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The boys thought they were being subtle.
At least, Thorin assumed they did; they seemed to making some effort not to kiss each other in public, or hold hands, or sing love songs while gazing into each other’s eyes (while sober). But Thorin, usually above gossip and often the last to know about these things, was fairly certain that everyone in the mountain, down to and including the miners who only came into daylight on the first day of the week, was perfectly aware that the crown prince was courting his heir.
They’d always been unnecessarily close, of course, but now it was in every step and movement. When they walked, their hands brushed. When they sat together, it was too close, and their voices were too warm. When Thorin took one or the other away for missions – never both, as he’d promised Dis – whichever he ended up with spent entirely too much time sighing dramatically and looking back in the direction of home.
It was all a bit syrupy, really.
A love like theirs wasn’t unheard of, but it was more the stuff of the occasional legend than real life. If they had been anyone else, the fact that they were both male would be of little interest, and that they were brothers a subject of interested gossip that would pass in months.
But they were not anyone else.
Fíli was Thorin’s acknowledged heir, the future king, and so the rumors never dimmed. Instead, they grew in intensity as the bond between his nephews became more and more obvious. If they chose to cleave to each other, not only would Fíli have no heir; Kíli would also be childless.
Idle gossip became true concern: what would happen to the Longbeards if the line of Durin finally died out at the hands of two foolish and beloved young princes?
He spoke of his concerns to Dis, of course, but while his sister was endlessly practical in most ways, she refused to be so where her sons were concerned.
“You’ll let them be happy, Thorin,” she warned him, danger laced through her voice. “You’ll leave them be, or I’ll die before I forgive you.”
But Thorin was king, in act if not in name, and he couldn’t simply ignore the concerns of his people and the future of his line, even as a favor to the most important person in his world.
And so, in the lad’s 70th year, Thorin took his elder nephew out into the wilderness to hunt.
Exactly how to approach the problem was something of a quandary. He didn’t want to blurt it out over a deer’s carcass, nor could he bring it up at night without seeming like he’d brought the lad here to trap him into a conversation – never mind that being exactly what he had done.
In the end it was Fíli, still surprising him after a lifetime, who brought it up.
The words came in the middle of the second afternoon, the two of them watchful and silent for an hour before Fíli’s soft voice broke the peace.
“Are we here so you can tell me to give up Kíli?” he asked.
He didn’t look at Thorin as he said the words, instead staring through the foliage without flinching, but there was a tightness in his jaw and a narrowing of his eyes that spoke of an internal struggle.
Thorin, who preferred bluntness, simply answered, “Yes.”
“Because we can’t have an heir?”
Thorin felt his eyebrows rise. “Yes?” he said, cursing inwardly when it came out sounding like a question. When he’d practiced this conversation, it had always been him leading the inquiry, not Fíli. He felt a little off balance.
“And if I’m with Kíli, I can’t depend on him to have children like you did with Amad.” This one wasn’t a question.
“It is a legitimate concern, Fíli. The line of Durin-”
In seventy years of life, Fíli had never interrupted his uncle. From a distance, Thorin knew that Fíli was loving and playful and kind, well-beloved by their people. But up close, he had always been quiet, watchful, and unflinchingly polite. “I won’t do it, Uncle.”
Thorin frowned and finished “-must persevere for the safety of our people.”
Fíli took a slow breath in, steady, the sort Kíli took before he unerringly centered his arrow on a target. “I’ve known from my twelfth birthday that I will be king one day. I knew the first time I looked at Kíli and realized we were both adults. I knew the first time he kissed me,” a quirk of a smile made him look more himself, “and I fell out of a tree. I knew the first time I woke up with him in my arms and realized it was all I wanted in the world.” His eyes flickered to Thorin then – blue, like Thorin’s, and his profile so like Thorin’s as well; people didn’t see it because of his father’s coloring, but Fíli was more like Thorin than Kíli would ever be. “I told myself that I had to end it, because it wasn’t what was right for the people. I told myself I could learn to be like you, and give my heart not to one person, but to many.”
Dwarves like Thorin were not so rare. Love held a different meaning for him. His heart didn’t yearn for romance or sex or the touch of skin on skin. But even Thorin knew he was molded that way by the hands of Mahal; what Fíli spoke of was forcing himself into the shape of another.
“You still wouldn’t have heirs, Fíli,” was all he said aloud.
A sigh, a little shake of his head that sent the new braids swinging. “I know. So I had to tell myself that I could put Kíli aside, and just be his brother, and find some fertile young female to marry and take to bed. I even almost told him – told Kíli – that I’d made the decision, that it had to be that way. But Uncle-”
He turned now, looked Thorin fully in the eyes. Thorin’s heir was so watchful, so knowing, unusual among the rowdy, emotional dwarves.
“When I would have told him, he ran into the forge laughing, with leaves in his hair and dirt on his nose and that ridiculous bird swooping after him, and I knew I would never fall in love with anyone else, ever again.”
The boy was telling the truth.
Not even and adult, no, but the words felt like something carved in stone a thousand years ago, resolute and unchangeable.
“Kings,” Thorin said, not without gentleness, “do not always have the luxury of thinking only of themselves.”
Tension settled across Fíli’s shoulders. He lifted his chin and said, in a voice laced with steel, “It is easy to say so when you did not have to sacrifice who you are to make babies with a stranger.”
Thorin frowned, and would have spoken, but again Fíli pushed forward, speaking over his uncle and king. “Gloin told me when I was only a child that the most important decision I would ever make would be in choosing my mate. He said that our people deserve a happy king, who has someone at his side to remind him that he’s a dwarf as well as royalty.
“I’m going to give our people that, Thorin. I’m going to give them a happy king, who stays and works by their sides, who makes where they are a warm and loving home.” There was challenge in his voice, something that dug into Thorin’s ribs and sparked anger. There were those who muttered that Thorin should give up on Erebor and make the Blue Mountains home.
Thorin had no idea his heir had been listening to them.
“Fíli,” he growled, and before this day, before this moment, that would have been enough to silence Fíli, make the lad lower his head and listen to his elder’s wisdom.
But not this day. Not this moment.
“I will not break his heart, Uncle. I will not break mine. When I am king, the person at my side will be Kíli. He’ll remind me that I know how to laugh. He’ll bring his unceasing optimism and kindness into every meeting. He will protect me with his bow and I will protect him with my swords. We will be kings together.”
He stood then, the rustle of the bushes around them causing echoes as animals fled through the forest.
“I won’t give Kíli up, not for the Blue Mountains, or for Erebor, or for you. If you choose to take one someone else as your heir, so be it. Gimli’s a son of Durin, after all, only a step or two away from me.”
And he walked away.
The boy walked away.
And Thorin, angry and touched, could only watch him go.
-----
Fíli came home alone.
It was evening, the sky painted in deep purples and pinks, when the cabins of Blue Mountain Village came into sight. Just seeing them – lazy smoke from the chimneys, the soft sound of people talking – was enough to loosen the knot that had been curled tight in Fíli’s belly through the long walk home.
He may not be a crown prince anymore after this particular stunt. He’d seen the anger and resolution in Thorin’s face. He could very well have given up a future he’d been preparing for his entire life. All for-
The hoot of an owl sounded overhead, and Fíli glanced up to see little Fowl soaring and swooping gracefully through the air. The knot released even more, because where Fowl was, the love of Fíli’s life was soon to follow.
He should have looked down sooner. If he had, maybe he wouldn’t have let out that embarrassing squeak of surprise when strong arms wrapped around him and lifted him to his toes.
“Fíli!”
Kíli’s voice was warm and deep as always, and he smelled like wood smoke.
Fíli felt a laugh bubble up, even as he ordered, “Put me down!”
His boots touched the earth as Kíli pulled back and grinned at him. Oh, but Fíli loved that ridiculous face. He smiled back, because anyone with a heart smiled back at Kíli.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
Kíli’s grin wavered and softened. “Hi,” he answered, hazel eyes flickering over Fíli’s features as if he’d been gone weeks instead of a few days. And then, apropos of nothing: “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Nothing,” Fíli assured him quickly but Kíli wasn’t buying it.
Instead, those warm arms wrapped around him again, and sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – it was almost nice being the shorter one as Kíli leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Something happened,” Kíli whispered against Fíli’s lips, “you’re sad.”
The knot – that terrible dread in his belly – completely disappeared.
Of course he hadn’t been able to fool Kíli. He never could. Sometimes he felt as transparent as water in his brother’s arms, but he loved it. He loved so many things about this reckless, loving, bright, playful dwarf.
“I was,” Fíli answered, pushing on his toes and pulling Kíli down for a proper hello, “a little. But I’m not anymore.”
“Why not?” Kíli asked as they pulled apart and started walking toward the cottages. He pulled away to a proper distance, only letting their forearms brush.
But Fíli wanted none of that.
I will not break his heart, Uncle. I will not break mine.
He reached out and wrapped his arm around Kíli’s shoulder. He felt his brother’s little intake of breath, the pleased sigh, the strength as Kíli returned the gesture.
“Because you’re here,” Fíli answered, and there was so much depth there, he knew Kíli would ask and prod until he had the whole story. But that was acceptable.
They were meant to support each other, kingdom or no.