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There are very few things Fili remembers when he wakes up. His name, the smell of blood, a dwarf lass with long dark hair singing to him when he was little and a strong need to protect someone. Who, or from what, he doesn’t know. His head hurts, and his mouth tastes of blood and bile, and he doesn’t know where he is or why all these people are around him, so he does what instinct tells him to do and presses his back against the wall, eyes narrowed and growling.
He doesn’t let anyone near him. He doesn’t know them, and he doesn’t understand why they’re all around him, looking relieved and hurt and Mahal, his head throbs and there’s this weight on his chest he can’t shake off.
There are these voices in his head, and they keep saying his name and laughing and singing songs to him and yelling and crying and Fili, Fili, please wake up. He knows them, he knows he does. But they seem as far away as the images of the dwarf lass braiding his hair, or himself telling a young dwarfling that there are no goblins under the bed, aye, aye, he’s sure. There’s a smell he can’t quite place, and a strong dwarf with great pain in his eyes who tells him quietly about a mountain and gold and dragons. There’s the heat of a forge and strong, big dwarves training with swords, teaching him, and does he even know how to use a sword? Then there’s this voice in his head and it screams and cries and begs him to please, please, wake up, please, I need you.
He doesn’t know why, but he cries. He cries like a little child, sobbing violently and breathless, and lets all these people he doesn’t know help him lay down. There’s a steady, strong hand on his hair, reassuring him, and someone hums quietly next to him. He thinks of the mountain and the gold and the dragon as he slowly drifts back to sleep with a name on the tip of his tongue.
Thorin, he thinks. Everything is dark and cold and no one is around, but the name keeps him from panicking. He can’t panic. Thorin would think him weak if he panicked, and he’s not weak. He can’t be. Thorin wants him to be strong.
It calms him down, at least until he realizes he doesn’t know who Thorin is, and something clenches in his chest.
He feels thirsty and dizzy, the taste of blood still strong on his tongue. He looks around the room slowly, but it’s too dark to see anything. He can’t be here anymore. He has to leave, he has to leave now. He stands up slowly, half walking, half dragging himself out of the room, stumbling and knocking things over until he finds a door.
A light appears at the end of what must be a hallway, moving towards him in rushed steps. He leans against the doorframe and waits, panting, sweating, unable to move anymore. His head hurts.
“Fili?” A deep voice whispers, and Fili shivers a little. Isn’t he supposed to know that voice? “Fili.”
He can see him now, taller than him, imposing, dark hair and beard. Fili wants to growl and run and protect himself, but he’s too weak. And then there’s his eyes. The other dwarf’s eyes make Fili freeze on his spot. They’re blue and fierce, deep and painful, and something flickers through them when he looks at Fili, pale and shaking and scared, and he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand what it is, but it hurts. He feels like apologizing and doesn’t know what for.
“Who are you?” He manages weakly. Strong, he must be strong.
Fili can’t place the feeling that appears on those eyes next. He can’t quite focus anymore, the pain too great and his limbs too weak.
“I’m Thorin,” the dwarf says slowly, and his voice has an instant effect on Fili. He straightens his body, a sense of royalty and honor taking over him, and looks the dwarf straight in the eyes. Recognition passes through them, something like relief. Thorin. “I’m your uncle.”
“Uncle?” He repeats slowly. The taste of blood is too much. He pants, looking around, his heart rate going up. Out, out, he needs to get out, there’s someone he must find.
“Fili. Fili, look at me.” He does, and he’s just in the edge of panicking because there’s blood everywhere and screeches and screams and pain, but the eyes, the eyes keep him focused. They keep him safe somehow. “You were badly hurt. You need to lie down and get some rest.” Thorin reaches over to touch Fili’s arm lightly, trying to guide him back to the bed.
“I’m thirsty, I- I-“ He swallows, shaking violently. “There’s blood everywhere, I can smell it. I can taste it.” He draws in an unsteady breath. “There’s someone I’m supposed to take care of.”
“Fili, lad, there’s no blood. Not anymore.” The sadness in the eyes is unbearable. Guilt. Fili looks away. “You’re confused. You’ll get better soon. Here, come lay down and I’ll bring you some water.”
Thorin stays with him. Even after he drinks his water and swallows some bitter type of tea, Thorin stays with him.
It takes him a while, but he has falls asleep again. He dreams of enormous piles of gold and voices that tell him to wake up.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go in there yet.”
“You kept me away from him last night.” The voice shakes with anger. “You kept me away and he woke up.”
“Kili, he-“
“He woke up and I wasn’t there!” They’re yelling now, frustrated and angry and guilty. “I was supposed to be there.”
“You’ll only disturb him if you don’t keep your voice down.” Snarls the other voice. Thorin, Fili thinks. That’s Thorin. “He doesn’t remember, Kili. Anything. Anyone. And the look on his face- I think it’s best if you and Dis don’t see him yet. For your own sake.”
“He needs me.” The other voice hisses. It makes Fili think of the little dwarfling who thought there were goblins under his bed and hands grasping his shirt tightly, but he doesn’t know why. “He needs me.” He breaks halfway through the sentence.
Please, please wake up. Please don’t leave me here alone.
He wakes up to the smell of home and fingers softly petting his hair, and, for the first time, he feels completely safe. He knows.
He knows before he opens his eyes that there’s a dwarf lass with long, full dark hair, and she’s smiling down at him with such sad eyes, fingers in his hair and smelling of forever and never and staying and leaving and home.
He smiles slowly. “I know you.”
She leans down, kissing his forehead softly, then his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, her soft beard comforting, familiar. He runs his fingers through her hair.
“I dreamed about you.”
She buries her face in his chest, over the bandages and the wounds she just cleaned, and cries.
There’s someone he must protect. Someone he failed. Someone waiting for him. He remembers the feeling. He remembers a pain so great it blinded him, and wanting to die just so it would stop, but thinking I can’t, I can’t, he needs me, I need to take care of him. It feels like half of him is missing.
There’s this young dwarf lad who walks into his room every day, sits next to him, brings him water and food sometimes. He doesn’t say much. There’s something like fear in his eyes, and he doesn’t tell Fili who he is like the others did.
Fili doesn’t know why, but there’s this heavy weight on his chest every time he sees the dwarf, and something like guilt bites at his insides. Still, Fili waits for him, wants him to come, wants to see him, wants him to sit beside him. He does. He always does.
“Why are you always so sad?”
The young dwarf looks up at him, brown eyes wide and pained. Fili doesn’t usually talk to him much either. Mostly because he just can’t find the words.
“Because a part of me is missing.” The boy says, lips trembling. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back.”
Fili has his hand against his cheek before he can’t think, light against his stubble. “Don’t be afraid,” he whispers softly. I’m going to take care of you, he wants to say. It reminds him of a little dwarfling clinging desperately to him, sobbing on his shirt and asking when was daddy coming back, could he please bring daddy back.
“Please come back.” The lad whispers, tears trailing down his cheeks. “Please, Fili.”
It makes him think he would do anything to never see the dwarfling cry again.
“Hey,” He whispers, fingers running lightly over the other dwarf’s hand. He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on this bed, people coming and going, taking care of his wounds, feeding him, looking at him with hopeful eyes every time, but things are slowly coming back to him now – sometimes, when people sit down next to him and tell him stories, he already knows them. His mother – Dis, he remembered a couple days back, and she had smiled so bright it soothed the pain for a moment – tells him often about the little dwarfling who thought there were goblins under his bed. Kili, she says, and the name rings in his mind like a prayer, echoes in his heart and is painful and lovely and it completes him. And yet he can’t remember him. He remembers he smiles like Dis, bright and open, and smells of leather and honey, and never brushes his hair. He remembers he used to climb up on trees – Fili never liked heights, but Kili was always much braver than he was – and laugh like he didn’t have a care in the world.
He doesn’t ask Dis about him. Something weights in his chest, guilty and bitter, and he can’t ask her.
But he needs to know.
The lad looks up from where he’s inspecting a wound on Fili’s hip, making sure it’s completely healed.
“Do you know who Kili is?” The boy looks shocked, hurt and hope fighting to show themselves on his face, but he nods slowly. “Do you know where he is? I need to find him.”
The boy swallows, shaking. “Why?”
“He needs me.” Fili breathes, the pain in his chest too much. “I need to protect him. I-I need to apologize.” He closes his eyes against the pain. “I need to tell him there are no goblins under the bed, that he’s safe, even if father is not here to protect him. I am.”
He keeps his eyes closed, but he can feel the soft press of lips against his knuckles, then his cheeks, the tears falling slowly on his skin.
He opens his eyes and smiles sadly, and the boy smiles back, and Fili knows.