erebor behind, go on another adventure, earn another title—keep Ori safe, a voice far back in his head says.

But he can’t leave Kíli. As much as he wants to go, he can’t leave his brother to clean up the mess he’d leave behind. He can’t burden Kíli and Tauriel with a kingdom, with the headache that comes with being rulers. In another hundred or so years, Fíli won’t have a choice, but he does now, and he won’t ruin their lives just yet if he can help it.

Fíli reaches for Ori’s pillow, pulling it against his chest. It’s too soft, too cool, and not nearly hairy enough to be him, but Fíli will make do. He pulls the furs up to his neck and moves a little closer to the center of the bed, his eyes falling closed.

Sleep does not reach him, but moments later, he can hear his door open and close softly, can feel the edge of the bed closest to him shift.

“My sweet boy,” his mother murmurs, petting his hair like a cat, the way she did when he was just a pebble.

Fíli clenches his eyes shut tight, holding back the sob he can feel building in his chest that always comes when she does that. He will not cry to his mother like a dwarfling who scraped his knee. He won’t. That means this, what he and Ori have, is something else, isn’t just an arrangement, and he can’t.

Dís stays where is, stroking his head. She removes the beads from his braids gently, placing them on the table beside his bed, but does not untangle his hair.

“You are such a strong dwarrow, my son,” she says, moving a section of hair out of his face. “So brave, and I am so proud of you. But now is not a time you have to be strong.”

Fíli shakes his head, his eyes burning. He won’t cry while she’s here. He won’t.

“I know,” she says, her voice straining with sorrow. “I know what it feels like. It is the worst of all pains, to be left behind by your One.”

Fíli jolts upright, mouth open and ready to protest. Ori’s not my One. He can’t be.

Dís only sits and looks at him steadily, waiting, and suddenly he can’t form the words, can't say it. He falls against his mother’s shoulder, chest heaving.

He doesn’t cry, and he struggles to hold onto at least that much control.

Dís wraps her arms around him. She smells of her beard oil and smoke from the forges, just as she did when they were still exiles. She could have all the perfume in Middle-earth now, and she would not smell as lovely, as much like his mother if she tried. Fíli closes his eyes again, holding onto her as tightly as he can. She says nothing, stroking his back and humming a tune that sounds much too familiar.

“I wish I hated him,” Fíli says after a while. It’s then that his exhaustion hits him—he doesn’t even have the energy to hate; his body feels hollow, devoid of anything worthwhile, and just aches.

It takes a moment for Dís to reply, but when she does, she holds him closer, and he can hear the smile and sadness in her voice.

“Oh, my darling, I’m so glad you don’t.”