Archive of Our Own

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.

Cover Art credit goes to marisdrawings on Tumblr.

This fic has undergone heaps of editing, and will probably continue to do so. However, I don't want to change it too much from the original, as I like to see how my writing has progressed.

I hope you enjoy this tale.
 Fili wasn't sure how he was still alive.He had been terrifyingly certain that his story was at an end when Azog the Defiler skewered him like a pig and dropped him from Ravenhill. If the fall didn't kill him, the blade that had pierced his back certainly would. Or so he had thought.Yet, somehow, he had not died. Instead, he found himself plastered on his back atop the cold ice, very much alive and unable to move. He felt two things. Two terrifying things that consumed his thoughts.The first was fear. He wasn't sure of anything at the moment, but he knew for certain that Kili had run past him not long after he fell, probably believing him to be dead, and straight towards the enemy. He hadn't been able to process much else when he fell. It was all just noise, a piercing ringing noise that filled his ears. He couldn't see much either, everything was a blur of black spots and color. Yet, Kili had somehow been as clear as anything; the only thing he seemed to be able to focus on.His heart clenched inside his aching chest. He's going to get himself killed.  He could not let that happen. Not to Kili. Not his brother.The second feeling was pain. A sharp, throbbing pain that consumed his senses. It had spread all over his upper body. Yet, lower than his waist, it stopped. He could feel no pain.In fact, he couldn't feel anything at all.The awareness of his own lack of sensation sent a bolt of panic through him. It harder to breathe all of a sudden, like his very lungs were against him. It was like he was drowning. Gritting his teeth, he tried to move his arms so he might push himself up. He bent his elbow preparing to pull his upper body off the ground. He drew a deep breath, fighting the ache he felt in his lungs. He had to get moving. He had to get to Kili.He pushed. His vision went white with pain.Fili screamed, letting his head fall back on the ice. It was like someone had placed a boulder on his chest, or skewered him into the ground with a spear. He could not move. Not able to stand it, Fili let his arms go limp in the snow for a moment. The cold did not bite at his fingers, that he could be thankful of, for they were protected by thick leather gloves. It didn't stop the fact that he was losing blood. He wondered how much was pooled around him. Was it a lot? Maybe he hadn't lost anything? Nothing was making much sense at the moment. I need to get to them, no matter the pain. He focused on the thought, and using the last of his strength, he tried to rise once more.He stayed pinned to the ground.Giving a hopeless cry, he let his eyes stare up into the sky. He could see blue. He frowned. When had the clouds gone? The absence of them revealed the sun was close to setting. After being stuck under the dimness of clouds for so long, even the fading light stung his eyes, tempting forward a few held back tears. Had he really been lying there that long? He wondered if the battle would be close to ending. His thoughts turned to his brother, his friends and uncle. Are they alive? Is the battle won, and by who? He tried desperately with strained ears to hear the answers to his questions: the clash of swords, the battle cry of his uncle, or even the sound of his younger brother's voice. The longer he tried to hear these sounds, the weaker he seemed to grow, and with his fading senses, the answers to his questions grew fainter.With whatever hope he still had with him, he waited for a miracle. As Fili laid moribund in the ice, he came to notice an odd tingling sensation in his arms, back and around his head. It caused him little discomfort, in fact, it was quite relaxing, but he didn't think it meant anything good; he felt his eyelids grow heavy from relaxation. Dying didn't seem so bad-"You didn't deserve such pain lad, not this cruel fate. You did nothing wrong in this world." The tingling stopped, and his eyes shot open. Gone was the relaxation, and in its place was a spark of hope, subsiding some of his fear. He couldn't see who was speaking, but he did know who the owner of the voice was. It was a voice he had heard throughout his childhood, and he thought of it with good faith; it had gotten him out of trouble on many occasions, and it seemed this time would be no different. He would not die today."Dwalin?"There was a long, silent pause that seemed to go on for an eternity, but finally it was broken by a quietly spoken word, "Fili?"Dwalin could barely believe his own ears, but his eyes confirmed what he had thought impossible. Fili was alive. He rushed towards the injured Dwarf. "Mahal forgive me, I should have checked the lad sooner." He fell to his knees beside the dwarf, looking over his head. The prince smiled for a moment, then it faded into something else."Are they…safe? Kili…and Uncle," Fili whispered, his breath ragged in between words.He did not answer him; instead, he gently turned Fili onto his side, causing the younger dwarf to hiss and grit his teeth. He swore when he noticed the laceration on Fili's back. The blade had been strong enough to pierce the young dwarfs armour and skin, but luckily no enough force had been used to pierce through Fili's chest. In all his years of fighting, he had never seen such a devastating wound not be instantly fatal, and he hoped it never would be.Immediately, he tore a strip of softer fabric from his armour and pressed it to Fili's wound. He then tore another longer strip and tied it around Fili to secure the other piece in place. He would admit it was a poor job, but prettiness was a trivial thing when times like this arose."Are you hurt anywhere else, lad?" he asked, his voice unwavering."Dwalin I- I don't. I dont think I can feel my legs," Fili said quietly.
No.
He nodded his head calmly. He must not panic the lad. He cursed himself for mentally rolling the dwarf on his side; Mahal knows what further damage that did. "It will be alright lad, but we've got to get you back before you drain. It's a wonder you have any blood left in you," he said, trying to figure out what would be the best way he could move the younger dwarf. He thought on the idea of going back to find more help, but he feared Fili would not be able to last the time it would take to do as such.Fili nodded his head in agreement, closing his eyes."Don't move your head or close your eyes," he warned, and being mindful of Fili's back and neck, he carefully slid the injured dwarf into his arms so his back, neck and knees were supported.Fili breathed in deeply and clenched his jaw, eyes still closed."It's alright to cry, Fili." He meant what he said. He was a dwarf built for battle, but he knew that there were times when it was simply better to let your emotions show. He was aware that most tended to stuff them down inside like to much water in a too small flask. Sooner or later the cap would burst off from all the pressure and the contents inside erupted in a deluge of fury, anger, sadness and many other unpleasant emotions.Fili said nothing, forcing his eyes open. Not a single tear fell from them.The decent was quick, and Dwalin was careful not to jolt Fili, who had long since fallen unconscious. They were running out of time. The lad had lost a severe amount of blood and was weakening greatly. He cursed himself for not noticing the dwarf slip into unconsciousness. He shouldn't have let that happen.By the time he reached the foot of the mountain, the sun had disappeared long ago. Many tents had been set up far from the Gates of Erebor, for the smell emanating from it was not of the pleasing sort, but not so far that it was impractical If something had to be retrieved from inside it: the tents themselves for instance. Many of the tents seemed to be overcrowded with the wounded and deceased; both separated of course, but overcrowded nonetheless.He knew however, that one tent had not been so heavily filled and instead was given to his deceased Kin. Many torches had been lit and stuck into the ground like spears so that they might, with the help of the stars, provide light around the darkened area for all.As he approached the tents, many cries of sorrow and anguish could be heard from the Dwarves as Fili's limp body was noticed."The line of Durin is lost!" one dwarf cried."The heir is dead!" said another.The remaining members of Thorin's Company simply stood frozen with shock, whispering words of denial.He ignored all of these remarks and instead approached a rather despondent looking Dain, who had emerged from his own tent when the cries had arisen. "Where is the wizard?" Dwalin asked hurriedly.Dain raised his eyebrows. "Which one do ya mean? The one with the tall pointy hat or the one that looks like he's been shat on by a bird? What do ya need one of them for?""The one with the hat," he replied, "It's Fili; he's still alive. But he needs help; the lad might not have long. He is hurt badly."Gasps of surprise and relief were suddenly, and quite loudly, cried here and there and here again until Dwalin wasn't quite sure where each outburst had come from. Some did not seem to believe his words and began murmuring amongst themselves. A few elves muttered about the distrust of the dwarves, as they always did. They never seemed to stop."I think he's talking with the Hobbit fellow in the Far East Tent, you better hurry. Ill keep any peering eyes away," Dain said."My thanks are with you, cousin," he said gratefully. Turning away, he pushed his way through the boisterous crowd, mindful of Fili as he did this, and headed towards the Far East Tent as Dain had said. Luckily, the tents were not spread far between each other and only covered a short distance that could easily be walked in a few moments.Fili had not yet stirred and continued to grow weaker as more blood spilt. The ice that he had been lying on had slowed the flow, despite him being on his back, but now as he continued to carry him in the open air nothing was there to slow Fili's loss of blood. He had grown so pale, that it no longer surprised him that people had so quickly jumped to the conclusion that he was dead.In the darkness, he noticed once again the tent that seemed more heavily lit than the rest, and so he decided that if Gandalf and Bilbo were anywhere, it was in there. He quickly began striding towards it.Quite suddenly, a tall figure hurried from within the tent. His left arm was in a sling and he wore an apprehensive look upon his greyed face. He hastily approached him "Is he alive, is he still with us?" he asked hurriedly."Aye, he is Gandalf, but-""Do not take him in there: it would cause him to much stress if he were to wake," Gandalf said, gesturing to the tent he had emerged from. The wizard began moving his hand over Fili's wounds, mumbling incoherent words as he did this. Whatever they meant, they seemed to be slowing the young dwarf's bleeding.If. Dwalin did not like such an insecure word; it suggested the uncertainty in things. He quickly decided that if would, in fact, be when."Follow me, Fili will not have long if we do not make haste," the wizard said wearily. He turned and began to walk to a nearby tent before stopping and turning his head towards the illuminated tent. "Oh and Bilbo, go and notify the others of this. But do not allow them near the tent."He almost jumped in surprise as the hobbit suddenly appeared outside the tent Gandalf had come from. He swore that the hobbit had grown too furtive for his own good. But he was glad to see the Halfling in a better state than what he had been in earlier.Bilbo gave a sorrowful look to Fili, a small smile to him, and then disappeared into the night.It was going to be a long night, that much Bilbo knew. But yet, as the night wore on, so did Gandalf. To the untrained ear, it simply seemed the wizard was mumbling all sorts of nonsense over the injured dwarf, but not to Bilbo. Even outside the tent, where he stood guard, he could recognise it as the old language of the elves, and the difference between life and death for Fili.As he waited by the tent with the company, a feeling of apprehension seemed to fill the air. It twisted and grew inside him until he felt himself grow cold. It seemed like he was not the only one who felt his, going by the way that every now and then, one of the company managed to wander past the tent, giving it a nervous glance. All were anxious to see what would become of their heir, and more importantly, their friend.It was soon apparent that this anxiousness had overpowered the company of Thorin Oakenshield, for it was not long before they were all gathered at the entrance of Fili's tent. He felt quite frustrated by this, taking into account that he had specifically told them all Gandalf's instructions, especially when they went as far as to enter the tent."I don't trust the wizard; he could be making the lad worse. I can't even understand what he was saying," Oin muttered as he strode inside, pushing past the hobbit. "You can't ever understand out what anyone's saying," Gloin commented, his eyebrows raised as he followed the elder dwarf.Soon followed the rest, all bickering amongst themselves about a good many other things that concerned them: Fili, wizards, elves and the disagreement that he was expressing as they pushed past him. Bloody dwarves.Gandalf's mumbling ceased, and his eyebrows furrowed as the dwarves and one hobbit piled into the tent. "Didn't Bilbo make it clear that I did not wish to be disturbed?" Gandalf said, directing his gaze to him.Bofur shuffled on his feet, his eyes on Fili's still form. "Aye, he did. But we thought—we were all wondering—"Bilbo imagined that the dwarf would have spoken for a long while of the many reasons for why they were there, and not outside of the tent. This sort of thing had occurred quite often on the journey, and the company, including himself, had grown quite annoyed by it.Sighing, Balin moved forward and took the liberty of pushing his rambling companion aside. "What he means to say is that we had grown worried for Fili and we wish to see him," Balin said promptly.In response to this, Oin stepped from behind Bofur and walked towards Fili, who had been laid on an assortment of soft fabrics and clothes. It did not look like the most comfortable arrangement, but the mountain was yet to provide cots for the wounded to lie.Soon, he noticed that beside Fili, closer to the edge of the tent, was Dwalin. His arms were folded and he wore his usual scold, but his eyes showed the sadness he felt."I myself am questioning your healing methods. Have you stopped his bleeding? Assessed his wounds? The words that you speak don't seem to be making any change to the lad," Oin questioned."My dear Oin, how quickly you distrust me. The words I speak are from the language of the Eldar, and they are responsible for keeping Fili alive." Gandalf looked thoughtful for a moment, "Though, your healing expertise may be of use this night. But the rest of you must leave, including you Dwalin. Your brooding is of no help to Fili." Gandalf said solemnly.The company remained still, tossing glances between each other. Dwalin then sighed, unfolded his arms and moved to join the other dwarves and himself.However, he noticed, Oin had already begun examining the injured prince, seeming to be pleased to find that the wizard was doing everything right. The rest of the company was still uneasy. He knew it was not in the nature of dwarves to leave their kin, relation or not.Oin then raised his trumpet to his ear. "Could you tell me the extent of his injuries? It would save a great deal of time.""I'm sure Dwalin can inform you, but after that, he must leave, along with the rest of you. I myself must focus on keeping him alive, which would have been easier had I not been interrupted," the Wizard said gruffly.All eyes then turned to look at Dwalin expectantly. Though the tent was well lit, it seemed as though a shadow had passed across the battle hardened dwarf's face. Dwalin bowed his head, and there is stayed for a few seconds. When he raised it again, his eyes gleamed slightly. "The lad was suffering from an internal bleeding; Gandalf managed to stop it somehow with the words he was speaking." Dwalin paused, as if in thought. "The orcs blade narrowly missed anything too important when it stuck his left side… and he has a nasty bump on the head from the fall," Dwalin said slowly, bowing his head once more.The company then shifted their eyes onto Fili. He had remained still since the time he had fallen unconscious. His outer armour had been removed, and his hair was in blonde tangles around his head; his normally neat braids in strands only held together by clasps and dried blood."Is that all?" Oin asked, slightly puzzled but still obviously relieved. He too was questioning Fili's survival.Dwalin shook his head. "No. The lad is so weak…but he is the strongest I have ever met," he said, a hint of pride hidden in his grief. "…The fall...it…the lad can no longer feel his legs."An even deadlier silence fell upon the company; only Gandalf's quiet muttering and Fili's laboured breathing could be heard."…Can't feel his legs," Bofur said quietly, struggling to comprehend his own words."Yes, it is true; he fell on his back when he fell. And the style of his departure from Ravenhill did not help him," Gandalf passed an accusing glance to Dwalin. "He has lost movement in his legs completely. Though; I suspect that he will be able to move his neck and upper body without too much strain in the next few weeks, possibly days if we are lucky, my healing has helped with that.""A few days?" Oin questioned, "that can't b...—"This arose a bit of murmuring among the company. Bilbo knew that talk of death just after survival discomforted them; it made their hearts twist inside them. Yet, they seemed to decide to heed Gandalf's words.So the company went, not needing much more convincing, laden with apprehensive feelings in their bellies as they lumbered to their tents.But not him, he instead made his instead quietly made his way to the same tent he had come from earlier, a forlorn look on his face. He, like the others, wanted dearly to be with the injured dwarf, but the dead did not last for long.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.

A/N

Hello! Good morning, afternoon, night, noon, evening or whatever time of day/night it is. I hope you enjoy reading this chapter if you have been kind enough to open chapter 2.

Fili found himself once again lying on his back, not unconscious but not fully with the world, just sort of in-between. He was vaguely aware of the nasty bump on his head, a dull pain in his back and the dim orange tent above him, but not much else. How had he gotten here? He barely even noticed the obscure demeanor of the aged wizard resting by the edge of the tent, his eyes seemingly gazing far away to a different reality as it were. He felt oddly relaxed, and he wasn't sure why. It was if here in a dream. 
It would not last.
A wafting, lingering, burning smell curled its way into the tent in spindly arms of grey smoke. It was the kind of smell that lingers in your nose and breaks you from your own mind. The smell of a fire. It made you stop what you were doing and think Fire? Dragon? Am I safe? Where is it? Is it near me? Should I worry?
This smell was what broke Fili from his in-between state. First, the smell entered his nose, making his nostrils curl. Then he felt his stomach give a twist and he thought: Fire. But I thought I was dead? This cannot be right, something is wrong. It was enough to send the dwarf into a brief panic that made his chest heave. He wasn't at all sure where he was or what was happening except that his mind was telling him danger. He began to try and sit upright; this time he was a fraction more success than the last time, for he managed to get his back a little way of the ground, with great effort.
A hand came to press on his shaking shoulders, and though it was gentle the grip was quite strong. "Fili, Fili. I need you to relax," Gandalf said softly. Gandalf. Gandalf was here. Fili's heaving slowed a little, but his eyes continued to dart to wherever they could see, which was really only what was above him. Not at all reassuring or comforting when you did not know where you were and danger was your only thought.
Finally, his eyes came to rest on the wizard in question. "Gandalf?" He asked puzzled, his voice weak as he shook. "What's happening; why do I smell smoke?"
Gandalf's features softened as the dwarf started to relax; his hand loosened his grip in response. "Yes it is I. It is around midday, you have been asleep since late last afternoon. There is …a fire ...not far from here. But rest assured it is well under control. You are quite safe; you are in a healing tent at the foot of the mountain—" The Wizard soon stopped when Fili's face begun to furrow with confusion. "What do you remember of the battle, Fili?"
Fili frowned slightly. He didn't know what he remembered. He thought back to the beginning of the battle and tried to let any second or scrap of memory come to the front of his mind. Slowly, inch by inch, they crept forth. And so Fili began to tell Gandalf what he remembered: How the battle started, searching the lower tunnels under Thorin's orders. Fili spoke quietly, his voice shaky. "It was a trap. We were foolish not to realise sooner. I sent Kili away, I knew there—I thought there would be no escape. Fili stopped suddenly, and a flicker of fear passed through his eyes. "I was so scared," he whispered. "They came from all around; everywhere I turned they were there…" He stopped again, looking away. "It hurt so much…I couldn't even feel when I first landed on the ice."
Gandalf rose to his feet, moving away "One moment," he said, and Fili waited for the wizard to come back into view. When he did, he had with him a flash of water. Quite carefully, he helped him down some of it. Fili smiled gratefully when he was finished.
"What do you remember after the fall, Fili?" Gandalf asked calmly.
It took several moments for Fili to speak. "Kili ran past me and—" He stopped suddenly, panicked. "Gandalf, where is my brother? I…. I think I asked Dwalin if they were safe, I don't recall him answering me."
The aged wizard shuffled slightly, "they …are in the next tent," he said slowly.
Fili's eyes widened slowly. What does that mean? "Well I must go and see them," he said anxiously, and he began to attempt to sit up once more, this time, he tried to move his legs to help him maneuver himself. Only, he found he could not. And even though the pain was riveting through his back yet again, the only sound that escaped his lips was a small, quite "oh." Fili stared for a moment, unblinking. "I'd forgotten about that," he said finally, his voice just shaking. "It's strange, I can see them, but I can't feel them. It's like looking at someone else's legs and trying to get them to move with your eyes; it just won't work," he said slowly, still staring at his legs. He could not identify they emotion that he felt, only that he had been overcome by some ridiculous calm, of all things. "I just realised, earlier I felt a strange tingling sensation on my back, and now I can feel it again on my shoulders. What could that be Gandalf?"
Gandalf hummed in thought, "I expect it has something to do with nerve damage." The wizard stopped and then spoke calmly ", when you fell, you injured your spinal cord, to what extent I do not know yet. Fili…" He paused, allowing the young dwarf to gather his thoughts. "It grieves me, to say this, but you will never walk again."
Never. Fili had not thought of it that way yet. A part of him just assumed that it would just heal and go away, like a scratch. Suddenly, the idea of never walking again sunk in. His heart seemed to stop for a beat. And while it did— a part of it, something more than flesh and blood, disappeared. It may have been hope. He wasnt sure.
He thought of Kili and his Uncle. "Is there any way I can see them? Thorin and Kili?" he asked somewhat doubtfully, his voice long and low. It had only been a short time since he had awakened and already he was slowly beginning to tire. His eyelids were beginning to droop closed and his mind was starting to cloud over once more.
The wizard shook his head. "Not at this time. Now you must rest and regain your strength," he brought his hand to rest on the dwarf's forehead, concentrating his magic on calming the dwarf. Not having the strength or good reason to resist, Fili let himself be drifted asleep, leaving behind all his fears. But sooner or later one had to wake up.

When morning had come for the company of Thorin Oakenshield, all of its members left their tents with heavy eyes. Their pained minds had not allowed sleep to come easy, and staying awake had been no less onerous. Both sleep and wake brought forth troublesome thoughts. So once they had found their bearings and somewhat settled their minds, they gathered around a small eating area in front of the tents. By this time, it was already 10:32 and most of the food that had been salvaged by the elves and men had already disappeared once again.
So they sat, sharing what food they had as smoke twisted their noses and flies buzzed around their faces annoyingly. Any attempt to swat them away was quickly decided futile. No one spoke for an eternity and a little bit more. It seemed odd, that not so long ago the same ground that they were sitting on had only recently been a place of death and violence. After the last of the rations had been devoured, and the flies had grown bored of not being swatted, Oin stood up, straightened his clothes and took out his ear trumpet. "I suppose you're all wondering how the lad faired last night." The dwarves and one hobbit hummed in acknowledgment.
Oin turned his head and briefly made eye contact with each of his audience. "You all know the extent of his injuries, and you know what they will cost him. It took many hours, but I managed to settle his wounds. It was lucky the lad was asleep, his wound had to be sterilised with heat—"
"What of the wizard? What was his role in this?" asked Gloin, wondering if his brother's early suspicions had been correct. He had thought his brother's view on the wizard had been true; with their wonderings but never being lost, their strange ways and association with almost everyone. The wizard always mysteriously leaving them when peril showed its face only strengthened his suspicions. But now, after everything that had happened, perhaps a wizened wizard was exactly what they needed.
"I was wrong to question his methods. I still prefer more practical healing methods, not the strange incantations of elves; though without them, Fili would not be with us today," Oin finished.
"So he is awake then?" asked Bofur, looking hopeful yet worried as he clutched his hat to his chest.
Oin looked doubtful for a moment. Once all the healing he could provide had been given, he did not know what happened after he left the tent like the others and off to wherever he could find space to sleep. Just as he was about to open his mouth to say so, a looming figure appeared over the company.
"He has awoken, just five minutes ago," Gandalf said in his usual rough tone, his face showing great happiness; part of it being the pride the wizard had towards his impeccable timing.
An eruption of cheers broke out amongst the company. Some slapped hands while others merrily smiled and embraced each other. Bofur smiled cheerfully and thunked his hat back on his head, patting it slightly to tame the crease formed from his tightly gripped hands.
Gandalf smiled slightly. "However, he is resting now, and there are matters to be taken care of. I'm sure you are aware that there are many problems that have arisen with the sun. Food …deceased and so forth. Arrangements need to be made, and fast."
"Aye, he is right. We need to act, already we are running out of food, we have no way of accessing the mountain without more numbers and stronger arms," Dwalin commented. Many men and dwarves were wounded, dead, or too weak to provide the strength required to lift the rock that blocked the passages inside the mountain. He only had to glance around the crowded campsite to see this. Wounded lay outside of the crowded tents, flies eating at their wounds as they lay in anguish. What strength they had been tending to the wounded or out looking for supplies. There were some elves to add to that strength, but their help had not been fully acknowledged yet.
There was a sudden silence. "So what you're saying is, we need a council meeting," said Ori, looking rather excited by this opportunity.
"That is exactly what I am proposing," the wizard answered. "We will need to include members of each of the surviving parties. By that, I mean all of you as you have all had a great part to play in these past few days, and will continue to do so for many more. This will also include Dain, Bard, Thranduil and his heir."
The dwarves groaned in annoyance and dispute. As Dain had so politely put it, they wanted the faithless woodland sprites to sod off.

It had been over an hour since Fili had awoken for the second time, and it was almost past 10:00 at night. It was the second night since the battle, and he was alone with only his thoughts. His mind was working a lot better than it had been earlier, which was why it soon came to his attention that something was not right. He could just sense it. So many questions lingered in his mind, and he was going to figure out the answers.
First, he began to wonder why neither his brother nor uncle had visited him. "They are in the next tent," Gandalf had said. Surely they would have visited me if they were able. Maybe they are injured. When he had fallen, and Kili had run past him, he had feared that his little brother would be hurt. Perhaps he has been. Fili's breathe tightened at the thought. No, he isn't. They are not hurt. Neither of them. There probably just sleeping. Dwalin had said so— Fili's thoughts ceases suddenly. He was smarter than that. What had Dwalin said? He wondered.
Nothing. The word floated into his mind chillingly, making his heart stop for a moment. He had said nothing, and Fili knew it. Fili had been subconsciously telling himself that Dwalin had not heard him, denying that there was the reason behind his lack of an answer. He knew better now.
Dwalin and Gandalf had lied to him. Well, not lied to him, but rather kept parts of the truth from him. That was clear to him. But why? Why would they keep information from me if it were not important? Fili's thoughts stopped again. Something has happened. The thought chilled Fili to the bone. Had they been simply injured or unable to leave their tents due to tiredness, he would have been told. And why was he not in the same tent? Surely they realised he would recover faster by his brother and uncle's side? Fili did not need to ponder the next answer for long. There is something they do not wish me to see.
And then he knew.

Bilbo Baggins sat before his fallen friends. He had been silently waiting for them to wake up, to breathe or simply give some sign of life. Of course, such things did not happen and the hobbit silently resigned to supplication. Now Bilbo wasn't the sort of person who moped around all day when sad things occurred; but this time, he felt had the right to be sad, to cry, to beg. At least for the meantime.
Then he heard someone scream.
It had not been a sob; it was too dry to be so. It was more like the lamented sound someone would make when the rest of their very meaning had been torn violently from them. Realization dawned on Bilbo. 
Fili.
With that thought, he passed a glance behind him to the dead, and left to comfort the suffering dwarf.
Upon arriving in the tent, he realised that Fili was the only one present in the tent. Odd, he thought. Less than a second later, he realised that Fili was shaking where he lay, his eyes squeezed tightly shut as his shoulders shook. He was weeping, tears falling down his cheeks as he let out broken cries through labored breaths. Bilbo was familiar with the sight, only a day ago, he himself had been weeping into his own hands, rocking on his heels as he sat beside his fallen friend.
Mindfully, Bilbo began to make his way towards the grieving dwarf. A blanket was draped over him, and his head was cushioned under a pile of soft clothing. Not wanting to startle Fili, he stopped within speaking distance. "Fili are you alright?" Bilbo asked, before suddenly realising how ridiculous that question sounded. Of course Fili wasn't alright!
"They're gone," the dwarf whispered in a voice that was almost as broken as the world outside his tent. "They're gone, they're gone," he repeated shakily, struggling to speak through his own shaky breath.
A wave of sympathy hit the hobbit. Slowly, he sat down by the dwarfs head, his own eyes stinging. He was not sure what to say. Bilbo could recall the pain, the loss and the emptiness he felt when he had watched his friend die. It felt like someone had stuck a knife in his heart and carved out all that he was, and he had own known Thorin for two and a half years. A flicker of the life Fili had spent with his uncle and brother. And to have that kind of love ripped from you when it was so close that it had become a part of who you were …Bilbo could not imagine such a pain. "Fili—"
"How?" Fili interrupted. It was a simple question, but it seemed it did not have such a simple answer.
How did it happen? Bilbo thought. Did Bilbo want to tell Fili such a thing? Would it do any good to tell him how his uncle and brother had died? No. "Fili I don't think—"
"Please," Fili said slowly as he gained control of his breathing… "My brother and uncle are dead. Please …I need to know how," he pleaded, his eyes still closed tightly.
Bilbo thought for a moment. He had not seen the death of Kili and did not quite know how the final battle between Thorin Oakenshield and Azog the defiler had happened, but perhaps it was better that way. He had no details to share, just what he knew from what he had seen, and what he had heard. He started slowly, "Your uncle was wounded by Azog, both felled each other, but your uncle …passed on a while later after Azog."
"So he killed the orc?" Fili asked quietly.
Bilbo nodded his head in response. "Yes, he did. He made his peace with me before he…"
"Before he died." Fili's eyes were open now, but they were staring off into nowhere. They were watery, Bilbo could see that, but his face was dry. He now wore a stern, iron look on his face that reminded Bilbo of Thorin, and not in a fond way.
"And my brother?" Fili asked, his face breaking in places.
As Bilbo thought for an answer, he began to run his fingers through Fili's tangled hair, hoping to offer some comfort. It did nothing to relax the dwarf. "I don't know exactly…how it happened," he started. "I saw him run off after you fell. I'm sorry Fili I don't completely know."
Fili breathed in deeply, "It's my fault. I should have known it was a trap. If I had—"
Bilbo's fingers came to a stop in Fili's hair, his voice becoming more serious. "Fili this is in no way your fault. You could not have known what was to happen, you could not have prevented this," Bilbo said firmly, trying to meet the dwarf's eyes. He knew what such thoughts did to you, especially when they were aimed to tear yourself down. He had had them before, a few even on his 'adventure' as he would one day call it. He also knew it was especially hard to deny your own thoughts, and that it seemed easier to succumb to guilt and shame then face yourself; tell it that it was wrong. Fili suddenly shuddered under his hand. "Fili?" He asked, worried.
Fili seemed to relax slightly. "I seem to keep getting this strange tickling feeling, this time around my shoulders and arms. Gandalf said it was nerve damage," Fili said, his voice slightly less shaky than earlier. "It's strange, it does not hurt. I actually find it sort of relaxing."
Bilbo released his hand, worrying slightly that he had caused what Fili was talking about. He yawned quietly before twitching his nose. It was getting late he decided, and it would be best if they both went to sleep if it were possible. "I am sorry about your legs Fili,'' he said sincerely. "Is there anything I can do?"
"I just want to see them," was all Fili answered, his eyes too beginning to droop. "Tell them I'm sorry," Fili said, and the snake-like thoughts slithered into his mind once more, whispering painful things to him as their tongues flickered.
Bilbo bowed his head. "Your uncle was proud of you, he told me that, and if he could now, he would tell you too," Bilbo said softly. "And your brother would be proud too, he looked up to you. Loved you. Anyone could see that. And neither of them, not even for one second, would blame you for what has happened." As Bilbo said this, he felt a shiver overcome his shoulders. Must be the wind.
After a moment, Fili nodded, his eyes closed once again. He mulled over Bilbo's words. He wanted to believe them. He truly did, but it felt wrong too like he did not have the right to say he was not at fault. "I still want to see them," he said, his voice slow and quiet.
"I know, and I promise that you will," Bilbo said. Then he realised that fulfilling Fili's desire was going to be rather difficult, seeing as he could not be moved. How long could they wait before they had to hold a funeral? Bilbo felt his heart stop when he realised that there was a very real possibility that Fili would not see them again.
He would not let that possibility become a reality, not when he himself only had to walk a few meters to see them.
"I promise," he repeated firmly.
Fili gave a shallow nod, his eyes heavy.
"I'll leave you to sleep," Bilbo said, feeling slightly bad that he was leaving the dwarf on his own, especially when he had just become aware of his families deaths. "Unless you would rather I stayed?" He added hastily.
Fili forcefully opened his eyes and stared at Bilbo tiredly. "I think I'll be alright, thank you, Bilbo." 
"If you are sure," Bilbo said as he used his hands and knees to rise to his feet. Something that Fili would never be able to do without help. Fili gave a half smile, his eyes still closed. Noticing the smile, Bilbo decided that Fili was sincere; he rose to his feet and dusted his knees. "Goodnight Fili."
Fili did not reply. Asleep Bilbo decided, and with that, he silently disappeared from the tent, and for the first time since the battle, he returned to his own, shared tent.
But Fili had not been asleep; he had only lowered his breath and gave off the illusion of sleep so the hobbit would feel comfortable leaving him. And he did not succumb to rest for another two hours and even then his sleep was haunted by dreams of his brother and uncles deaths. Only in his dreams, he was the one at fault. And he lived out his days ruling under Erebor with their shadows lingering behind him, ever whispering to him that he could have done something more, that he had failed them.
But of course, they were only dreams. Weren't they?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story. The details about how Dwarves bury their dead is based off Tolkien's own ideas and writing.

A/N Hello! Welcome to chapter 3, and thank you for reading this far!

Anyways! If you would like to give me any feedback, you are most welcome. If I made you cry I want to know. Not just internally cry, but literally. If you felt nothing I want to know.

Special thanks to RMorilivr for editing!

Dwarves were made from the rock, and it was their belief that it would be to the rock they returned when they passed on. That, Taurial knew.
She also knew that even though dwarves were great miners, it took a sufficient amount of time to prepare a stone tomb for one body alone. It would take years to make a tomb for all those who had died in battle. Yet, it would seem the dwarves considered it dishonourable to bury one of their own in the earth, and even more so to leave them to be ravaged by orcs and eaten by birds. 
It left only one option.
Fire. 
When she had seen the sun rise above the Lonely Mountain on the first day after the battle, she watched as the most able-bodied dwarves built pyres far from the campgrounds. The wood had come from the fallen trees, broken carts and whatever else they could salvage. It was only just enough.
In one area, far away from the pyres, they piled the carcasses of fallen orcs, goblins and other foul creatures. The pale orc and his son had not been among them, for it would cost too much strength to go and retrieve them. The pile of creatures were lit first, and the flames had sprung up over the corpses, tongues of fire flickering against their flesh; burning away at it. It had taken most of that day for the bodies to be burnt, and it had left a foul smell in the air that had Tauriel wrinkling her nose.
Thankfully, it did not take long to clear. 
When it did, the pyre was filled with the deceased dwarves and men. But no elves. King Thranduil had the bodies returned to Mirkwood, where they would be taken care of the elven way. Those left were stripped of their armour and placed respectfully on their pyre. The wood had been piled in such a way that there were layers for the dead to placed upon, so no one would have to piled.
Those who knew the dead had soon gathered to watch; mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, friends and lovers. No one had been spared of losing someone. So, it did not go unnoticed that two important figures were missing from the pyres. Not at all.
Word had spread that Fili had awoken for the second time since the battle. She had not seen him yet, and she wasn't sure she could face him, knowing Kili had died to save her. So, she simply watches as the pyres were lit, and the fallen burn in the flames. It was clear to her now how fire was a fickle thing. Neither she decided good nor bad. It could be used to save the lives of many, yet destroy the mightiest of homes. Like the other pile, the smoke gave off a peculiar smell that made her stomach twist and her body lightheaded. She wasn't sure if it was the smell itself that made herfeel such a thing, or the thought of what the smell was born from.
As the flames began to grow, no one made to move away, choosing to stay and grieve until the very end. Yet the smell of burning flesh soon proved to overbearing, forcing many of the mourners to leave with their heads bowed. 
Tauriel did not leave, and neither did her king and his son. 
She wasn't sure she could move if she tried. It hurt so much. To love someone you could never again see alive or touch. It felt like loving something that didn't exist, like a good book. It cannot return that love, but you will always continue to love it just the same, never expecting anything back from it except the memory of the comfort and happiness it brought. At least, she did not have to say goodbye today. Kili and his uncle would not be buried until a later date, until Fili could attend. Or at least that was what she had heard.
How they were going to defend the fallen dwarf prince and king from the course of nature, she did not know.
As she, her King, and his heir departed from the pyre grounds, a greying figure began to approach, his staff wielded as a walking stick as he strode towards them, with an intention in his movements that could only mean he wished to ask them something.
"How very wizard-like, always running about, asking people to do his business. I wonder what he will ask of me now?" Thranduil mused. "What is Mithrandir?" he asked.
Gandalf stopped and lent on his staff. He passed the King a disapproving look. As the wizard was old, his ears were strong. "King Thranduil, if I could ask one favour of you and your companions?" Gandalf asked humbly.
Thranduil nodded his consent.
"As I am sure you are aware, there are many problems around the mountain that need to be taken care of. Food, funerals and such. As we of yet have no way of attending to such matters, a council meeting is to be held this morning at eleven o'clock and I strongly advise you and your company to speak on behalf of your kingdom." 
"Always hidden meaning behind a wizard's humble tones," Thranduil trailed off, seeming satisfied about something. "We will attend this meeting, but do not think that I will be swayed into agreeing to anything."
Tauriel knew that this was all her king could think of to say. For he did not know how to make amends, and neither did the ones he had wronged, for they had also wronged him. It was quite stupid she thought, that no one was willing to forgive, or ask for forgiveness themselves, before the other party did first. She had realised long ago, that the feud between her King and the dwarves had to stop, peace had to be made. But how was it to be done?
It was Legolas that decided to step up. "I pay my condolences to the Prince Fili; I hope he fares well."
Gandalf nodded in acknowledgement,  "the dwa-"
Tauriel cut him off, stepping away from her King and his heir. "I too hope Prince Fili fares well, and if my King will permit it, I would like to offer my services to aiding the wounded and Prince Fili in their recovery, and be permitted to attend the council meeting."
No one said anything for a moment.
She was just beginning to think she might just have to go about helping in her own way, regardless of permission, when she heard her king draw in a breath.
"I permit it," he said.
Her eyes turned to Thranduil, shocked by his words. The King had not permitted her anything in quite a while, let alone anyone else. Especially when it concerned dwarves. "Thank you, my King," she said, bowing in respect. "I shall go to them now."
As she began to leave her company, the wizard's aged hand reached for her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. Confusion spread across her face, her eyebrows furrowed. "What-"
"Though you have Thranduil's permission, you do not have the dwarves. Be careful about how you act, I suspect they will not allow you to help them so easily," Gandalf advised, letting his hand drop. "They know they require aid, but they are too stubborn to allow anyone to help them. Let them know they can trust you."
She considered this. "I shall try," she nodded, once again walking away from the pyre. She would try. In fact, she was quite certain she would do more than that. She would succeed.

Tauriel was just about ready to pack up and go home to Mirkwood. Never in her life has she been so frustrated.
When she had first approached Thorin's Company, she believed that they would just need a bit of a nudge to allow her to help them. Over the course of the last hour she had offered her services in the proper polite manner, been denied; offered again, had a dwarf try to 'persuade' her to leave; almost lose all her patience; briefly wonder if she could just help their kin without their permission, decided against it and almost punched out one of the dwarves.
She had even gone as far as to ask that the healer, Oin, state proof that she had in fact healed Kili of a fatal orc wound and had not at all made him worse. The healer had only nodded, seeming to have forgotten the praise he had given her at the time of the event. "Yes," he had said, "that is true…but…"
Again and again, this charade repeated: Trust was gained and proved, then forgotten and dismissed by misunderstanding and fear. Like she had been warned so many times before, dwarves would not trust in elves for help so easily.
This repetition frustrated her greatly but she did her best to keep a calm persona. Most of the time. "Why is it you refuse my help?" she asked, her voice serious. "You have no food, little supplies and your wounded lay suffering in numbers too large to count. Your sufferings will only worsen the more time that is spent lingering. You know you need help, but you are to distrustful to accept," she allowed herself to take in a breath. Please," she begged, "for the sake of all of us, allow me to help you."
The dwarves shuffle on their feet; they glanced at each other in silent speech, all reading each other expressions. Dori looked doubtful but nodded to Nori and Oin. Dwalin passed a small nod to Bofur, who smiled sadly, "What do we have left to lose?" 
"Not much," Dwalin replied. "But everything in the world if we don't accept."
And so, they agreed.

It had not taken Tauriel long to single out which tent bore the individual she wished to help; the sheer fact that guards had been placed outside it, and the tent beside it, gave off the impression that important figures lay within. She did not go to them straight away, but lingered around the opposite end of the tent grounds where most of the wounded lay suffering. She was shocked by the sheer number of wounded; she had known there where many, but to walk among them made their numbers seemed greater. She did not have any plant or cure with her that could help them just yet, so instead, she offered as much comfort as she could. She did her best to make the wounded more comfortable, and offered a few reassuring words here and there. She felt her heart ache for a small girl, held against her father, both bearing heavy red eyes. She recalled seeing them at the funeral that morning.
Once she reached the edge of the tent grounds, closest to the mountains, it became more obvious that the number of injured in the last two tents was fewer than the rest. They were close together, and those who near were made up of a few appointed guards and the more trusted of the surviving three armies: the skin changer, wizards and dwarf lords. She admired the protection that was shown towards their deceased kin.
Deceased. She stopped suddenly at the thought, her boots pressed firmly into the ground as the realisation that Kili was in fact dead sunk in. She had never denied it, just sort of pushed in the back of her mind, but every so often these past few days she had remembered at the most incidental moments: a head of brown hair, a cheerful laugh or smile. Anything that remotely reminded her of Kili would cause a wave of anguish. Perhaps she should say her last goodbyes to him; it was certainly possible. However, fear told her she should not, that she should forget him and that laying her eyes upon his lifeless body would only make her grief worsen.
Or maybe it would settle it.
Hesitantly, she approached the guarded entrance of the first tent. If it was Fili who laid inside, she would offer help to him and go to the council meeting. But if it was Kili… she decided she would lay her eyes on him one last time before the funeral, just once more before she had to say goodbye.
"Who are you and what are your intentions?" a curt voice questioned. It belonged to a particularly stocky looking dwarf with a prodigious nose that gave the impression that its owner liked to stick it in other people's business.
She took a step forward, towering over the dwarf- though that was not her intent. "I am Tauriel of Mirkwood, and I am to help and care for those who are injured, including the heir, Fili."
The dwarf did his best not to shrink back, and instead puffed out his chest. "It isn't the heir that is in there, and what right do you have?" the dwarf questioned. His hands were clasped firmly on the hilt of his axe, on which he leaned on. He was trying to give the impression that he could use it if he had too.
She did not doubt that he would.
"If it is not Fili, I would like to pay my respects to the fallen. I have no proof of my right that I can show you, except my word that I have been given express permission by the company of Thorin Oakenshield and King Thranduil to aid the wounded," Taurial answered.
"And what good is your word?" The dwarf asked potently.
The distrust of elves was evidently, and definitely, a trait that ran strong throughout the entire race, it seemed. Taurial would not have this argument again. "May I ask your name?"
Looking quite befuddled, the dwarf gave her a questioning look "Frár," he answered honestly. She wondered for a moment if Frár thought she had been bold enough to ask for his secret name, the name of which only he knew, and only he owned. It was considered scandalous for a dwarf to reveal their true Khuzdul name.
The confrontation seemed to have grabbed the attention of a few onlookers. Not much had happened since the battle— just death, wailing and suffering. So any form of entertainment was beginning to be welcomed. Not caring of the audience that had formed, she continued to speak, "do you have children Frár? Do you care for these people?"
Frár looked at her in suspicion, his eyes narrowing. "What is it to you?" He had become so ill at ease by this whole talk had made him move his hands to hold his axe hilt in a ready position as if he thought she was about to attack the very children of which she had inquired about.
"Would you enjoy seeing them suffer? Would you turn others away from seeing to them? Do you enjoy watching your people go untreated and unhealed?" she asked seriously.
Frár frowned from under his beard. "What do you mean by that, are you accusing me of not caring for my kin?"
Taurial shook her head once. "I am not accusing you of anything, I'm asking."
Frár straightened up and loosened the grip on his axe slightly. "Of course, I care," he said, eyes deep with sincerity. "Only one without a soul would feel so little."
"Then let me pass."
With his mouth slightly agape, Frár stared at her for a moment longer, before nodding and stepping aside.
So with an empty yet heavy feeling in her stomach, she willed her feet to move into the dimmed tent. Is there any sense to this? She didn't quite know, but it wouldn't matter anyway. Once she had passed though the tent opening, she stood still, unsure what she should do. There wasn't much she could do; so she kept her eyes firmly locked on the two forms that were lying motionless on the hard ground, their bodies cushioned by many cloths— a portion of the best that could be provided at the time she decided.
She stood still for a while, and when time seemed to slow she finally moved. She turned slowly on her heals before leaving the tent with a lump in her throat; her hair following behind her; red like the leaves of autumn. She had meant to go to Kili, to pay her respects before the funeral; to tell him that she loved him. But she could not. Again, the realisation that he was dead had dawned upon her, and it was as if she could not go to his body like she had when she had watched him die.
"You were not in their long," Frár commented as she emerged from the tent.
Tauriel stopped in her tracks, but did not turn to look at him. Instead, she kept her eyes trained directly in front of her, hands tightened into fists at her side. A sickening feeling was riveting though her, and she wanted nothing more than to go to someone that she could actually do some help for. "I did not need to stay long," she replied in an oddly calm voice. Then she straightened herself up and begun to move forward again, this time towards the tent she now knew with complete certainty contained the wounded heir.
After several hesitant steps and then a few determined strides, Tauriel found herself at the entrance to Fili's tent. This time, it was a young female dwarf that lay guard to the entrance. She had slightly rounded features and toughened skin as all dwarf women did, and upon her jaw grew a thin brown beard, not as coarse as a male dwarf's, but still finely managed. She was rather fierce, yet equally beautiful. 
The dwarrodam gave a small smile to Tauriel and removed her hand from the mace at her side. "You need not explain yourself to me, I trust your word. Go on inside," she said kindly as she stepped aside.
So, inside the tent Tauriel went.

Fili had been mulling over the emotions boiling inside him. The night had not been easy, and he wanted nothing more than to give up. He felt so useless; he could not walk, he could barely move the rest of him, and he had let his family die. He couldn't even say goodbye to them. He was brought from his thoughts suddenly when the tent opened ever so slightly, allowing a small gust of wind to enter. It blew bitingly over his skin before the tent was closed once more. Carefully, he turned his head to see who had awoken him from his thoughts.
It was her.
Before him stood the elf maiden, Tauriel, the elf his brother had so obviously fallen for. He looked at her silently for a moment, not saying a word. Her fire-red hair was tangled and windswept from the outside world, yet still somehow managed to be in better shape than most others. He wondered if he had ever seen an elf with untidy hair before. He could not find a memory.
Finally, Tauriel broke their silence, "I have come to check your wounds, Prince Fili," she said, bowing to him respectfully.
Nodding, he turned his head back so his eyes met the ceiling of the tent. He studied it more intensely as Tauriel walked lightly towards him, her boots crunching against the dirt of the floor. He hitched his breath as she knelt next to him; a reflect reaction he cursed himself for. When had he become so easily unnerved?
He felt a hand come to rest gently on his shoulder, "Fili, I'm going to turn you over slightly so I can see how your wound is fairing, is that alright?"
He nodded again, clenching his teeth as he felt his body weight shift onto his side, along with the dead weight of his legs. The feeling of the bandages being removed from his wound caused him to wince, forcing him to shut his eyes in pain. He better distract himself, somehow. The outside world had eluded him of late, so perhaps he should ask of it. "Why are you helping me?" 
"I will not stand around and do nothing while others are in pain and dying," she answered simply.
He resisted the urge to nod, and instead allowed himself a small half smile under all the pain. "I can see why my brother liked you." The memory of Kili saying a similar thing to their uncle during the battle still burned fresh in his mind. Kili had always been like that, never on to sit by as the word moved around him. Tauriel would have been a good match, if the uncle ever allowed it, not that it would have influenced Kili in the slightest. They probably would have eloped. 
 "He was very brave," Tauriel said simply.
Looking around the room under squinted eyes, he pondered her words, wondering of which bravery she was referring too. Kili had always been brave in many ways, towards his Kin, in the midst of battle, and even more so in the face of adversity. Namely, the taunting words of his 'friends' when he was young. He had always been targeted as a boy, for his appearance; his title doing nothing to stop the teasing. They were exiled, after all. He had always been so brave. He wondered if he was the same in the face of death. He couldn't imagine his little brother facing such a thing, but no matter how he faced it, he would think no less of him.
"Do you know how he died?" he asked suddenly.
He heard her breath hitch.
"I was there,' she said after a moment.
"Can …can you tell me?" he asked slowly, feeling his eyes close in another sort of pain. Once again, he wasn't sure why he needed to know, but he did.
"I was told that when you fell, they all believed you to be dead, and when you fell before Kili he was overcome with rage and he went after the orc who almost felled him."
Fili frowned, he could remember his brother running past after he fell, the information was nothing new, but he couldn't help but give in a little more to the voices twisting around his heart, whispering that it was his fault Kili had run to his death. He wouldn't have done such a thing had he not been captured so easily.
As if sensing what he was thinking, Tauriel spoke again, "It is not you who is at fault, Prince Fili. His death …his death is on me. Your brother was fighting well before he heard me call his name. I was struck down by Bolg, Azog's son. Kili tried to help, but he …he was killed. He died bravely."
"He died for love," he replied, feeling a sense of pride for his brother, tinted with sadness. "You are not to blame Tauriel, my brother always reacted harshly when angered. You allowed him to fight for something other than revenge… Thank you."
He felt his body being turned back over, and he could once again see the elf maiden, and saw how Kili had loved her so. But was it returned? He met her eyes in a hard stare, wanting to know the truth. "Did you love my brother, truly?"
Tauriel did not break away from his gaze. "Yes, I did," she answered firmly, " I still do."
He believed her.
She was staring at him funny now, and she absentmindedly played with a strand of his knotted hair, "Fili, is it alright if I wash your hair?" she asked tentatively.
He thought for a moment, such an act was normally reserved for Kin, but he supposed she was kin now. He nodded.
Wordlessly, the elf maiden rose to her feet and retrieved a water jug from somewhere in the tent. When she was back at his side, she began to gently pry the knots out of his hair, dried blood falling apart as she carded through it. Her fingers soon became stuck in a particularly large knot, causing him to wince when she accidentally pulled back on his skull. He despised his hair being in such a state.
"Fili, I think I'm going to need to cut some of them out," she said slowly.
He shook his head determinedly, panic sweeping through him. "No, please. Keep trying," he pleaded. He could not lose his hair too, it meant to much by dwarven standards. 
"Alright," she said after a moment, before once again trying gently to rid his hair of its tangles. She seemed to manage at getting a few more out, but her fingers kept stopping, caught in knots of hair. 
There was no saving it, and he knew it.
"Fili, I really am going to have to cut it. I am so sorry, but I promise you I will not cut off more than is needed."
He drew in a deep breath, "okay." 
He heard the sound of a dagger being unsheathed, and soon he felt his hair pull at his skull. He went rigid, his eyes closed tightly. He could not help it. He hoped he looked presentable as she removed the last of the knots, and that his hair wasn't too short. He imagined he was short an inch or two of hair, with it only reaching just past his shoulders. It hadn't been that short since he was a boy.
Once more the tent doors were suddenly swept open, a gust of wind breaking through. He curled his nose at the smell. It was like burning meat.
He felt his blood run cold.
"Tauriel, where is that coming from," he asked, his voice unusually high, "It's the second time I have smelt it. Gandalf said there was a fire-"
"There has been a funeral for the fallen, their bodies were burnt," she answered him.
He panicked.
It cannot be true. Not yet. " I haven't- I haven't said goodbye; they can't!" Desperately, he tried to push himself up. He had to get to them. He needed to see-
Tauriel placed pushed gently down on his shoulder. "Relax, Prince Fili, they are not to be burnt. They are still within the next tent."
He allowed her to push him back down, processing what she had said. He pushed the images of them burning from his mind. They are still here. I can still see them. But for how long
"How long?" he asked. 
"I do not know," she answered, no hint of deceit in her voice.
Why would she lie anyway? There was only so long a body could last without its soul, and it had already been several days since they passed. "Where there many?" he asked, "on the pyre."
She nodded, "and there are many more wounded. I am tending to them with great struggle. The campgrounds are crowded beyond measure." 
He frowned. Then why- "If shelter is scarce, why am I the only one in this tent? There is so much room," he said, confused. Though, he had a suspicion. It had been a while since he was set higher than others.
"I believe they thought it best for you to have your own privacy, and not be exposed to the threat of sickness," she replied.
He frowned, disgusted. Because I am a Prince, they value me more. "I shouldn't be given special privilege because of my status when there are so many outside in the cold and in pain who could easily fit inside this tent. Gandalf is already wasting his magic on my wounds, so they will not fall to infection." 
Tauriel nodded, a look of approval appearing on her face,  "I shall inform the others of your wishes," she paused, "you have reminded me that I have a council meeting to attend. If you are well, may i leave you for the while?"
He nodded, "I will be fine. You may go." he allowed himself to smile, "thank you for helping me, Tauriel. I enjoyed your company."
Tauriel smiled back in a sad sort of way. "Goodbye Fili," she said, turning on her heels and exiting the tent.
So once again, Fili found himself left to his thoughts. His guilt.
He closed his eyes; perhaps sleep would stop them.
But of course, it never did.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story. The details about how Dwarves bury their dead is based off Tolkien's own ideas and writing.

A/N Hello! Welcome to chapter 4, and thank you for clicking the next button.

Council meetings are formal affairs where each party or participant politely states their ideas or opinions over the matter at hand,  then come to a rational decision or conclusion about what to do about it. Or at least that's what Bilbo had come to believe they were.
As it turns out, they were not. 
The council of Erebor, as it was being called, was the complete opposite. Within a matter of minutes of the council meeting beginning, the real issues were completely forgotten to make way for bickering and insults. It had started when Lord Dain had insulted the elven King's burnt face, which was mysteriously visible on this day. Bilbo hadn't known about it before until now, and had almost broken politeness and gasped when he saw it. Gandalf has whispered something about dragon fire being the inflicter, and he couldn't help but shudder, remembering his own encounter with a dragons flames.
In a rather curious development, Thranduil revealed that he was transferring his magic to the fallen in an effort to preserve them. 
There was more to the Eleven King than meets the eye, it seemed. Probably more than Thorin ever knew either.
Of course after receiving the insult about his face, Thranduil had threatened to remove his magic from the fallen if it was bothering the dwarf so much.
It had only spiralled out of control from there.
Legolas, Bard and Gandalf were now slumped down in the makeshift chairs, heads in their hands while Tauriel and himself looked over Ori's shoulder, who was frantically attempting to record everything being said down to a stutter.
"Are you getting all of this?"
Ori promptly wrote the question down. "Yes," he answered, writing that down to.
Bilbo, having witnessed quite a few of these arguments between the dwarves and elves already, knew that if he didn't act soon, they would soon start another war. Summoning his courage, he stood up and promptly slammed the nearest object down on the sorry excuse of a table, which he realised to late was Ori's book.
The scribe gave him a scandalous look.
"Right!" he said firmly, "you all need to put your differences aside for the moment and focus on the matters at hand; not squabble around like children. You should be ashamed of yourselves, fighting so soon after a war." He paused, trying not to be discouraged by the variety of looks he was receiving. "These are our issues: we're low on food and supplies, Bard and King Thranduil need to be paid, the dwarves from the Blue Mountains are going to arrive soon and we need to bury Thorin and Kili, and we can't do that until Fili is fit enough to attend. We need shelter for those without a tent, but to do any of these things we need to rebuild and open up some of the mountain, which we can't do without people getting stronger, and more people at that. Yet, for people to regain their strength we need supplies."
The council stared at him, all with varying degrees of shock. He shuffled uncomfortably, feeling all eyes on him. Perhaps he had said too much, or spoke to fast. He looked over and saw that Ori's handwriting had become a scrawl, yet he seemed to be keeping up. He was about to sit down, when an unexpected voice broke the silence.
Thranduil's voice.
"We have plentiful amounts of supplies in Mirkwood, and many more Elves," he said, looking about the council.
The others looked at him in surprise, and some in suspicion.
"What do you ask for in return?" he asked, already knowing the answer. He just hoped this could be solved faster and without more bloodshed this time round. Too long had this feud being going on.
"You know what it is I desire," Thranduil answered, his eyes glistening with the light of the gems he craved so much.
Balin shook his head, "we cannot pay you as of yet, but we will. The tunnel leading to the gold has collapsed."
Thranduil thought for a moment, before frowning, "Then I can n- "
Legolas interrupted his father, standing up, "I will give you my own share of supplies and my own elven guard, you can pay my father when it's possible."
The room froze again, almost overwhelmed by the unexpectedness of the elves. Bilbo wondered when the Greenleaves had begun to feel such a change of heart.
Dwalin eyes the elf prince suspiciously, "can we hold you to your word?"
Legolas nodded in confirmation, meeting Dwalin's eye.
"Then we accept," Bilbo said hastily, not wanting any doubt or hesitance to emerge.
All eyes turned to Bard expectantly, who was sitting on Thranduil's left. The elf's wounded side. "I cannot order the men and women to help you until I have my promised pay, but if you ask those who are still strong, I am sure they will accept. They too want their home back. Both Dale and Laketown," he said firmly.
The council nodded in acceptance. "You will receive what is promised," Bilbo said, feeling hope for the first time since the battle. When Legolas and Bard's men got to work, they would be able to start work on the mountain, and perhaps even rebuild it once the dwarves of the Blue Mountains arrived. Supplies were now promised, and the strong could also begin to hunt and farm for more if needed. Once the gold chambers were uncovered they could pay the two Kings. He smiled to himself, and once again felt a shiver, this time on his shoulder. He shook underneath it. It lingered for a moment, before disappearing.
Suddenly, he realised another thing. "We still need to hold a proper funeral for Thorin and Kili," he said,  voice shaking slightly.
The dwarves looked at each other nervously. "We need a King, our king, to make those final decisions," Balin said slowly.
He frowned in confusion, "but Thorin is…"
"I speak of Fili. The throne is his now… Once he is properly coroneted," Balin corrected.
A silence hung among the council, an eery one.
"He's too young… Far too young for such a burden," Dwalin said, head in his hands.
"So was Thorin," replied Balin.
Dwalin met his brother's eyes with a serious look, "aye, but it will change him like it did Thorin. Fili is just as strong, just as loyal and honourable as Thorin, but he does not need to carry the same burden as he did."
Bilbo shuffled uncomfortably. He had heard from Balin himself of how Thorin had led his people and given them a new home, all the while the same age Fili was now. He sighed, "he will be a good King; an excellent one."
"Aye, but will he be a good King now, in his current state?" Dain questioned.
They all knew what he was referring to, Fili had not only lost his legs, but his Kin. They knew how that would be affecting him physically and mentally.
"Dain could be King," Balin suggested.
Dain shook his head, "can't do that without the current heir giving me the right," he replied, "but I can stand in his place until he ready to decide."
Another silence filled the tent. The dwarves looked at each other, in a knowing way. Bilbo too felt he knew what they were thinking. Fili would not refuse the crown, not for selfish reasons, but because he wouldn't want to let anyone down, dead or alive. He would believe he had failed his duty.
"We shall wait until Prince Fili is fit enough to decide what path he wants to choose before we do anything with the dead, or the crown," Balin decided.
Gandalf cleared his throat, speaking finally. "There maybe someone I know who can speed up his healing, and perhaps even a little more than that."
"Can they be trusted?" Dwalin asked.
"More than anybody else in this realm," Gandalf replied firmly.
The others stared in amazement at the claim, except Thranduil, who leant back in his chair. "I do think I know whom you are speaking of," he said confidently.
Gandalf gave him a look that said do not say anything.
Thranduil shrugged.
Shaking his head, Bilbo spoke up again. "Nevertheless, we need to find a way for Fili to be mobile in the coming days. Every day he grows stronger, and the urge to move grows with it. Even without the assistance of this healer you speak of, Gandalf." He had promised Fili that he would be able to see his family before they were buried, and he intended to keep that promise. It seemed to be more possible every day, for Fili was able to move his torso more and more. Soon he would be able to sit up without too much struggle.
There were more nods of agreement among the company of dwarves, and even a few from Thranduil and Legolas.
Gandalf, however, was shaking his head. "I cannot leave whilst my arm is broken, and I need to focus my magic on Fili, so healing it quickly is not an option."
Thranduil sighed slightly before meeting Gandalf's eyes. "I will focus all of my magic on them, Mithrandir. You heal your arm, and find Glo- find whom you speak of," Thranduil said slowly, almost as if he did not believe his own words.
Legolas looked to his father in concern. "Adar, you scar…" he said, suddenly seeming very childlike.
Thranduil shook his head, "It is not important," he replied reassuringly, though his face betrayed him.
The dwarves wondered what he was speaking off, they could see his scar now. Perhaps it reached further then they thought…
Suddenly, Ori set down his quill. "I need to say two things," he said. "One, I need you all to sign witness to these agreements, for insurance purposes of course. Second, If the first room we open up in Erebor is the burial chamber, Thorin and Kili may be buried when Fili is able to attend. That way King Thranduil and Gandalf can focus their magic to other needs."
Dori and Nori looked to their little brother with varying degrees of surprise and pride over his sudden confidence.
"Yes, yes I think that could work," said Bilbo, nodding as he went over what the scribe had said.
Bard looked to Thranduil, who in turn gave him a silent nod. They seemed to have learnt to communicate with each other with such subtle cues as of late; they were growing quite close. "Of course, we will sign witness to our agreements," said Bard, still meeting Thranduil's eyes.
Bilbo did not miss how Legolas looked between the two of them with squinted eyes.
He chuckled. Strange developments indeed.
Tauriel, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchanges, suddenly spoke up. "I spoke to Prince Fili earlier, he expressed to me that he wished to make some changes," she waited for everyone's attention, particularly the dwarves, before continuing. "He wishes for those without a tent and in the most need of one to be moved into his, and any other available tent. He did not think he should be given special privileges while others sleep outside, frozen and in pain."
The dwarves muttered amongst each other for a moment. This kind of idea wasn't out of the ordinary for Fili, but they had concerns it would seem. After a bit more discussing, they came to a conclusion. They looked back to Tauriel, "Let him know we agree, we will make sure those who need it most are given shelter," said Balin.
Tauriel nodded in satisfaction.
Knowing that there was not much left to discuss, and if they continued any longer they would without doubt return to bickering amongst themselves, Bilbo rose to his feet. "Right, now that's all out of the way, I suggest we get to work."
And to work they went.

Fili awoke from his fitful sleep, like he had the last few days. He wasnt getting much sleep lately. After a moment of gathering his bearings, he realised was not alone. He knew this because he could hear the steady, and some unsteady, breath of those who were asleep. For a brief moment, he thought he was back with the company on the road with his uncle and brother, and that all had just been a terrible dream. He soon realised with a heavy heart that this was not the case. The breathing didn't belong to anybody he knew, for he had grown unaccustomed to the sounds of his fellow company's breathing in their travels, and could pinpoint who they belonged to individually, as one could when they spent large amounts of time around each other.
They must have moved people into the tent, Fili realised. He sighed, closing his eyes again.
"What is wrong with you?" a small, childlike voice asked in the darkness.
Fili frowned slightly before propping himself up on his elbows, which was becoming increasingly easier. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he scanned the tent around him. He was right, there were several people in the tent, with all sorts of different injuries; they were all asleep, except for one.
There in the corner of the room, with her small knees drawn up, was a small human girl, no older than seven or eight. Fili could see that she had a large cut running from the right side of her skull to cheek, the hair surrounding it removed to make way for the stitches. A shocking contrast to the long hair on the other side of her head. Suddenly, Fili felt quite silly for being so emotional over losing no more than an inch or two of his own hair. She seemed to have many other cuts and bruises, but none seemed to be too serious. Yet, she was still too young to have faced such a battle.
"Pardon?" he asked.
She tilted her head, her large eyes staring. "You have been tossing and turning for hours. Pa said you were having night terrors. Where you having night terrors Master Dwarf?"
Fili gave her a small half-smile and raised his eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose I have been having night terrors, little one."
She nodded her head in a serious fashion, "So have I. Pa says they're not real, but they all happened. In the last one an orc ran at me with his knife and did this," she gestured to her head. "But a nice dwarf like you came and stuck him, like this," she said, miming how the orc had been 'stuck.'
Fili frowned, to think what this little girl must have gone through. He was truly grateful to whoever that dwarf was. "You must be very brave," Fili said honestly, trying to shake off another wave of the strange tingling sensation.
The little girl gave him a curious look, "What's your name? Pa says you're a prince, are you a prince?"
Fili chuckled under his breath at the nosiness of children. "My name is Fili, and yes I am a prince."
She nodded in satisfaction, before holding out her hand, "my name is Ari, a pleasure to meet you, Prince Fili."
Smiling, and with a bit of difficulty, he took her small hand and shook it, somewhat familiar with the human custom. "Fili, at your service," he said, releasing her hand; slightly unsure if that was the correct verbal response. By the look on Ari's face, he guessed not.
She sat for a moment before moving to sit with her legs crossed, "I'm eight now. How old are you?"
He raised an eyebrow, "eighty-two."
Her eyes widened; Fili imagined this sort of fact completely bewildered her young mind, for she had mostly likely not met a dwarf, hobbit or even elf before the battle. "You can't be; you don't have grey hair! My grandpa was seventy and his hair is grey all over," she protested.
He chuckled again, "I suppose Dwarves and Humans age differently."
Ari seemed to think this over for a moment, before nodding, apparently accepting this explanation. She remained silent for a few minutes, fiddling with the hem of her skirt.
Thinking that was the end of the conversation, he went to lie back down.
"What are your night terrors about?" she asked, staring at the ground.
It was apparently not the end of the conversation.
"I lost some people I love," Fili answered simply, not wanting to share any details with ears that were far too young, no matter what they had seen.
She shuffled herself a bit closer, "I lost my mother in the battle, I saw it happen," she said quietly.
He felt his heart drop to his stomach like a dead weight. Carefully, he stretched out a hand and placed it on her shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sorry you had to go through such a thing, little one," he said softly.
She nodded solemnly before her eyes snapped up, eyeing how Fili was supporting himself. "Pa says you can't feel your legs? Is that true?" she asked, looking quite concerned.
"I'm afraid so," he answered, before chuckling when he saw Ari poke at his leg experimentally.
"Did you feel that?" she asked.
Fili shook his head, "no, not a thing," he said, trying not to sound as though he was bothered by this fact, not wanting to worry her.
Before Ari could reply, another person woke. An aging man, and going by the resemblance, most likely Ari's father. This speculation was confirmed when the man's eyes landed on Ari, sitting by the prince. Hastily, but gently he put his un-injured hand on her shoulder and ushered her back.
"You should be asleep Ari, come on. Back to bed," the man said.
Ari looked at her father before turning to face Fili, "goodnight, Prince Fili. Sleep well," she said before heading to her own 'bed'.
He smiled and nodded, "goodnight Ari," he replied, before turning to greet the man.
Ari's father smiled sheepishly, trying to give an awkward bow from where he was half sitting, half lying down. "I'm sorry if she was disturbing your sleep, Prince Fili," he said respectfully.
He shook his head, "she was not. I was already awake, and I believe she needed to share her troubles with someone."
Ari's father nodded before turning to go back to sleep, exhaustion clear on his face.
Fili did the same, easing himself onto his back, already half asleep.
And if it was said that his sleep was less troubled by nightmares that night, it would be a truth.

Due to the large amount of work that had been occurring in and around the mountain and the surrounding areas, The company of Thorin Oakenshield had been unable to visit Fili since they had last seen him: unconscious and barely alive. Three days had passed (or possibly four, for they had not been paying attention) since Fili had regained consciousness for the first time, and two since the council meeting. Now that Fili was conscious for most of the day, and very much alive, Dwalin thought they should pay him a visit.
Before they could do this, however, Bofur, who was looking very excited, had come galumphing towards them with his hat in his hands. "Lads, I've had an idea," he stated.
The company groaned. It was not the first time Bofur has said this, and on previous occasionsn, it had got the lot of them stuck in rainstorms, Thorin getting lost three times, a broken toe and being run out of a village. Needless to say, Dwalin an his companions were sceptical.
two"This should be good," called Nori, empathising what the others were thinking.
Bofur shook his head, "no, no. I was passing by a wheelbarrow which was carrying a chair when suddenly I had an idea as to how we get Fili mobile, possibly even on horseback," Bofur said, replacing his hat with a broad smile on his face.
Dwalin looked at him in surprise, as Bofur's ideas go, this wasn't too outrageous. He always seemed to come up with strange ideas just by looking and two or three random objects, hearing something being said or being done.
Balin stepped forward, "how exactly does this plan work?" he asked, intrigued but wisely hesitant.
Grinning, Bofur took out a roll of parchment from his coat. "I've drawn some sketches up to show my idea," he explained as the others crowded round to get a look at this idea. On the parchment, was two separate sketches, each carefully labelled with surrounding notes.
Dwalin looked up from the parchment and to Bofur, who was still grinning ear to ear. "You sure this will work laddie?" he asked. He thought the two ideas were brilliant, but the matter of them working was a different case. He couldn't bear to disappoint the lad further with false hope if they shared these ideas and they proved to not work.
Nodding, Bofur took the roll of parchment back, shoving it safely back into his coat. "Aye, I'm certain. It will only be a matter of getting the Lad to practice with them so he can use them to their full effect. I've already sent the designs off to be made, even the Elves are helping."
"Are they now," Dwalin said, raising an eyebrow. "Well then, what are we waiting for?"

Fili had been overjoyed when his fellow company had come to visit him, it had felt like an eternity since he had last seen one of them. When they first saw him, he was propped up on some pillows, and Bilbo had to fight Dwalin and Bofur away from Fili in order to prevent him suffocating from their embraces. They had all been a bit gentler after that, for none of them wanted to face the wrath of their burglar, or risk injuring him further.
He was also quite glad to hear that peace had been made between his kin, the elves and people of lake town. His gladness was improved when he was informed of the progress that had been made in rebuilding Erebor and the surrounding areas: Lake-town, Dale, and such. After the arrival of Legolas's men, with the added strength of the surviving people of lake town, the front gate was beginning to be cleared, and hunting parties had been established. It was still being decided how to approach the collapsed tunnels, but progress was progress.
However, during the time that the company had been talking to him, he had noticed they seemed to be directly avoiding looking at his legs, let alone mentioning them and his family. He supposed this was because they did not know how to approach the subject, and it seemed politer not to stare. He found it funny that when people try to continue on as if nothing is wrong and act normal, only to make it more obvious that something was indeed wrong.
Nevertheless, he understood what they were trying to do, and appreciated it. However, he decided he wanted to bring some attention to the subject. "Will I be able to see them soon?" he inquired, interrupting Ori's word to word account on how the council meeting had gone.
The Company seemed to share glances with each other, and Fili, for once, could not read them. "What? What is wrong?" he asked, suddenly worried.
Suddenly, they seemed to grin at each other, causing him to frown in confusion, unsure what they could possibly be smiling over. Unless…
"Nothing is wrong lad," Bofur said, shaking his head as he smiled. He shuffled forward so he could sit next to him, before removing a piece of parchment from his coat pocket. Carefully, he unravelled it and held it in front of them.
Never in his life, had Fili seen what was sketched on Bofur's parchment. There were two sketches. The first one seemed to illustrate a thin, armed chair. suspended by two large wheels. It seemed to also bear a foot panel and separate compartments. Fili read the labels, according to them, they would hold weapons and other necessities. The thinness of the chair and the ability to rotate the wheels in different directions would allow him to move quickly and swiftly. Apparently.
"I call it a 'wheelchair'," Bofur said, grinning.
Fili nodded. He wasn't sure of this idea, he trusted it would allow him to move, but to fight? To move over long distances? He couldn't imagine it. He moved his eyes onto the next image, and they grew wide with surprise.
The second image illustrated a pony, fitted with an odd looking saddle. The notes read that the pony would be trained by elves to respond to focus, and voice. Apparently, it would not even need a bridle or halter to be guided. The saddle itself seemed to show a higher cantle, sitting higher than the pommel, but not unbalancing it. The saddle flaps seemed to have extra padding around the edges, as well as some straps. Apparently, he would be able to release them in an emergency, but they would give extra support until he found his balance. The saddle was even made to hold his weapons, just as the chair did.
Trust Bofur and some elves to come up with something like this. A chair with wheels and a pony with no need for reins or legs. Though he felt sceptical, he had seen the elves ride in such a way before. He felt a little bit of hope in his chest. He smiled. "Thank you Bofur, these are wonderful."
Bofur nodded, "It's no trouble lad, although neither are ready yet. The chair wont be ready for a few weeks, the pony and saddle a little longer. But they will come," he said reassuringly, returning the parchment to his coat.
"Gandalf is also leaving once his arm is healed so he can find someone, someone who might be able to help you a little bit," Bilbo added in.
He frowned, not sure what he was talking about "what- "
"You needn't worry, Thranduil is using all of his magic in Gandalf's stead," Bilbo finished.
He was even more confused. He shook his head, "I'm sorry Bilbo, but I don't understand a word of what you are saying." 
Bilbo paused for a moment, then suddenly his eyes grew wide. "Oh! You don't know," he looked at Fili carefully, "...Thranduil is using his magic to preserve Thorin and Kili. So you will see them buried." 
 "Oh," was all he could say. What else could he say? He had thought he would never see his kin again, even if was just there bodies. No matter what Bilbo had promised. Yet, apparently, he would. And they would not be ravaged by time, either. Yet, there were still dead. And he would see them as such. Perhaps it was better the other way... 
"Oh, and lad, you should know," Dwalin said suddenly, unfolding his arms from where he had been sitting. "The dwarves from the Blue Mountains will be arriving in the coming weeks. Including your mother."
Fili felt his heart drop. His mother... How can I face her? After all, that I have done. Her only surviving family, and I just …it is my fault. The voices in his head continued to whisper words into his soul. He closed his eyes, "I wish to be alone," he said, not looking to the others.
He heard nothing for a moment, then suddenly there was a shuffling and he heard his company leave the tent, whispering words of goodbye and healing. He was left to his thoughts. Not quite alone, for there was still some residing in the tent with him. But alone nonetheless, only hearing the voices that he heard in his head, whispering words of betrayal and failure. Thorin and Kili's voices.
The voices he took for truth.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.

A/N

Hello! Welcome to chapter 5, and thank you for clicking the next button.

Ten days had passed since Gandalf had begun to mend his arm, and finally it would seem he no longer needed to do so. The minute he had found he was capable of moving his once immobile appendage, he packed enough for a hard journey. He planned to take a horse as far as Beorn's house, whom he would leave it with. Then, as he had arranged with Gwaihir, King of the Eagles, he would be flown to Eriador and back again.
He wondered if it would be the last time he could ask for such a favour by the great winged creatures.
As he readied his horse, at the very break of day, he was accompanied by none other than Bilbo Baggins himself. The disheartened Hobbit had been spending a significant amount of time in the fallen's tent, and Gandalf had been worried that the Hobbit's loss would weigh too heavy on his heart, causing him to become cold and empty. Yet, as of the last few days the Hobbit had begun spending his time doing all he could to help those around him since the battle.
"Who is it you are seeking, Gandalf?" Bilbo asked, curiosity written all over his face.
Gandalf tightened the girth of his saddle, "his name is Glorfindel," he answered simply.
"That's an Elvish name," Bilbo commented.
Gandalf nodded, "It is."
The Hobbit nodded, a hopeful look on his face, "and he is to help Fili?"
Gandalf couldn't help but admire the Hobbits concern for his friends, and his ability to always find an optimistic note to every situation. He smiled, "If I can find him, and If he agrees to help."
A hesitant look came upon the Hobbits face, "what if he doesn't agree?" 
Gandalf gave the burglar a dubious look. "We best hope he does," he answered, placing his pointed hat atop his head, adjusting it slightly. "If he does not, I fear for Fili's recovery. Both of the body, and the heart. Now, have you finished asking questions, Bilbo, or am I to reside here forever?"
Bilbo raised an eyebrow."Yes, I have finished. Be on your way, Gandalf," he said, gesturing to the horizon with a wave of his hand.
With that, the wizard swung himself into the saddle and gathered the reins in his hands. "Farewell, Bilbo Baggins," he said before thundering off into the distance, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

Bilbo couldn't help but feel a tad apprehensive. Without the wizard surveying the camp, he did not doubt that disorder would soon break out, as it had on a good many other occasions the wizard had left the company to fend for themselves. He hoped that nothing involving further loss or destruction would emerge, and that the wizard would maintain his impeccable ability to arrive at the last conceivable moment. 
Shaking his head, Bilbo made his way back to the mountain. Reconstruction of the tunnels and passageways was underway. It would be a while yet before the mountain regained its full glory, but the tunnels leading to the burial chambers, bedchambers and the Treasury were definitely starting to clear, with emphasis on 'starting to'. 
Once they were clear, there would still be many things to be repaired aesthetically. Tapestries to be rehung, stone dwarves to be rebuilt, marble to be polished. But it was a start, and such things could wait until their numbers grew.
As his feet carried him through the marble halls, this time without the distraction of a rage filled dragon on his tail, he was able to pay closer attention to the details that filled the once bustling halls. The marble and rock that made up the walls were riddled with gold ore and emeralds, not yet mined; he could see them glistening in the light of the burning torches. Along the main walls was the written history of the mountain, carefully carved in runes in the secret language of the Dwarves. He could read a little bit of it as the company, well Thorin really, had been kind enough to teach him some. But not much. It was after all, a secret. From what he could read, the walls seemed to speak of the history of each individual section of the mountain, but he couldn't be sure.
Slowly, wishing to take his time, Bilbo made his way to where he knew Bofur would be working. The toymaker's hands carefully crafting what would be Fili's new mode of transportation. 
When he got to the makeshift workshop, he could see Bofur darting about for one reason or another. Retrieving a tool, shaping some timber or metal. It looked as if he was doing several things at once, working feverishly to complete his task. As he further approached, it became clear that Bofur had so far constructed the general frame of the chair, and was currently working on shaping the wheels and the axles to go with them.
He cleared his throat, not wishing to startle the Dwarf. Bofur spun around, his hat falling off to the side as he did so.
"Bilbo!" his friend exclaimed, enveloping him in a welcoming hug. "I thought you'd left," he said in a surprised tone, but to Bilbo's great relief, not at all seeming disappointed that his speculations had been proven wrong.
"No, I'm still here. I apologise for not coming to see you sooner, but the past three days I have been wandering all about the place, helping where I can. If i can," the hobbit explained.
With a pleased smile, Bofur rested a hand on the hobbit's shoulder, "glad to hear so, lad. I hadn't seen you since the council meeting and assumed you had left without saying goodbye, glad to see I was wrong," the dwarf responded.
"I'm not leaving yet. I can't. Not until everything is sorted, and certainly not without saying goodbye," he smiled. Then a troubling thought occurred to him. His smile faded, "or for as long as I am welcome of course," he added hastily.
Bofur shook his head, not yet removing his hand from Bilbo's shoulder. "Nonsense, lad. You're one of us now. You can stay as long as you like, and let no one tell you otherwise." 
Bilbo felt a wave of fondness for the dwarf. He was the first out of the company to welcome him with open arms, followed by Fili and Kili. Bofur had reassured him that he was a part of the company time and time again. He could also count on Bofur to be the first one to notice if he had slipped away somewhere, or been left behind. He was his friend. His first, true friend. He smiled warmly, "I'm glad to hear that Bofur," he said, taking a seat. "Now tell me, how is this chair going?"

Fili was standing.
He didn't quite know how, but he also didn't know where he was or how he got there. He simply appeared in the underground tunnels of Ravenhill, only there was not an orc in sight. In a mixture of curiosity and fear, he stepped forward. Or at least he tried to. He found he could move his feet, but they did not carry him anywhere. He seemed to float over a single spot, his feet desperately trying to move even an inch forwards. 
It was to no avail. He was stuck there.
Before too long his ears detected the sound of grunting and shuffling from within the tunnels, followed by the haunting light of torches.
Fili felt his heart stop, and found himself unable to breathe. His attempts to move forward became more desperate, and a feeling of being closed in settled in his heart, causing his muscles to tighten in fright. He felt like he was suffocating. 
"Fili," a deep, familiar voice said, ceasing the grunts and flickering torch lights.
He spun around, only to find himself no longer in the tunnels, but at the ravine where he fell. Snow began to form at his feet and he felt his legs grow weak where he stood. Breathing unevenly, his eyes darted about in search of the source of the voice. He knew exactly who had spoken, but he dared not believe it. He feared for what the might say.
Soon his eyes landed on a familiar figure, a mere few feet away from where he stood. His eyes were cold and his hair was dark. He stood with his arms at his sides, unmoving. Thorin.
A breath escaped him. "Uncle-"
"Fili, you disappoint me," Thorin interrupted, his voice with a new coldness to it. "You let your Kin down. You let me down."  
Fili let out a sob of anguish, collapsing to his knees that were no longer able to support him. "I'm sorry, uncle. I'm so sorry," he cried, looking into the merciless eyes of his uncle, begging for forgiveness.
Thorin shook his head, beginning to walk away from where Fili kneeled. "you are no nephew of mine," he said, turning his back.
Desperately, Fili called out for his uncle to return as he disappeared from view, leaving him frozen at the bottom of Ravenhill.
"You let us die, Fili," another voice called, this one younger and with more emotion, but once again not quite how he remembered it.
Fili's head shot up to where the voice had come from. Standing before him, with messy brown hair and a wound in his abdomen, was his little brother. His poor, dead little brother. Curiously, the wound wasn't what bothered him the most, but the absence of Kili's lopsided smile, once bright enough to light up the darkest of times.
"Kili," he cried, desperately wanting to reach out for his brother. Kili showed no sign of moving, instead choosing to simply stare down at him with cold, dead eyes.
"How could you let us die, Fee? How could you let me die?" Kili asked, his own voice cracking.
Fili shook his head frantically, shrinking back into himself. He could feel the tingling sensation again, this time it felt more like pulling. "Kili, please- "
Suddenly Kili's face grew dark, "You let us die!" he all but screamed, bending over so he was face to face with Fili. "You are the reason I am dead, Fili," he said, almost whispering now.
Fili buried his face in his hands, curling into himself as much as he could, "I'm so sorry, kee. I'm so sorry." 
"Fili, this isn't real," Kili said firmly, but in a far away voice. Although, this time he sounded like himself.
The prince looked up curiously. He saw nothing —nothing but white.
A moment later he felt himself being pulled away, the tingling sensation ceasing, only to be replaced by a terrible strain in his chest, and the absence of anything in his legs. He felt himself lying on his back, his shoulders held to the ground as his chest heaved. Through ragged breaths, he managed to open his eyes; they met with the dark emptiness of the tent. It was just a dream, he realised. A nightmare.

But it felt so real.

"You gave us quite a scare, Prince Fili," a new, feminine voice stated, seemingly coming from nowhere.
As his eyes adjusted, Fili looked around the tent. Before long, his eyes landed on a Dwarven figure. A Dwarrodam. For a brief, shocking moment, he thought it was his mother. But she was miles away, and this dwarf had lighter hair, Still darker than his own, but not as black as his mothers. He could make out the shadow of her features, young and slightly rounded. Fastened to her right hip, like many Dwarrodam's, was a deadly mace.
"You were having a night-terror, Master Dwarf," a younger voice called. Ari. "You were tossing and turning and I couldn't wake you, then you started whaling all so terribly, so the guard who stood outside the tent came inside," she explained, looking quite concerned.
It was only now that Fili realised he was drenched in sweat, and his chest was still rising and falling frantically. He imagined he looked a sorry state: hair unbraided and clothes that had been worn for days without a wash. He sat up, propping his back against the provided pillows. "Thank you, Ari. You can go back to sleep," he said, offering a weak smile. After Ari had returned to her spot in the tent, where many other souls were now awake, Fili turned his eyes back to the Dwarrodam. She was looking at him curiously.
"I'm sorry for the horrors that ail your sleep, Prince Fili," she said sadly.
Fili shook his head, "It is not your fault," he said, offering a weak smile. It did not last, for as he did this, the contents of his dreams flooded his mind, taunting him once again. He shook the thoughts from his mind, and in an effort to distract himself, he asked the Dwarrodam for her name.
She raised an eyebrow. "Róskva," she answered. "Just Róskva."
He could not help the small frown that flickered across his face for a moment, but it dispersed almost as quickly as it had come. He did not wish to offend Róskva. It was rare for a dwarf to have no family ties,  as it was rare for dwarves to leave their children willingly. Particularly if they were female, as they were far less common. It was very likely that her parents had perished before a name could be given. Fili nodded his head to her in an effort to show respect, "Fili, at your service."
Róskva bowed her head in acknowledgment, "Róskva, at yours." Her eyes seemed to study Fili for a moment, and a frown line appeared along her forehead. "What troubles you at this hour, Prince Fili?" She inquired, keeping her voice level and calm.
A cloud of fog appeared over Fili's eyes, and he began a faraway stare. He closed his eyes in stress, his body beginning to shake. "It is not something I wish to share," he said, sounding very cold and distant.
After a moment, Róskva bowed her head once more. "Then I bid you goodnight, Prince Fili. Call out to me if you need any assistance," she said, rising to her feet. With purposeful steps, she left the tent and resumed her post. There were many hours of the night still to come.

Over the last fourteen days, the fourteen days since Fili lost everything, he had denied himself of the fact that he could not walk, and never do so again. He had simply allowed himself to be eased by the idea that it was just a simple injury, and he wasn't allowed to move until it had healed. It was not far from the truth, but it was not, in fact, the truth. He knew that really. A part of him wished that his denial could spread to other things: Thorin and Kili's deaths. He wanted to be under the impression that they were just in the next tent, and that because he hadn't actually seen them dead, there might be some chance they were still alive, or his friends mistaken.
He wished he could believe such things.
Yet, just after 11:00 in the morning, he was forced to face the truth of his situation. His permanent situation.
He had been busy discussing the best way to braid hair with Ari, explaining differnt patterns significance, when Bofur had burst in through the tent, pushing what could only be the chair that had been designed. Soon Bilbo and Dwalin had followed after him, and later the rest of the company, all wearing a variety of emotions on their faces.
He stared at the chair for good long while. It certainly looked as if it could do what it was designed for. It was in no way bulky or unagile in structure and design, instead, it was practical and minimalist. 
But it was still a chair.
After a bit of maneuvering, Dwalin eventually had him settled into it. He sat, thinking. The others looked at him expectantly.
He did not know what to say. A part of him was glad for the sudden opportunity for freedom and movement. There was only so long that one person could stay inside a tent, only being able to leave with assistance to relieve himself or soak up a bit of sun. A larger part of him, however, felt only anger. Anger that he needed to use such a thing to do the simplest of things. Learning to use one's own legs was something that was learnt in the earliest years of a dwarfing's life. 
Now he was doomed to live in a chair for the rest of his life.
He was aware that he was furrowing his brow, no doubt appearing to be ungrateful. At the sight of Bofur's faltering smile, a very rare thing indeed, Fili allowed himself to look pleased. "It is wonderful Bofur, a stroke of genius. I owe you one," he said, meeting the other dwarf's eyes.
The toymaker returned the smile, adjusting his hat. "Think nothing of it, lad."
Suddenly, there was a sharp tugging on his sleeve, he turned and met the gaze of Ari, her large green eyes staring at him inquisitively. As a sign of her bravery, he had braided the remains of the light brown hair on the right side of her head, weaving the strands to the back of the head to give her a more regal look. The wound on her head had begun to form a neat, but jagged scar. He smiled at her, " Ari?"
"Is this going to be able to let you move around?" she asked, her eyes scanning the wheelchair before her. She, like everybody else, had never seen such a thing before and was quite intrigued as to whether or not it would help the Dwarf Prince.
Fili nodded, "It is indeed, he said. If I move the wheels like this I can go forward," he said, demonstrating what he said, moving in the chair for the first time. He let out a small gasp of surprise, relived at the feeling of moving relatively on his own was an interesting one after so long. "If I move the wheels like this, I can go backwards," he said, demonstrating this as well.
As he did this, Róskva appeared around the tent entrance,  gazing over the heads of the others. He cought her eyes, and she smiled warmly at him. 
He smiled back. 
Ari, still at his side,  watched approvingly, her arms crossed over her chest. "Does it turn?" she asked, curious as he was about the full extent of the mobility of the chair.
Unsure, Fili looked to Bofur in question.
Bofur moved to stand near him, "if you move the wheels like this," he said, showing how to turn one individual wheel to turn left or right, both forwards and backwards.
Fili repeated this action as best he could, the chair turned, not as swiftly as he would hope, but he was assured that with practice it would come.
Ari nodded in satisfaction, smiling. "Now you can move around the place, Prince Fili," she said, looking quite happy at this prospect.
"Indeed I can," replied Fili, giving a small smile. He did not wish to see her unhappy, regardless of if he was or not. Fili moved his attention to the other dwarves and hobbit standing behind Bofur. They all seemed to be wearing warm smiles on the faces. He raised an eyebrow at them, which snatched the expression of their faces, replaced with more natural ones. Behind them, he saw a hint of sunlight peak through over their heads. 
Outside.
He could go outside. 
To them.
The full weight of the reality that he could now leave the tent hit him, and he felt anxious to get to the place he had been yearning, yet dreading to go since the battle.
As if understanding what he was thinking, Dwalin stepped to the front of the company. He drew breath, "Fili, the burial chambers are almost complete. We will have the funeral when your mother arrives."
Fili looked down suddenly, his eyes closed. "May I see them?" he asked, his voice hushed, not quite believing the reality of the situation. Flashes of what he saw in his sleep crept forth into his mind, whispering words of guilt and betrayal. He pushed them aside, shaking his head.
"Are you remembering something, Master Dwarf?" Ari asked, her youthful face overridden with worry.
The prince smiled at her. For one so young she was remarkably perceptive. It was usually that way with children that had seen battle. "Nothing you need to worry about, little one," he assured.
Ari looked at him dubiously, before nodding, apparently accepting what he had said. With Ari's mind eased, for the moment, he looked back to the company expectantly.
"You may see them," Balin granted, even though they both knew he would go whether he was permitted to or not. 
Yet, he was suddenly not sure if he really wanted to go. He would have to face the reality of the deaths, and then it would become real. He swallowed nervously, his hands gripping the wheels of his chair with a vice-like grip, his knuckles turning white. A small hand pulled at his sleeve again, it was Ari. He looked at her quizzically.
"Do you need someone to go with you, Prince Fili?" she asked.
He shook his head. "You do not need to come, little one. Besides, your father needs you by his side," he said, not wishing to offend her. Ari had been predominantly under his watch; her father had fallen weak in recent days, his wounds infected. Tauriel was doing her best, but moments of consciousness where growing few and far between. He felt a certain guilt, that he, for his status, had received more medical attention.
Ari frowned before heeding his words, going to her father.
Slowly, Fili allowed his hands to push the wheel forwards, allowing the chair to move across the uneven ground and to the outside world. He felt the hot sun fall onto his skin, the light blinding his eyes for a moment. He waited for the stinging to stop, before looking to his right. Róskva was standing there, mace at her hip. She looked at him with an expression he could not read. "Would you like me to escort you, Prince Fili?" she asked, carefully.
He nodded, and soon found himself moving the chair forward once more to follow her. As he began to cross the more wild part of the ground, he found himself struggling to push the chair over all the bumps and ruts that were in the way. Still, he managed. Distracting himself from the effort it took, he let his eyes scan his surroundings. All around him were tents, wounded men, elves and dwarves. Every so often, he could see Tauriel dart from one place or another, her red hair trailing behind her. She had visited him a few more times since their first meeting, and the beginning of a friendship had been formed between them.
Eventually, with aching arms, he managed to reach the tent that was, in reality, no more than a hundred metres away. It felt like a thousand. He stopped before it, "I would like to continue on alone please, Róskva."
Róskva nodded, moving aside  "as you wish, Prince Fili."
Fili drew a deep breath, his heart racing inside his chest. All sorts of thoughts raced around in his mind, about what he should do, what he should feel and about what exactly all these thoughts meant. He supposed it didnt really matter, and it would be better to just get on with it.
Slowly, he began to roll his chair forward.
And there they were.
Kili and Thorin. Cold, pale and dead. The days of the soullessness did not show, and they only looked as if they were asleep, peaceful under the dim lightreflectingg of their faces.
But they were dead,  and Fili felt as if he were the same.
His heart in his throat, he wheeled his way towards where they lay, so he was before the two of them. Yet, after all the time he had waited, he did not look at them again, for fear of what he might feel being so close to them, yet so far away. Instead, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. He could feel his throat begin to throb, and his eyes grow heavy with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He didn't feel he deserved it, for the truth of what had happened rested on his shoulders. 
Slowly, he let his eyes open, the tingling sensation returning ever so slightly. His lips quivered his control on the verge of breaking. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please wake up," he begged quietly. He wanted them to wake up. For all this to end. He wanted his uncle to help guide him, and his brother to rearsure him. He wanted them at his side. He wanted his legs back. He wanted for things to go back to the way they were.
But life had taught him you rarely get what you want without a price to pay, and so his words and wants did nothing. He felt a shiver run down his spine.
He gasped. 
That's not possible. Shocked, he tried to move his legs, feeling ever hopeful.
Nothing.
With a shaking breath, he looked at his brother and uncle one last time before they were buried, unspoken words still on his lips. He closed his eyes and turned away, leaving the tent behind him. Leaving his family.
Yet, he still hadn't let them go.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot of this story.

A/N

Hello! Welcome to chapter 6 and thank you for clicking the next button.

I am so sorry for the wait!

Ari's father did not have long. A blind man could see it. Brendon, as Fili had come to know him, had become a slave to his injuries. His skin was so tightly drawn across his face that it resembled a skull and his body became skeletal. His festering hand had been amputated, leaving a bloody stump, weakening him further. Ari, the brave girl, would not leave her father's side, save for moments where she talked with himself or Róskva.
It wouldn't be more than a week before he would succumb to his injuries, that Fili knew. 
But he did not know how to tell Ari. 
Her love for her father blinded her from seeing the truth, despite her premature wisdom. Deep down he knew that if he didn't tell her, she would suffer even more than if he did. The shock of sudden death was far worse than the expected, for one did not have time to accept or process, let alone say their goodbyes. He had experienced it three times now. The first time was his own father, then his brother and uncle. It felt unfinished, and it always would.
He did not want Ari to experience the same pain. 
His mind felt heavy from the problem, among all the others. So rather unexpectedly, he found himself in the company of Róskva, sitting in his wheelchair and asking for her advice. Telling the truth to Ari aside, he had decided, that when the time came, he would help the girl find a new family, and he would look after her until that was done, and he told Róskva as such. He had watched over Kili for most of his life, yet he had no experience in what looking after Ari would demand. 
"I will help you look after her if you allow it," Róskva offered, seeming to sense his inner turmoil.
He smiled faintly, thinking the company would not support the idea of putting so much trust in someone who was essentially a stranger. Nevertheless, appreciated her offer, "I would be most grateful for that," he said. Róskva returned his smile, but her eyes soon wandered over his shoulder. Frowning, he turned his chair to see what had distracted her so.

What in Mahal?

There, standing next to a very proud Legolas, was a Mearas, as far as Fili could tell. If he remembered his studies correctly, and Ori's rambling, Mearas were horses of incredible intelligence and speed, capable of understanding human speech. Its coat was a beautiful buttermilk, contrasting to its dark black mane and tail. It had a noble head, and an intelligent expression, its brown eyes looking into his with interest. It was not a tall horse, and was strongly built, but it was in no way similar in frame to the ponies he was accustomed to riding.
It needed no leads or reins for it to stay, neither did it bear a bridle or halter. It simply stood at the elf's side, as his equal. Upon its back was the saddle that Bofur had sketched, he could see the extra supports that did not usually come with a typical saddle. Never had Fili seen such a magnificent horse.
Looking quite pleased with himself, Legolas pet the horse's mane affectionately, "this is Felaróf the second, descendant of the first Mearas. He has agreed to bear you Prince Fili," Legolas said proudly.
It was not unknown that a Mearas scarcely agreed to be ridden, and only for the noblest of causes.
Fili could only stare in amazement, and trepidation. This is all happening so fast. I've only just begun to use this chair. He reasoned that his friends were just eager to see him up and moving. Seeing him on a horse would reassure them, he thought. Make them feel like everything wasn't as bad as it really was. 
"You should greet him, Prince Fili" suggested Legolas.
Unsure, he hesitated. Was there a proper way of greeting such a magnificent animal?
Seeming to understand his hesitance, Felaróf stepped forward, lowering his head so its eyes were level with his. Carefully, Fili held out his hand to the horses face. After a moment, Felaróf pushed his muzzle into it, accepting the gesture. Relaxing slightly, he pet the horse's nose. "Hello ...Felaróf. Fili, at your service?" he said uncertainly. Though he had often talked to animals casually, it was a little odd to grasp that he was speaking to a horse that could, in fact, understand every word he said.
Felaróf shook his mane in understanding, before turning his head to the saddle in question.
Fili looked back at Legolas, unsure.
"He is asking if you wish to sit on his back," clarified Legolas.

Too fast. This is going to fast.

Still, he nodded, not wishing to disappoint Legolas. The elf had put so much thought and time into this. He looked up at the elf, hoping to convey what he was thinking through his eyes, as his words would not. "That I understood," he said, "I just don't know how to go about it …or if I should." 
Legolas' face softened. "Prince Fili, you need not be nervous, Felaróf will not move or do anything you do not ask," he promised, "but if you are not ready, Felaróf will wait for you."  
Fili looked back to Felaróf, and found that he believed Legolas' promise. There was no malice in the beings eyes, only unwavering loyalty and faithfulness, and Fili knew then that the elf was speaking the truth. 
No matter if he rode him or not, he would always have the Mearas by his side.

It was a joyous day when reconstruction within Erebor was developed enough for many to begin moving into makeshift living quarters, Fili and his company included. Anything would do then those weather worn tents that smelt the last century in its entirety. Yet, Fili had not been inside Erebor since the battle, and he couldn't help but feel a bit of uncertainty about being inside such a place. It did not yet hold any truly happy memories and did not yet feel like home. Not like Ered Luin did. But yet it was proclaimed his true home for as long as he could remember.
He hoped it could be.
Though the dwarves of the Blue Mountains had not yet arrived, as Fili was led through the mountain, he could see that much effort had been put into tidying. Gone were the cobwebs and muck, replaced by polished stone and lit torches. What once felt cold and desolate felt warmer and more alive. At least the parts that had begun to be rebuilt. It was nowhere near populated yet, and probably wouldn't be for many years to come, but he could see many walking the halls already. Some fixing things, others cleaning, and some simply moving in. He noted that some of the busier stairways had also been fixed with ramp-like structures.
He smiled at that, looking to his company in adoration, "It is beautiful," he said.
They nodded in agreement, fond expressions on the faces that made Fili feel quite undeserving.
"Come along, Prince Fili," Bofur said gleefully, "I'll show you your quarters."
Fili shook his head at the formalities. "Bofur, you can still call me Fili," he said. He was not used to being called 'Prince'. He knew it was his title, but for the last year in particular, nobody had ever bothered to call each other by their formal titles during their quest. The company all respected one another, on most occasions anyway, and did not need reminding of that respect by having each other constantly stating titles.
Nodding in understanding, Bofur moving to lead the way while the company dispersed to leave him to his rest.
Fili followed him, accompanied still by Róskva, and Ari. The poor girl was to move in with Róskva, though she still did not know why. All she knew was that her father had been moved to a healing chamber, and would be in there until he recovered. He had tried not to put too much emphasis on Until.
"Here we are," Bofur said, coming to a halt outside an unusually large stone door. Yet, he opened it easily, revealing a spacious chamber illuminated by the glow of torches.
Fili all but gasped as he moved inside; never had he been in such a lavish chamber. The room had been restored nicely, to the extent that he doubted any others had received. It was almost too regal for his own taste, trails of unmined gold running through the walls, surrounding the stone and wood furniture within. It was truly magnificent.
But something soon began to bother him in an uncomfortable sort of way.
Inside was a matching bed and bed stool, both made from a mixture of stone and oak. The bed was lined with dark furs, and royal blue fabrics, restored so it appeared new. The desk stood off to the side, with fresh parchment and an ink and quill set nicely to the one side while books covered the other. On the walls hung fabric of the same royal blue, spacing out the dark stone of the chamber. It looked almost as if the room was frozen in time, stuck in a moment from so many years ago. A momment right before a dragon claimed the mountain for its own.
It was a room made for a prince.
But he was not that prince.
"This was my uncle's room, wasn't it?" he asked carefully.
Bofur nodded. "Aye, it was. And most of the furnishings are the very same..." he trailed off, his expression becoming concerned. "Does this bother you?" he asked gently.
Fili shook his head, "No. Maybe- I'm not sure," he fumbled, "it just feels odd, to think he once was here, sitting at that desk, sleeping in that bed. Like a ghost of a memory."
Bofur's eyes filled with sympathetically. "Aye, I understand. I can find you another room if you like."
He waved the proposal off. "No, it's fine. This is fine, thank you Bofur," he assured, smiling.
Bowing, Bofur turned to leave, but hesitated for a momment. Presumably at the idea of leaving him alone with people Fili doubted Bofur had ever spoken too. Still, he turned and left, leaving him with Róskva and a crying Ari. 
Crying. 
Ari was crying. 
Coming back to himself, he moved to find the source of the problem. Róskva, having beaten him to it, was resting on the balls of her heals so she was eye level with the girl as she tried to console her. Feeling his heart begin to ache, he moved his chair forward so he was in front of Ari. In the chair, he found he was also eye level with her, and could now clearly see the tears sliding down her cheeks, trailing over the scar. He took her hands gently, "Ari, what's the matter?"
She stiffened a sob, looking away from his gaze. "He is going to die isn't he?"
Why did she have to be so damn smart? He held onto her hands tighter, "we will try out hardest to make sure it doesn't come to that, Ari," he promised. "While we do that Róskva and I are going to look after you okay, like we talked about," Fili said, trying to regain her gaze. "You can trust her to look after you, and if you need or want to, you can come and visit my mother or I."
Ari sniffled. "Your mother?"
"Yes, she is a stern Dwarrodam, but a kind one. She will love to meet you, "Fili tried to smile, hiding the wave of guilt that washed over him. It's my fault that she's never going to see them again.
"You promise?"
Fili gave her hands a squeeze, "I promise. Now run along now, Róskva will show you to your chambers. You can come and visit me later."
After a few more moments, and a grateful look to Róskva, Fili was left alone.
Sighing to himself, he moved towards the dresser. It was old, but even in his chair, he could see over the top of it. It was made of cold stone, with a royal blue and silver embroidered cloth draped over the top of it. Swallowing, he opened a drawer. Inside were clothes that would have also have been worn by his uncle. They looked as if they had not been touched after all this time, but of course, that was a lie. They would have been restored for him, the resources needed to fix some stitching far cheaper than that needed to make a whole new set of clothes. He felt a lump form in his throat as he pulled them from the drawer. There was a blue tunic, the edges lined with intricate silver stitching, with it was a darker overcoat, lined with dark fur and blue velvet. The breeches were a darker colour, almost black. Atop it all was a silver belt. Together it was not unlike what his uncle had worn on their journey. All that was missing were the years of wear. With a shaky breath, he moved to place them on the bed as to change into them.
After a few minutes of struggling, he managed to get the tunic and breeches on. He paused, breathing deeply as he calmed his frustration. Something once so simple now seemed so hard. Ignoring the strange tingling sensation that once more overcame his arms and chest, he wrapped the belt around his waist, buckling it. With a shaky breath, he leant forward, as to make it easier to put his uncle's coat on. It weighed heavy on him. He did not feel he should wear what his uncle had once, no matter how old and ruined his other clothes were. He did not feel he had the right to be where his uncle had once stood. Not after what he had done to them.
Breathing deeply, he turned his chair towards the door. Rest could wait.
Much needed to be done.

Despite the protests of the company at seeing him once again up an about, and not at all resting, he managed to convince them that it was more important that he oversee the developments of the day. It was obvious to see that the energy of his people was beginning to wane; it would not be until the dwarves from the Blue Mountains arrived that they could move on to the burial chambers that would be entirely rebuilt, among other parts of the mountain.
Yet, the Treasury had to be opened, and so it was reopened first. There were Kings who needed to be paid and debts owed. Nobody wanted to start another war.
And so Fili stared out at the vastness of gold before him, disgusted. There was no better word for it. What good had it ever done? It was the cause of all this grief, right back to the day Smaug had first taken the mountain, to the day war had claimed his family. And for what? Greed? Wealth? Pride? Madness? A symbolised claim? If he could, Fili would melt down all the gold before him and return it to the walls of the mountain if it meant he could change what had happened. 
He imagined that from a different set of eyes, the sight before him may have appeared beautiful, magnificent. An endless lake of gold, speckled with red, green, and blue; illuminating the walls in a golden hue. Through all, he could see was pain and greed; it had almost destroyed his uncle, and it was only a small comfort that his uncle had returned to his true self before his death.
A cold thought had entered the back of his head not long after setting eyes upon the gold. It whispered that he too would fall to the gold sickness. He did not want to believe it. Yet he feared it. He hoped he was strong, yet he had always thought his uncle stronger than him.
For now, however, he must stay. He was surveying the collection of payments for the two Kings. A decent portion of the men of Lake-town, enough to rebuild Esgaroth and restore its former glory, and another portion including the white gems of Lasgalen for Thranduil. Despite the amount that was being paid, it barely made a dent in the lake of gold.
He promised himself that the second he was no longer needed, he would get as far away from the Treasury as he could.

Next, many hours later and after a tedious correspondence with Bard and Thranduil, he found himself in the throne room, though he did not sit upon the throne.
He was no king yet.
Instead, he sat in his own chair, a dozen chests of gold and jewels before him. Next to him stood Róskva and the company, their faces rid of all expression. They were there as his guard, and if necessary, his advisers. Standing in front of them all was Bard and Thranduil. The Elven Kings scar was growing worse; what had once been only his left cheek and eye had begun to stretch across his nose and neck. He wondered is that was why the bowman stood unusually close to the elves left, almost as if acting in place of his blind eye. A sort of protection.
Only now he realised Róskva was doing the same.
After a moment, Fili decided that silence had stretched too long. He gestured to the chests in front of him. "You have what was promised for you, take it now and remember what it has cost us." 
Thranduil frowned and stepped forward, looking like he was about to say something.
He heard an intake of breath from the company behind him, but before any words could be spoken Bard stopped the elf with an outstretched arm. "My Lord," he said, "though I know this will not take back what has been done, I am sorry for what has happened. I hope that from this we can learn to work with each other, not against."
Fili took this in, his only movement the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.
Thranduil bowed his head, "I too believe that from this we can forge a new alliance, born of trust. This is a new beginning for us all."
Fili nodded, composed. He hoped to Mahal the elf was right. They all must forgive, and not repeat the same mistakes that had been made so often before. "I hope that too, and I am grateful for the effort you are using to preserve my kin," he paused, and with a sweep of his arm he gestured once more to the two chests of gold and white jewels, "I hope this will serve as fair payment for your trouble."
The prince saw the elf's good eye grow wide. The second chest was not part of the agreement, and he had given it at his own will.
"I thank you for your payment, Prince Fili. It will not go unforgotten."
The prince bowed his head, giving the cue for the company to help carry the chests outside. They moved forward swiftly, and as Dwalin passed, he gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Well done lad."
Fili tried to smile in response, though it held little emotion. He was just glad to be rid of the ugly situation that seemed to have been going on since before he was born. He just hoped it lasted.
Balin came to a stop beside him. "You did well, Fili. You had the bravery to do what many before you could not."
"I did it to prevent another war."
The older dwarf nodded, "Aye, and it was the right thing to do," he paused, placing a hand on his shoulder, "but there is something else you need to know."
His brow furrowed, Fili turned to face his mentor. His face was saddened but bore a hint of happiness; a curious expression. "What do you mean?"
"Your mother is almost here."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Dis did not know what to expect. There had been no Ravens since the the last her brother had sent many months ago, asking her to return to the mountain. Insufferable idiot. She suspected that he had withheld a few 'minor' details regarding the quest and its occurrences. He mentioned something about a run in with some trolls; apparently rabbits were involved. There was also some colourful language regarding the Elven Kin, and something else about barrels and 'being surprised by a Baggins?' He was quite vague. Fortunately, he was clear that he wished for her to return to Erebor with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, and she was happy to oblige.
The journey to her home had been an interesting once, her company had camped under three stone trolls one interesting night, and there had been a herd of wild ponies grazing nearby. She suspected her brother and his company had gone this way, judging by the discarded weapons and warg corpse. She had feared the worst but relaxed once she realised the letter would have been sent much further on in their journey. She had brought the ponies with her for goo dmeasure. The poor things had been out in the wild for too long, it would seem.
Nevertheless, the journey had also been a swift one, and the only threats were nothing a few swords couldn't handle. Her brother had apparently insisted on more dangerous routes.
She felt her own spirits lifted as they had grown closer to the mountain. Many of them had been alive when it had been taken from them, some had been no older than dwarflings. But all longed for their home, even if they had no memory of it.
As she drew closer; she felt excitement swell in her heart. She would see them soon. She would be home. It seemed so long ago that they had all been together in Ered Luin, her brother and her sons. One moment they had been together, and then her brother had disappeared on his quest, her sons following behind him. Though she often worried, she trusted her brother, and she knew that her sons saw him as the father figure they had lost. She only hoped her brother had not made a fool of himself.
It was only when she saw the pyres, destruction and tents that her excitement ceased. All around her was destruction; she could not help but place her hand on the axe at her side. Where the woods had once stood strong before Smaug's attack, was now covered with white snow and hard dirt, blackened blood soiled through it. There were no bodies; she guessed they had been burnt by now; the air still smelt of it, but there were still some tents pitched before the mountain. She could hear the whispers behind her, murmuring. The dwarves from the Blue Mountains had been travelling for months, and they had grown weary. They all longed for a break, a bath, shelter, anything. Dis admitted that her own long black tresses could do with a wash.
As she led them through the camp and towards the mountain, the dwarves began to disperse behind her, to find friends, food, or information she did not know. All she wished was to see her family. She felt herself smile slightly as she saw noticed a few figures standing and waiting for her, but as she drew closer, she saw none of them were her brother or sons. She frowned. Perhaps they were busy? So busy that they would no come and greet her? No, Thorin would never allow it. Perhaps the sickness of the mountain had got to him... But where are my sons then? Her thoughts came to a stop as she halted before the group. She smiled at her cousins, but she did not recognise the red-haired elf – odd, or the shorter curly haired fellow.
Dain stepped forward, smiling as he bowed. "Hello m'lady Dis, we are glad to see ya have arrived safely."
Dis smiled in return; it had not been since her wedding so many years ago that she had seen him. Before she could reply, however, she felt herself swept into familiar strong arms. Dwalin's arms. She smiled warmly, returning the embrace as tightly as she could; she had seen the tears in her friend's eyes. "Hello cousins," she said, pulling away before turning to the other two among them that she did not recognise. "Who are your companions?"
The shorter one, with the larger feet, stepped forward. "Bilbo Baggins, at your service Lady Dis."
Dis returned the greeting, intrigued. "What is your business here, Halfling?" she asked.
"This is our burglar and our friend. We would not be here without him," Dwalin added in, giving her a look that said Bilbo was not to be disrespected. She wondered if the same referred to the elf as well. She did not share her brothers' hatred, but she did distrust them as all dwarves did.
Seeming to notice her switch of attention, the red-haired elf stepped forward, bowing deeply. "I am Tauriel of Mirkwood, my Lady. I am assisting with the wounded and repairs of Erebor."
She nodded, unsure but respectful. It had been an age since she last remembered an elf of Mirkwood assisting them. "Tell me. What has my brother done this time?"
Tauriel began to look at her strangely, sadness in her eyes. The others followed suit.

Something had happened.

The thought frightened her, down to the bone. Something is very wrong. She felt her heart grow quicker, her eyes flickering to the tents and pyres. "Why haven't my brother or sons come to greet me?" She asked, voice unwavering.
Dwalin shook his head, his face full of sorrow. "I think… I think it is better if we just show you, lass."
And then she knew, and in that moment, her heart turned colder than Thorin's ever had. She drew a struggled breath against the lump in her throat. "Show me."

The walk to the tent had not taken long, but it felt like an eternity, for she knew what she would find. Gone was the joy and excitement she had felt when the mountain came into view, and in their place was pain and grief. She wondered if she too was cursed. First her grandparents, then her parents and brother Frerin. Later went her husband, and now her brother and sons. She was the only one left.
Wordlessly, she stepped into the tent, not caring who followed behind her. It took all of her strength not to fall to her knees. So it was true- they were gone. They looked like they were sleeping, so untouched by time thanks to the eleven king as it had been explained to her. They would never wake, and that thought was more frightening than a thousand orcs.
She felt herself beginning to shake, and very soon she had not the strength to hold back her tears, and this time she did fall to her knees. A shiver soon racked over her body, and it did not go away. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling colder than she ever had.
Gone was her brother, and all that he was. Gone were her little boys, never to grow old with grandchildren at their feet. Gone was everything she had ever lived for.
"My Lady Dis, your son, Kili, gave this to me before he died. Though I wish to return it to you," Tauriel said, kneeling down beside her. In her outstretched hand was the rune stone. "I am sorry I could not help him keep his promise," she said, her own voice cracking.
With shaking hands, she took the stone, struggling through another sob. "I thank you."
She sat there for a while, the elf at her side while she cried. Through her anguish, she realised something with a start. How had she not noticed? What kind of mother doest- "Tauriel, where is Fili's body? Was he not found?"
Tauriel seemed to furrow her brow in confusion, but then her eyes seemed to widen. "My Lady Dis, your eldest still lives."
A pause.
"Fili lives?" Dis almost dropped the stone in her hand.
Tauriel nodded, her eyes flickering to Kili. "Yes, he lives. But he has been injured, Lady Dis."
She gripped the stone tighter. Injured was better than dead. "How so?"
"My lady, he will never walk again, but all is not in vain. He has found mobility in a wheeled chair, and a Mearas has agreed to bear him on his back. He is in safe hands and overviewing the reconstruction of the mountain. Though, if I may my Lady Dwarf, I fear for his mind and heart. He has lost much."
My poor, sweet boy… It was all so much. She felt tears well in her eyes. "Take me to him, please."

It took all the strength Dis had not to run when she realised where Tauriel was leading her. She knew the way to her eldest brother's room, even after all these years. On the way, Tauriel explained what had happened. How people were coming together to rebuild what had been destroyed. How her son had given what was long promised to the Elven King and the men of Lake Town. An alliance had been reforged. She felt a swell with pride at that, subsiding a small amount of the pain she felt. She knew it would return later. But now, she must focus her attention on the living, no matter how hard it was. Her eldest was still alive, and that mattered the most. She only wondered why Fili had not come to greet her if he had found a way to move around- perhaps he was tired. Perhaps it was something else.
They came to a stop outside the great oak doors of what was now Fili's room. It had been a year. A year since she had laid eyes on her son. Would he have changed? She dearly hoped not, but war changed all those it touched.
Drawing in a deep breath, she opened the door, quietly in case he was asleep.
And there he was.
He was sitting on the bed, balancing against the bedpost with his head in his hands as his legs hung limply off the bed. A wheeled chair sat near his legs.
So it was true…
"Fili," she called.
His head shot up, and his face was filled with pain. Yes, he wore a smile, but she knew her son better. His eyes had changed. Gone was the bright twinkle, and in its place was sadness. He looked older in the face as well,  lines appearing on his head where youthful skin once was. His golden hair hung in waves, though it was several inches shorter.
"Mother?" he replied, voice full of longing.
Fighting back tears, she ran to him. In an instant he was in her arms, safe and alive. She buried her nose in his hair, tears falling freely. It had been so long… Only half an hour ago she had thought him dead, yet here he sat, alive. She felt his arms return the embrace as he leant against her; succumbing to her emotion, she let her tears fall.
After a moment, she pulled away. She wanted to see her sons face again. He had a fond expression on his face, but behind it, she could see a turmoil. It reminded her of Thorin, but not in a way she wished. He was suffering on the inside. 
"Mother...Kili and Uncle, they're… they are-" he stopped, bowing his head as if to hide the pain in his face.
She felt her heart break; she pulled him back into her arms again, and this time she ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to comfort. "I know, I have seen them. You are not alone in your pain."
Fili tensed suddenly, pressing his face further into her shoulder, "It is all my fault, mother. It's my fault."
Dis drew back at his words. He blamed himself, and he was afraid she would blame him as well. The thought sickened her. "Do not," she warned. "You did not cause this to happen, Fili. So do not blame yourself. It will destroy you. This could never be your fault, so do not believe it is for a second."
Her son shook his head, his eyes glistening with tears, yet he did not cry. "You do not know what happened; if I had not- "
"Fili. It is not your fault; I know what happened. Dwalin and Tauriel told me upon my arrival, and I promise you, it was not your fault. If it is anybody's fault, it is the orcs. They killed them. They did the deed. Not you." She spoke this is as firmly as she dared. She did not wish to sound angered, but it would not do for her son to blame himself for what he could not prevent. 
This time it was her son who withdrew from the hug, holding onto her shoulders to balance himself. He seemed to be holding back the tears, exhausting himself. "We need to bury them."
She nodded, letting out a pained sigh "Yes, I know," she said, moving so she was seated behind her son so he could lean on her while she re-braided his hair. He seemed to relax, but only a little.
"I miss them," he said, after a while.
She nodded, "as do I."
"It hurts."
"I know."

It was on the third week that they were buried.
The third week since the battle.
The third week since Fili's life came crashing down around him.
They had been carried to the underground hall, where all those before them had been laid to rest, buried under the great stone cavern of the mountain to return to Aulë. From the rock they were born, and to the rock they would return. Their blood had been cleaned from their bodies; gone was the bloodstained armour from the battle, replaced with fine clothes of dwarfish fashion. They lay upon two separate stone slabs, made lower with Fili in mind; ornamented with cloth and candle, bringing some light to their pale faces. Yet it could not hide the truth of their emptiness. Gone were their souls, and all that they were to the halls of their fathers. Only flesh and memory remained of Thorin and Kili, and one day that too would be gone.
All around them were candles, illuminating the dark cavern in golden light that speckled the darkness like stars on the night's sky.
Across Kili's chest lay his sword and bow. Though he did not have it for the battle, it had been returned to him by Thranduil. The Arkenstone and Orcrist had also been returned by the Elven King, and now lay across Thorin Oakenshield's chest.
Fili wasn't sure what to make of that. It bothered him that the stone that almost destroyed his uncle now lay with him for eternity. Though he supposed, it was once again with the true heart of the mountain forevermore.
Many had come to bear witness to the final goodbye. Some for duty, some for guilt, and some because of love. No matter the reasons for everyone's attendance, there was a sombre feeling in the air, full of grief and sadness. Even King Thranduil had his head bowed, his scar now covering the entirety of the left side of his face and neck, his magic too weak to hide it now. It did not go unnoticed, and neither did the way that Bard glared at anyone who stared too long.
The company did the same if someone stared at him too long.
When Gandalf declared the king dead, and him the heir, he could feel all eyes on him, in sympathy, and in anger. Some did not want him to be King; they wanted Dain, he knew and accepted this. It was to be expected. He was not his uncle's son or any of those before him, and it did not help that he could no longer walk.
Now the company circled the dead, paying their respects, saying their goodbyes. Each one of them paused to look at the faces of their friends, tears falling from their eyes and trailing down their faces. His mother could not seem to leave the place in between her two deceased kin. She wept even as she held herself high. Bilbo Baggins, when he came to a stop beside Thorin, had to put a hand to his face to hide his grief. He seemed to shiver where he stood.
His own cheeks were bare of tears, not one had spilt. He couldn't, though he wasn't sure why with all the pain and grief that filled him.
Paying his own respects, he pulled his chair to a stop beside his brother, and he felt his chest heave with the effort not to cry as he looked at his face. His baby brother was gone. Never to be by his side again after this. And it is all my fault. He shivered, ducking his head and pulling his eyes away from his brother.
As he went to move away, he felt a small hand take him and pull. Startled, he looked to see Ari's wide brown eyes.
"Prince Fili?"
He tried to smile. "Yes, Ari?"
She pointed to Kili, her brow furrowed. "He is the dwarf I told you about, Prince Fili. I remember."
Fili felt his heart falter. So it had been his brother who had saved this poor little girl. Oh, Kili… He struggled through a sob, his eyes drawn upward as if he would find some answer in the heavens as to why his brother and uncle had been taken from him. There was none.
"Was he your brother, Fili?" Ari asked, worried by Fili's anguish.
He nodded, "He was, little one." He looked back to his brother, desperate to remember every detail he could about his face. He would never forget. 
Ari looked down at her toes, "I'm sorry."
Fili shook his head, pulling her into his arms. He rested his head on her shoulder. "It is not your fault."
Next, he went to his uncle. Bilbo was still there, not able to move away. He came to a stop next to him. The Arkenstone emanated light from where it lay grasped in Thorin's hands. He did not know what to say. What could be said? So, he said nothing. They simply looked, one staring at their leader and friend, the other at their King and Uncle. He bowed his head, afraid. Once he would have jumped at the chance to show he could lead on his own. Now, he didn't know how he could do it, not without his uncle.
For the second time in his life, someone he had always seen as an untouchable mountain of a dwarf lay dead before his eyes. It did not seem real.
"Prince Fili?" A cool voice called, yet the struggle to be composed was evident in her voice.
Fili turned to face the tall red-haired elf. "Yes, Tauriel?"
"If you would allow it, now that when my service is no longer required, I wish to leave this part of the Rhovanion, to see the rest of the world."
Fili nodded, "Of course Tauriel, you may stay for as long as you like, and leave as such." Her help had been well needed after the battle. He did not doubt that had it not been for her many more would be dead. Though, he envied her. He too wished to be somewhere else, anywhere else. He wished to walk among the trees again, to climb them once more. He wanted to explore the rest of the world.
He wanted to be away from the pain.
Though even if he could do what he wished, he knew the pain would follow. Kili and Thorin would not be with him.
Besides, he had a duty to attend to. He was likely to be King.
Breathing deeply, he moved away from Thorin and Kili's bodies. He passed by his mother and gave her hand a squeeze. Whether he was giving strength, or taking it, he did not know. He felt more disapproving eyes on him, following him as he moved. Wordlessly, Róskva joined him at his side, almost protectively. She glared at those who stared with a frown on their faces, a hand on her mace in warning. He did not doubt she would use it, but he trusted her to only do so in a well-judged situation.
As he made his way past the crowd and to the cavern exit, he saw Dain approaching him. He pulled to a stop. "My Lord Dain," he greeted.
Dain bowed, returning the greeting. "Prince Fili. I must ask you of an important matter, regarding your current situation and all."
"My situation?"
"Aye lad, I only mean to offer my help. If you don't feel ready to take the crown, I can act as King until-"
Fili felt anger grow hot inside him, "Dain, this is not the time to discuss such things."
"I only meant-"
Fili breathed out, relaxing. It would not do to show stress. "I know, and I am sorry. I appreciate your offer, but I think it would be more beneficial to leave it for another time." He must be composed if he was to rule. He had a responsibility now. Gone were the days of playfulness and frivolousness when the idea of being King had been something far off in the future. That part of him had died with Kili.
And like his brother, it would not return.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When Bilbo Baggins first laid eyes on the Lady Dis, he would have sworn that he saw a ghost. Though, when she stopped in front of him, he was able to see that her cheeks were softer, and her beard thinner than Thorin's had been. She had the same eyes though, but there was something faintly ...well, Kili, about them. Her hair was just as dark, though it lacked the silver that streaked Thorin's hair. He imagined that if he had still been the Bilbo Baggins that left the Shire, he would have found her as dark and foreboding as he had found Thorin.
He had learnt better.
Yet, he jumped whenever he saw her in the corner of his eye. The flowing black hair, the brooding stance, and the purposeful stride. They were all too familiar. Sometimes he forgot they did not belong to his friend, but their sister. He knew that it could not continue. He could not go on startling every time he saw the Lady Dis. Thorin was dead, and nothing would change that. So, he had gone to her and arranged a time and place to meet and discuss those they had lost, and those they had not. They were to meet at Dale, so they may also survey its progress. Bard had reported that he and his men had made almost equal progress with its reconstruction as the dwarves had with Erebor. Though with their strength also going towards the mountain, and the minds to Esgaroth, there was still much to be done. But progress was progress. He wondered what it would be like for Dis, to wander the town of her childhood after so many years and memories. Bilbo only had memories of it in its most recent destruction, though he hoped to he would have some more of Dale in its prime before he left.
If I leave. The thought had crossed his mind before; he had promised he would not leave until all was well, both with the mountain and its people. But what after that? He had come so far with the company of Thorin Oakenshield, and had grown very fond of them all. It would be a shame to lose the friendships he had gained. Would I even like the Shire after everything that has happened? He wasn't sure. it was true he had yearned for his warm bed and armchair for almost the entire length of the journey, not to mention the comfort of a routine lifestyle, but he imagined that if he were to return he would always yearn for something more. Something a little more adventurous. Besides, there was no reason he couldn't have all that he yearned for in Erebor, and though he would never admit it out loud, the people who had journeyed with him across middle earth likely knew him far better than those in the Shire. He wondered what the other Hobbits would think of him. Bilbo Baggins, running off as a respectful Hobbit who fretted over simple things like table manners, returning as the Mad Baggins with a sword at his hip, mail on his chest and a heart that wandered.
He expected that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would find out what a truly unrespectable Hobbit was like. That would be a day worth witnessing, though just not any day soon.
After waiting at the gate of Dale for some more time, Bilbo Baggins soon realised that it might not have been polite to simply wait for the late king's sister at Dale instead of greeting her at Erebor and riding with her to the town. Perhaps that was the reason for her lateness; she had been waiting for him to meet her. With a sudden pang of fear, he had gotten ready to mount his pony and ride back and apologise, when out of the morning mist, she appeared.
"I do apologise Master Baggins; I got lost trying to find the stables. They were not where I remember them being…"
Bilbo could barely believe his own pointy ears. They are exactly the same. "That's quite alright Lady Dis. Though if I may, Bilbo is fine."
Dis nodded, dismounting from her pony. "Then, Bilbo Baggins, Dis is just as fine." She bowed, "Dis, at your service."
Not completely the same. It had taken half of Middle Earth for Thorin to call him by his first name, and he couldn't recall him ever properly introducing himself, he had simply said, 'So this is the Hobbit?' and proceeded to give him a once over. Stubborn Dwarf... He shook himself from his thoughts, "Bilbo Baggins, at yours," he bowed, grateful for the opportunity to introduce himself to Dis formally.
She nodded, before gesturing to the streets of Dale. "Shall we?"
So they walked, Dis with her hands behind her back, and Bilbo with his at his side. They did not speak for a while, simply observing the streets that were beginning to bustle with life. On occasion they saw Bard darting about from one place to another, helping with the reconstruction, which was proving to be quite successful. The streets were alive with colour: reds, blues and white, with a dash of green. Winter had only just begun, and it had been years since greenery grew around the mountain- though he expected that would soon change after winter,  or he wasn't a Hobbit. Spring was still an age away, however. The rooves of the buildings were still blanketed in white, some of which flowed into the buildings themselves, their rooves not quite rebuilt. The ground was white too, though the cobblestone beneath showed where walking was more common. Though the air was filled with the smell of burning wood and smoke, a hint of the decay and death still lingered, some of it from the time of Smaug.
"Did you know my kin well, Bilbo?"
Bilbo started, lost in his own thought. He came to a stop "Pardon?"
Dis raised an eyebrow, no doubt at his jumpiness. "Thorin and Kili, did you know them well?"
He thought about this. Did he know them well? He knew the Thorin and Kili of the quest, but he had not spent a lifetime with them. "I knew them well enough."
She nodded, accepting his answer as she walked on steadily. A sudden twinkle appeared in her eye. "Tell me, did my brother make a fool of himself throughout his quest. I don't doubt he got lost on a few occasions. In his letter, he mentioned something about trolls and rabbits? He also said something about you 'forcing' his company into barrels as a means of escaping 'that tree-shagging, pointy-eared bastard'," she raised an eyebrow at him. "He also said something vague about my youngest getting a small 'flesh wound' that I shouldn't worry about. Do you have any idea what he was referring too?"
For the first time since the battle, Bilbo did something he thought he might not again. He laughed. 
"Yes, that sounds like him. The trolls and rabbits were related, and yes, the barrels are a truth, except Kili had more of a flesh wound-" and so he launched into his recounted of events, Lady Dis listening intently, frowning or smiling at certain key points. He spoke quite rambunctiously of how the dwarves had invaded his house, eating all his food while they destroyed the plumbing; Thorin's rather dramatic and late arrival. He spoke of the trolls, the orcs, elves and goblins. He left out the part about the ring. He had to keep that a secret. He spoke of the carrock, Beorn and Mirkwood; recounting how Kili had been rather brave and opened the gates to help them escape, earning an arrow in the leg. He spoke of Lake-town, Smaug and the gold. He almost fell to tears when he recounted how he had watched his friend crumble to the gold-sickness, and he beamed with pride when he told Dis of how he had overcome it, uniting the dwarves once again. Then he spoke of their deaths and let his tears fall, and so did Dis.
"My brother must have been very fond of you," Dis said, after a while.
"He was my friend."
Dis smiled, "It isn't everyday my brother admits he had been wrong about something, and almost never does he trust the lives of his kin with anybody other than himself. You were his friend too."
Bilbo twitched his nose, "I wasn't at the beginning."
Dis chuckled, "He never liked anybody when he first met them, save his nephews. He was almost too afraid to hold them when they were born. If he did like someone, he never let it show at first, and by the sounds of it Bilbo Baggins, he did like you."
"How could you possibly know that?"
She smiled, "Had my brother not liked you; you would never have caught up with them in time to join his company."
Bilbo gaped at her.
"Do you seriously believe that you could have caught up with a small platoon of ponies had my brother not wanted you to. Besides he would not have left the contract for you had he not secretly wanted you to follow after him."
"I, uh- I never really thought about it like that."
Dis raised her eyebrows, "Here I was thinking that my brother was wrong in describing you as 'surprising'. Yet here I stand, surprised." The words were mocking, but she was smiling fondly, "tell me, whatever became of that acorn?"
"How-"
"Dwalin."
"Uh."
Now that the exchange was over, and he realised that Dis changed moods as quickly as Thorin, he thought back to the battle. He remembered planting it in Dale, but where? There had been arches and an open space- Of course! "The town square."
"Then that is where we will go."
And then they were walking again, and while they did Bilbo count help but wonder how Dis did it. How was she so composed and collected after all she had lost. He could see she was cracking, but she showed no other signs of her grief, which he knew was unmeasurably deep. When they reached the town square; like the rest of Dale, it was nearly reconstructed. In the centre lay the dead trunk of a tree; the remnants of the battle covered over by snow. He went to where he remembered planting the acorn, in between the two rocks that had once been covered with the blood of man and orc alike. "Here," he knelt down, surveying the ground. There was no sign of a sapling. He felt his shoulders hunch in disappointment, despite his better judgment.
"What is it that troubles you?"
He frowned, brushing away the snow lightly. "Acorns normally sprout in two to four weeks. It has been four."
"It is winter, Bilbo Baggins, give it time," Dis placed a hand on his shoulder, comfortingly, "tell me, why did you plant it here?"
"I was going to plant it at Bag-End, then the battle came; I thought that I would die here." he rose, turning so he could meet her eye. "So I planted it here as a promise, a promise that under all that blood and dirt there was a chance of new life, because when you are faced with death what else can you do but go on living?" He felt a shiver overcome him once more as he finished his speech. Winter he decided. Only the cold.
Dis looked at him for a moment, her face unreadable as she observed him. "I am happy, Bilbo Baggins, that my brother had the good fortune to meet you in this wide world before he passed."
Bilbo wasn't sure what to say to that, so all he could do was bow his head slightly.
Smiling still, Dis gestured back to the mountain. "Come, we should return before midday if we wish to have lunch before a mob of ravenous dwarves eats it all."
There was no disagreeing to that.
When they reached the company's food hall, they sat themselves down to eat their meal. Bilbo could feel the companies eyes on him, following him as he ate. When they had finished, Dis rose from her seat, and all eyes turned to her.
"Excuse me Bilbo; I must visit my son. I thank you for your company."
When she had gone, all eyes returned to him.
It was Dwalin that spoke first. "How it Mahal's name did you get not only Thorin Oakenshield, but Lady Dis to befriend you? What is this magic you possess?!"
Bilbo could only laugh.

Fili knew he couldn't put it off any longer. Duty would call for it eventually; his chair not exactly the most agile modes of transportation. Felaróf was more than he could ever have hoped for, the perfect mount to suit his ...condition. He didn't want riding to be added to the list of things that had changed. He was still afraid. He hadn't been a horse since before the battle. What would it be like? To be on the back of a horse without the use of his legs. How would he balance? All those around him seemed convinced he would find a way and miraculously be able to ride as he once had. He wasn't so sure himself.
Legolas smiled, seeming to sense his fear. "I will help you, Prince Fili. Eventually, you will be strong enough to pull yourself up onto his back. For now, the saddle will help you balance," he said, moving to help Fili out of his chair.
After a bit of maneuvering, Legolas and Róskva managed to get him into the saddle. He had a definite slump where he once sat straight and proud. The cantle of the saddle sat a bit higher, however supporting his lower back so it did not slouch completely. The pommel, evening the weight, did the same. His thighs were soon buckled to the saddle flap, indeed keeping them from moving while he was to learn his balance again.
The balance that was completely absent from him now.
Nervously, his hands grasping the pommel of the saddle like he had when he was a boy, never having sat on a pony before. There were no reins nor bridle to provide any illusion of control either, which only worsened his anxiety. He wasn't sure how he was going to do all this, he had never-
Legolas moved gracefully to his side. "Prince Fili, you need not be nervous, Felaróf will not move or do anything you do not ask," the elf promised, guiding his hands back to Felaróf's mane. "Hold on to this instead."
Fili frowned, "how do I ask him?"
If horses could laugh, Felaróf would be doing as such.
Legolas inclined his head, "just like that. Use your voice, and your focus. Just think of what you want him to do, and he will do it." 
Fili sat for a moment, unsure. The elves could do it, but they always had strange ways of communicating with beasts that were lost on most. But he knew he had tro try. Sceptically, he thought of an image of Felaróf moving forwards at a steady walk, visualising it in his mind. 
Felaróf began to move.
Finding he did not fall, he relaxed slightly, lessening his grip on the horse's mane. Maybe he could do this... He thought about turning left, and like before, it happened. Smiling, he asked him to trot, and that happened too. A small laugh of joy escaped him. Only a small one, but it was powerful in emotion. He was riding, actually riding. Felaróf nickered in response to his glee, coming to a halt in front of the tent.
Smiling, Róskva stepped towards them. "Why don't we go for a practice ride?" she asked hopefully.
Fili thought for a moment, wondering how much he could or should do, or where they should go at all.
Suddenly, a dark thought entered his mind, and in that momment, all his glee was gone. "Has the pale orc and his son's body been destroyed?" he asked, voice low.
Silence.
He frowned, looking between the two, "have they?"
Legolas shook his head. "fallen stone destroyed Bolg's body, I saw it myself. As for the pale orc, we had intended to move the pale orc's body, but as I recall, Dwalin found you and all was forgotten. He still resides there," he finished, voice careful.
Fili swallowed, looking to Róskva, "we will go to Ravenhill."

Fili watched from atop Felaróf as flames twisted in the wind like a snake, heat licking his face. His eyes were emotionless as he looked on. Before him were the carcasses of the orc that had killed his family, burning away under the flames like so many others. He thought the orc was not worthy of such a burial; that it would be better they rot in the open as the ravens pecked at their eyes.
His family, however, did not deserve to be dead. They deserved a rich, full life. But it was not to be. He bowed his head in sadness, the only display of emotion he had expressed the past hour. Wordlessly, a hand came to rest on Fili's shoulder in comfort.
Róskva.
Upon a dusty grey pony, she sat; her eyes filled with sadness. She had accompanied him up Ravenhill, making sure he was able to go the full distance, and that he took the safest route possible. It had taken quite a bit of arguing on his part for anyone to even allow him to leave the campgrounds. Eventually, it was agreed that he could go as long as he took an able-bodied guard with him. Many of the company offered to assist him, yet he asked for her. He wasn't sure why, but it felt right. To save them time, they had brought a tinder box and a torch with them, waiting to alight the pyre. When they had arrived, Róskva wordlessly tied the orc to a rope attached to the back of her saddle, and pulled it from the ice before allowing him to set it ablaze.
However, despite the resolve that came with the orcs burning body, something new was troubling him. A question he knew he would be asked.
He looked towards his companion, grateful for the loyalty and support she offered him. He felt he could trust her. "Róskva?" he asked.
She hummed in acknowledgement.
He drew in a breath, looking back to the fire, "I think they expect me to become King..."
"Do you wish to be King?" Róskva inquired, and Fili could practically feel her looking at him. 
"I don't know," he answered. "I was always told I was going to be King, but it was always something in the far future, something that would happen after Uncle passed or he was old and grey," he paused, thinking, "and yet he has passed, and I am not sure if I am fit to be king now," he explained, looking down.
Róskva furrowed her brow, "why so?"
Fili gestured to his legs, wondering how she couldn't see what he saw. "I can not walk and I never will again. I have to use a chair to move around, and Mahal knows if I'm ever going to be able to fight in that. I can barely sleep ... and I hear their voices in my head, and their faces in my dreams" he trailed off, his voice full of grief. He would never make a good King, and he knew it.
Róskva shook her head, a determined look on her face. "No, you can not walk," she stated firmly. "But you can move around in that chair and on Felaróf. One day you will be as quick as anybody. You'll have the element of surprise when fighting, and if anyone can fight in that chair, it's you. Fighting on horseback will come easily to you. I saw you on the battlefield. You have also just survived said battle and lost people you love. So, of course, you can't sleep and are having dreams, but in time sleep will come easier. If you truly need it, you can take a sleeping draught. I'm not sure about the voices, but I assure you that whatever they are saying it is false, and they are not real. I have been watching you these past weeks, and I do believe that if you choose to be, you will be the greatest King Erebor has ever seen."
There was a definite silence, and Fili could only stare at her, amazed and enchanted.
Róskva frowned. "What?"
He wasn't sure what to say so he smiled at her, shaking his head.  "Nothing. Just... thank you."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Ari's father had died.That wasn't anything that Fili had not expected, but as he sat before the pyre, he felt a deep sense of unease at the sight of the flames flickering into the night sky. If Ari's father had been a dwarf, he would have been buried beneath the stone. Even so, not too long ago such things had been impossible even for a dwarf, and they had turned to the flames also. Ari was sitting upon a pony, weeping silently by his side. It pained him to see here loss, and he couldn't help but empathise with the shock the young girl felt. It was no easy thing, losing a family member to battle, even the aftermath of one. He wanted with all his heart to help her, to tell her all would be alright and it was not the end, but how could he when he didn't even believe the words himself? How could it possibly ever be alright again, they were gone. Dead. Lost. Never again would he hear Kili's laugh or find support in Thorin's steadiness. It was true he had kin left; he was not without support. But yet I feel alone. Fili could scarcely remember a time that his little brother was not at his side, and there was never a time in his life that his uncle had not been there. Though Thorin had always been around before his father's death, when it had happened he had immediately stepped in to pick up the pieces. Thorin had been acting as their father longer than he had even known his true one. Both were gone now. Lost forever. Had Kili still been with him he supposed he may have been able to see forward; to move forward.But without him? No. It did not seem possible.He looked to those around him. Dis sat on her own pony to his left, while Róskva stood, holding the reins of Ari's pony for her. The fire scared the other ponies, and Ari had not the skill to control one should it bawk. Apart from them, there was no one else. Ari was the only one from the realm of men. The rest were dwarves, himself, Dis and Róskva included. No one else seemed to have known the man. No one at all. He reached over and placed a hand on Ari's shoulder, in an effort to provide comfort.Ari all but collapsed in her saddle, great cries suddenly escaping her hunched over form. At loss of what to do, Fili withdrew his hand, afraid he had done something to cause her to break. He hadn't wanted to cause her distress. Never. Yet, there she was, crying into her ponies mane.Róskva gave him a sympathetic look, and began to gently soothe the girl, offering comforting words. The words he should have been giving her. He had told her he would watch over her.He had promised.Wanting to keep that promise, he searched for the strength to gather himself. For her. He drew a breath, long and deep. "I- I am so sorry Ari. I know what it is you feel." He bowed his head, as to hide what he had just admitted out loud. "I too lost my father when I was very young." He knew that the girl had also lost her mother, and like him, she probably felt alone and lost. He wanted to do anything to change that for her.She sniffled, looking at him. "Did it ever stop hurting""No." He hated the truth sometimes, but a lie would do nothing to help. "But it did get easier.""Can …can I stay with you? Please."He felt his heart break, again. He offered her a small reassuring smile. "I have said that you were welcome, and I meant it." He met her eyes so she could search them for any falsehood. " also promised to ntroduce to my mother, Lady Dis." Since word of his mother's approach had reached the mountain, many had whispered of her likeness to Thorin with her sternness, bravery and uncanny ability to wield an axe. Over the course of those very same days, he had listened to Ari endlessly babble about his Mother. She admired her. who wouldn't? Many a young maiden could only dream of meeting a warrior-princess, as Dis was known to be.Ari nodded eagerly, appearing thankful for the distraction.Aware that she was needed, his mother dismounted, and made her way purposefully, but not intimidatingly, towards the small girl. She smiled gently, a sight that Fili knew she only reserved for either Kili or himself, and now Ari."Hello little maiden, I have heard quite a bit about you," Dis said calmly.Ari seemed to glow, "really?"Dis hummed in answer, "Fili has told me you are quite the brave young lass. Do you think you can be brave for me now?"Ari nodded. "Yes."The Dwarrodam smiled. "That is good. In a moment we are going to have to say goodbye, okay? So I need you to muster all the courage you have for that. Now, remember, it is okay to cry, and those you have lost will always be with you, in there," she pointed to the girl's heart.Fili wondered if his mother was somehow speaking to him also.After a moment, Dis gave the girls shoulders a small squeeze. "Are you ready?"Ari bit her lip, "okay." Wordlessly, she turned back to the pyre. She became silent, though Fili could see her mind was filled with words and thoughts. "Goodbye," she said, after a while.Fili wished he had such bravery.It was on the second day of the fifth week that Gandalf returned to the Lonely Mountain, and he did not travel alone. Gandalf had searched hastily in the past weeks for his travelling companion. He admitted it was a much swifter journey too and throw then the last time he had made the journey; he supposed he should have expected as much when travelling on the backs of Great Eagles. He wondered once again if Gwaihir would ever come to his aid again. It was true he had once saved the Great Eagle from an arrow many an age ago, though he believed that the debt had long since been repaid.Yet, he suspected the Eagles knew things that even he could not perceive, and would act accordingly. A reassuring thought.He had found his companion in Rivendell, as he had expected, and he had agreed to help the Dwarven prince most willingly, as was the nature of the elf. He was regarded as a cheerful companion by those who knew him, though also wise and strong, for he had seen much in his long life. Though it did not show. He was gold of hair, and it was as long as he was tall. He had a fearless look to his face, and eyes that were a shining blue. Though he did not like to admit, Gandalf knew that the elf, having been sent back to Middle Earth by Manwë, was nearly as powerful as himself. It was true he, he, had powers far stronger than that of his companion, but the elf excelled in the art of healing and foretelling. He seemed to have a great affinity for just knowing things.As they rode to the mountain, two guards approached them, spears pointed. It did not go unnoticed that they were more in the direction of the elf. The tallest stepped forward, "who is it that approaches the mountain, and what is your business here?"Though he felt impatience grow within him, he decided it best to maintain a calm persona. For the momment. "It is I, Gandalf the Grey."The tallest spoke again, lowering his spear slightly. "Who is your companion, Gandalf the Grey?""My name is Glorfindel."Never, not even a little bit, had Fili expected Gandalf to travel all the way to the Eriador to find help from an elf, no matter how powerful they were. All to stop a few dreams.It was ridiculous.They were only dreams, and emotions. He should be able to handle them without magical aid. Yet, he knew he truly couldn't.Once, he would have despised the idea of an elf helping him; nothing could convince him to trust one, as nothing would convince Thorin. But his time on the journey had changed how he saw them. Tauriel had shown love and compassion, while Thranduil had shown remorse and had been striving to fix the mistakes that had been made. They were not the evil, selfish beings he had been led to believe they were.He supposed he liked this 'Glorfindel', he had a kind nature, yet a strong one. A good combination. Yet there was something strange about him, an aura that seemed to surround him. He seemed powerful, but sometimes not quite there. He was intelligent certainly, but he seemed to look around into empty space and see things that no one else did. Though he should not complain, the elf was helping him, how he was not sure yet, but he was, apparently, going to help him.They were seated in his chambers, while the elf poked and prodded him and his spine. Occasionally he asked a question, if he felt pain, or sometimes just simply how he was going or how often he had a night-terror. Róskva was standing guard at the door while Gandalf and Dwalin surveyed the scene. Dwalin seemed to be ready to leap up and strangle the elf at the first sign of trouble. He hoped he didn't.Finally, after what seemed an age, Glorfindel stepped back. He dusted his hands off on his robes, though not in a disgusted manner, but still decisive. "I am truly sorry Prince Fili, but it is no falsehood that you will never walk again," he paused, and Fili felt a small splinter of hope shatter inside him. He knew it was foolish, but a part of him had hoped there may have been something the elf could do.Glorfindel seemed to produce a flask out of seemingly nothing. "You may take this," he said, "it will help with the dreams and the visions you see, Prince Fili."Fili pressed his lips into a thin line, unsure, though he took the bottle anyway. He looked back to the elf after examining it, "will it help with the tingling?"Glorfindel, who had since busied himself with something else, suddenly looked up, eyes startled. "What tingling?"The Prince felt a pang of worry enter his heart. Had the elf missed something? Was there something else wrong? He fidgeted, suddenly rather uncomfortable. "Gandalf said it was nerve damage," he added, hoping to offer a reasonable explanation, "will this do anything for it?"Glorfindel seemed to be looking somewhere else again, after a moment, his eyes refocussed. "Yes, it may help."A terrible feeling of frustration suddenly overcame him without warning, pressing the insides of him until he felt he might burst. The elf was being terribly vague. He clenched his firsts, "what exactly does this potion do? You said it will help with dreams and visions and now you say it will help with a tickling feeling?" He paused for breath, heat rising to his face. Why couldn't anything just be simple? He stared up at the elf, feeling his eyes begin to sting. "Yet it will not do what I need it to do the most. It won't bring them back. Will it? It won't bring them back!" Silence.Glorfindel remained composed, unaffected by the tension that he had built in the room. Calmly, he folded his hands in front of him, "Death is not the end, Prince Fili." It was not for many hours that he was finally left alone, his composure having returned to him. His frustration had disappeared almost as quickly as it had come, replaced by confusion and grief. But he always felt like that now.Glorfindel was the first to leave after he spoke his vague wisdoms, and he was soon followed by Gandalf, then Dwalin who had decided he best keep an eye on the elf for safety. He had thought his mother would stay until she saw him drink a drop of the potion, but instead, she had said it was his choice, and she would not make him. He supposed she still held some suspicion for the elves. Róskva had yet to leave, though she wouldn't be far when she did. She was to take the first shift guarding his door, as was his kin's recommendation. He thought the sudden increase in security was a little unnecessary seeing as only weeks ago he was wondering around in the wilderness- but he supposed they were right in their judgment. He could not walk, and with that, he could barely defend himself properly, and back then, which wasn't really that long ago, he wasn't about to become King.He wondered how many would only serve him because of his status, power and wealth, and not because, as his uncle would say, they were loyal, honourable and had a willing heart.Dismissing the troubling thought, he looked back to Róskva, whose attention seemed to be entranced by the walls of his chambers, bright emerald riddled with gold. The lack of light from lit candles made the gold shine especially bright, providing its own light. He trusted her, and he felt that was wise. She had been as loyal to him as any member of his uncle's company had been, despite how little they knew each other, and for no other motive other than she simply cared for him. Such friends were a rarity.He wanted to return such loyalty.So, gathering some courage, he drew himself up as best he could. "Willyoujoinmeforarideonthemorrow?"Róskva spun around on her feet, her auburn-brown hair flying around with her. It was drawn back, two long locks on either side of her head twisted around into a neat knot at the back of her head, the rest loosely flowing down her back in waves. She wore no braids or beads, for they symbolised status, family and deeds. Fili thought she deserved all the braids and beads in the world.She stared at him, "pardon?" He fought down the urge to disappear, suddenly aware of how quickly he had spoken. So much for all the lessons for proper articulation that he had attended. He tried again. "Will you join me for a ride tomorrow morning?" "I- uh. …Yes. Yes, I will join you on a ride tomorrow morning. Thank you Fili," she smiled.He smiled back at her, grateful. "My thanks are with you, Róskva," he nodded to the door, "I won't keep you here any longer, I know you have duties of which you must attend to."Róskva bowed, politely, but there seemed to be a hint of sarcasm in it. "Thank you, my lord," she said with a smirk, yet it held no malice. Then, she left through the door, still wearing a smile on her face.He felt what could have once been a hint of a laugh from inside him, fighting to escape. He supposed Róskva was right in her jest. As of late, his speech had been getting a little more articulated, his lessons finally seeming to have taken some effect. He supposed that is what happens when you are to be king.The feeling of laughter disappeared within him. He wasn't supposed to become King for a long time. When Thorin was old and grey.Not knowing what else to do, he laid down on the bed, lifting his legs into place. Already he could see the muscle that was once in abundance slipping away into nothing. Sighing, he drew the soft furs and blue blankets up over them and to his chest. Better to hide them and forget, for a while. Carefully he leant over, to see the flame of one candle that still glowed on in the darkness. He knew he should put it out, but he no longer liked the dark. It wasn't safe anymore. He turned away, looking to the ceiling. He had always slept on his back, and for that he was grateful. It would be much harder to break a habit of sleeping on one's side.Though no matter how long he tried, he could not seem to fall asleep. His heart raced, and his mind whispered. He was afraid. Afraid of what would come when he drifted off into the unknown blackness of sleep.Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. He ran a hand across his face and back through his hair. He glanced at the small bottle of potion on the stand.Not yet.He looked around, and his eyes landed on the fresh parchment on the desk. Maybe…His mother had often advised him to write what he felt when he could not speak what he did. Though he would never show it to anyone, as a dwarfing, he had often written pages upon pages of his thoughts, clearing out his mind of the jumble of thoughts and emotions it had become. Taking a breath, he pulled back the furs and lifted his legs over the side of the bed. His chair was within reach, as it always was, and he pulled it towards him. Carefully, he let himself almost fall into the seat, his legs following. He was glad no one was around to see.He moved towards the desk; it was chair less. Why would he possibly need a different one when he seemed bound to spend the rest of his life in one? The thought stabbed him like the blade the orc had wielded. Sometimes it was easier to forget…Hesitantly he picked up the quill, dipped it, and began to write.
I do not know why I am doing this. It has been years since I last wrote my thoughts on paper, not since my father was killed in battle. Now, my brother and uncle have been too. I am not alone, I have family still, but I feel alone. No longer can I hear my brother laugh, share in his jokes and watch his reckless behaviour; no longer can I see my uncle lead, get lost and practice unnecessary stubbornness. They are gone from this world, and I feel as though my heart has followed them. I have not cried yet- I am not sure if it because I cannot, or will not. I barely let a tear fall when I saw their bodies, or when I buried them. That frightens me, because I am not without immense grief.

I can no longer walk, and that is a different kind of pain. I would rather not think of it. Those around me have been very kind, providing me with means of transport. A Mearas has agreed to be my mount. Though I can sense the companies uncertainty around the topic, they act as though it is not there. Like avoiding looking at a scar on someone's face, you know it is there, yet you know you must not stare.

I met a small girl in the tents, Ari, her father has just died, and she has no family yet. We have taken her in; she is a brave girl, and a kind one. I care about her; I would not see her come to any more harm.

Glorfindel, an elf had travelled with Gandalf the Grey to help me. He said I would never walk again. For the dreams and nerve damage, he gave me a potion, one drop a night; I have not tried it yet, but I suspect I will when I am done writing this.

The nightmares are growing strong now. Sometimes they are of the battle- the tunnels, being trapped, the orcs, lying on the ice all those hours, and most often- their deaths. I never saw them happen, but I see them in my dreams. Sometimes I see them alive in my dreams as well, though they are never how I remember them. They are cruel, whispering things to me. We buried their bodies not long ago, and soon I will be made King.

I don't know how I am to do it.

Not without them; not without my uncle's guidance and my brothers support.

Some wish for Dain to be king, that is no secret. He has offered to take my place until I feel ready. I am not sure, but it is not for power or wealth that I will accept the crown, but for duty.

Róskva is dutiful. She has been at my side since I first started being able to stay awake for a whole day. I respect her for that, and maybe I feel something else, but I can't be sure. I feel to much grief to really focus on anything else. Yet, I think she may be a friend. I asked her to go for a ride with me on the morn.

A morning that seems an age away, hidden behind an endless night.
He put down his pen, leaning back into his chair as much as he could as he ran a hand over his face once more. He wasn't sure how he felt now. Certainly, nothing had changed, though he felt the slightest bit lighter, having ordered his thoughts. Though he still felt heavy of heart, though he wasn't sure there was anything left inside of it that wasn't already broken.Sighing, he put the parchment aside before moving back to his bed. He made quicker work of getting into it, and once again did not blow out the candle. Instead, he reached for the bottle, and with delicate movements he allowed a single drop to fall into his mouth. Almost as soon as he had, his eyes grew heavy; it took so much effort to keep them open that he surrendered and let them finally close.For the first time in weeks, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Fili always loved sunrise, and by the smile on Róskva's face as she gazed into the morning sun's sky, he felt she did too.The sun had just risen above the horizon, where ground met sky. Pink and golden hues melted together across a blue canvas; it seemed to be painted for just the two of them.They were on horseback, himself on his Mearas, and Róskva on her own pony, both halted at the edge of the stable paddock. There was no grass, at least none that could be seen beneath the thick blanket of snow. All the other surviving mounts were resting safely inside the stables. Pony, goat, and boar alike.Looking fondly at his friend, Fili gestured to the world beyond, "Shall we?"Róskva nodded, smiling in agreement. "We shall."With that they rode on, to the remnants of a once green landscape, now hidden under fresh snow. Fili would have thought it beautiful, had it not been for what he knew was below the surface of the perfect white blanket. Though he supposed, just this morning, he could pretend it was just snow and find it beautiful.There was still a faint hint of smoke in the air, but the crispness of the cold distracted him from it. In the snow, even though all were welcome to seek refuge in the Mountain this winter, there were still some tents pitched for those who had work to do in the open or those who did not wish to enter the mountain for fear of cursed gold. Many were the men of Lake-town, waiting for Dale to be fully restored. Despite the cold, the land was busy with people, some riding from between Dale and Erebor, some just walking, others working. He saw a few dwarves with bows, accompanied by an elf or two as they trekked away from the mountain- to hunt. He knew many a dwarf chose to hunt instead of farm, for farming was seen as unfavourable by most dwarves standards, and so they left that job to the men and elves.It was good to see all working with each other, not divided by race or past disputes.He looked among the faces, to see if he could recognise any of them, perhaps a dwarf from the Blue Mountains, a childhood friend. It would be nice to see someone from before, he thought, something untouched by all he had seen. As he searched, he did recognise someone.Some two.And in that moment it was as if the world had turned white and grey, void of anything except those two haunting faces.No… he thought, shaking himself off, his eyes squeezed closed. Just my imagination.  When he opened his eyes they were gone.He told himself that they had never been there to start off with. Just his mind playing tricks-"Fili?" Róskva asked, her voice concerned.He realised now that he had come to a halt, his whole body rigid and still. "Sorry," he smiled at her, trying to seem unbothered, though he did not feel as such. "Just thought I saw something; it's nothing."She didn't look all that convinced by his words, but she accepted them. "So, where are we going?"He offered a small smile, "I don't know yet."With that, they rode on at a brisk canter, out past Dale and towards the lake where the woods still grew. Though not the woods of Mirkwood, for that would take more than a day to reach, but the river that ran from Esgaroth was not so far. It felt nice, to be moving so freely.Soon they came upon the river, the ride so far filled with a silence that usually accompanied riding in peace. The surface of the river was frozen and cool, undamaged by the events of the places it ran between. He relished the place; both had been craving to be in the presence of a place untouched by death and destruction. Icicles ran down from the trees, and fresh ice and snow covered every surface. This snow was pure, and Fili didn't have to pretend anymore."Fili?" Róskva asked, "just out of curiosity, why didn't you bring Ari with us?"Fili felt himself flush, and he prayed that it wasnt distinguishable from that caused by the cold air. He wondered if she had misunderstood him when he had asked.Though, he didn't know what he felt towards her yet. He knew it was something, but so much had happened and was still happening for him to even think about such things."She can't ride," he said finally, finding an answers. A moment later he added, rather sheepishly, "...and I also wished to spend some time with you."Róskva smiled, bowing her head for a moment as they continued to ride along the river. "Well then," she said, "while we are here I thought it best we should discuss supplies."He wanted to laugh, but instead, he shook his head, bearing a small smile as he looked to the skies in wonder of this strange dwarrodam. Sometimes she seemed so fearless and unwavering, and now she reminded him of a certain worrying hobbit."Let's put that aside for the moment,” he said, “I want to talk about something else- supplies, grief and death are all that has filled my thoughts of late ... I want to know more about you."Róskva came to a halt, seeming to decide that the clearing next to the river they had stumbled upon was a suitable place to rest. She gave him a curious look, "what do you mean?"He asked Felaróf to go down on his legs so he could dismount. Carefully, he began to undo the straps around his legs. As he did this, he thought of various things he would like to know. "Where did you come from?" He asked, carefully pulled his right leg over the horse's back, so he was sat side saddle, Róskva standing close in case he needed help."What's your favourite colour? What makes you happy or mad?" he asked, and with a heave of his arms he pulled himself off and onto the ground with a humph. Naturally he knew the answers to these questions didn’t really qualify as ‘knowing someone’, but he wanted to know anyway.He relaxed against Felaróf's side, who was patiently lying still, muzzling his way through the snow to the growth underneath. He pulled his coat around him to ward off the cold from his torso; he knew his legs could still be affected by the cold snow beneath them, but he could not feel it, so he did not care. Once he was settled, he looked to see Róskva sat on a fallen log just across from him. He gave her a small smile. "Anything."She smiled, though her eyes were downcast.Suddenly he felt worried he had asked the wrong thing; hastily he went to correct himself. "Unless you would rather not answer anything. You could ask me something, or we could just talk- ""Your questions are fine Fili, and I do not mind answering them," she said with a reassuring smile, though he could detect a hint of hesitance behind her eyes. "As for where I came from- the Iron Hills. Though, not from a well-known or noble family, or anyone I have ever known, as I'm sure you have noticed."Fili watched as she absentmindedly played with a lock of unbranded hair. "I was found as a baby, abandoned,” she said, after a long moment.Fili felt himself go still, shocked; though the thought had crossed his mind before, he couldn't help but feel alarmed by it. It was very rare that a dwarfling was abandoned, particularly a female for they were far rarer. "Do you know why?" he asked gently.She shook her head, "Not for certain. War I suspect, or perhaps I was the result of a frivolous night; unplanned." She fiddled with her coat as she said this, apparently ashamed.He wasn't sure what to say to that, it was true that dwarflings brought to the world from un-courting couples were often thought darkly upon by those from older times. But to completely abandon a child- Fili wondered if she truly was from an ancient and noble family, most likely not wishing to besmirch their name. "They made a horrible mistake," he said before he could stop himself, "you're the most honourable person I know; it doesn’t matter to me where you came from.”She gave him a curious look, and Fili suddenly wondered if what he had said was too, well, too everything. Nervously he cleared his throat, "what’s your favourite colour?”The corners of her lips turned up slightly at his change of subject, and Fili wondered if he was imagining things again when she seemed to be looking into his eyes. "Sky blue," she answered, after a moment. "The sky blue you see when spring is halfway through, and the wind is but a breeze, and barely a cloud is in sight," she explained.He let himself chuckle, "and you jest at me for being articulate."She laughed, "jests are one thing that makes me happy.""What else?""Simple things I suppose. I know it is unlike a dwarf to think so, but I find beauty and happiness in simple things. Sunrises, family. A nice breakfast,” she answered."All things most don't appreciate until they lose them," he said sadly.She nodded. "As for what makes me mad, well, I suppose disrespect is the main reason for any anger I have ever felt."He tilted his head, "how so?""It bothers me when people disrespect those who deserve it, but I do not honestly feel anger until someone who shows no respect demands it for themselves, I suppose."He agreed with what she said, admiring her self awareness, though he dearly hoped she was not trying to suggest something about his character that he had not noticed.Seeming to notice his uncomfortable look, she rushed to elaborate. "I didn't mean to sound as if I was accusing you of anything, Prince Fili. I was speaking of people like that dreaded lake town servant, and his master, if I recall.""Yes, they were a rather odious pair, weren't they?"She hummed in agreement. "You will make a far better leader than either of them, even if you decide not to take the crown."He smiled sadly, hoping she was right.    Even days after their ride, Róskva still had Fili thinking. Ari was at the particular forefront of his mind. When she had asked why he had not brought her with them, he had first answered by referring to how the girl could not ride to cover the truth of his actual answer. Except, the fact that Ari could no ride was also very much the truth.Naturally of course, he decided to remedy that, which is how ne now found himself guiding the girl towards the stables.Ari easily was maintained pace alongside his wheelchair. In truth it was him was having trouble keeping up with her quick strides, as it was proving difficult to gain speed on anything that wasn't a flat surface."Where are we going, Fili?" she asked curiously.He almost laughed at her bluntness, other than Róskva, barely anyone had called him by anything other than, 'Your Grace', 'My Lord', or 'My Prince'. He wasn’t even King yet and people were still insisting on the titles. It was exhausting, so he found it quite refreshing to be called by his own name without any hesitation on the speakers part. She was but a child after all, and unaware that it was considered impolite. He did not wish to tell her though."You'll see in a moment," he answered.When that moment came a dwarf emerged from the stables, leading a small pony, no bigger than 14 hands. Fili had chosen it himself, as it wasn't an old pony, but had enough distance under his girth to be suitable for even the youngest of riders. It was grey, with a shaggy mane and tail that was long enough to braid.Ari squealed incitement, "Is she for me?"Fili chuckled, "I believe he is."Ari approached the pony hesitantly, slowly outstretching a hand."Try not to sneak," Fili said gently.Heeding his advice, Ari took another confident step towards the pony, so she was flush against the fence. She held her hand under the pony's muzzle and let it smell. "What's his name?" She asked, smiling at the way the pony muzzled at her hand in search of treats.He smiled warmly, "Concho, I believe.""Concho," Ari repeated, sliding between the fence railings carefully.Despite her inexperience in riding, Fili didn’t feel the need to stop her from getting closer to the pony. The girl had spent enough time around horses not to do anything stupid.Ari stroked its neck and played with its mane fondly. Finally, she turned to Fili. "Can I ride him?" she asked hopefully."If you listen carefully, I don't see why not."As Ari got ready to ride with the help of the stable hand, he made his way to the gate of the pen, having to push himself and his chair harder to travel over the uneven ground. He came to a stop a few meters away from the pony, the stableman holding the reins of the pony as Ari stuck her foot into the stirrup under his guidance. Carefully, she swung herself into the saddle and took hold of the reins with the grip Fili had shown her before.Though she looked a little out of place in the saddle, Ari in no way looked nervous or uncomfortable. Fili smiled encouragingly, "Right then, in a moment you can move off.  When your ready, look where you wish to go, and squeeze the side opposite to the direction you wish to go, or both legs to go forward or faster."Ari went to do this, eager to execute his instructions.He gestured for her to slow down a little, “hold on just a minute, you don’t know how to stop him yet,” he said through a small chuckle.Ari smiled sheepishly, “oh, right.”He shook his head, smiling. “When you want to stop, sit down as heavy as you can into the saddle, and if you need to you can squeeze the reins. But not to much.”She nodded, and not a moment later she went about moving the pony again, seeming to be void of fear like most children were. With a bit of concentration about squeezing the correct side of the horse, she was off."Squeeze and open the right rein a little bit to turn his head," he offered as he watched. She had a nice seat, a little unbalanced, but that would come soon.She walked him a circle for a while, occasionally turning changing direction until she visibly sunk back into the saddle, slowing the pony went down to a halt. "How to do you know what to do if you can't feel your legs?" she asked him inquisitively.He looked at her, softening his expression. "I once could feel them," he said simply."Oh," she said solemnly, dropping her own eyes.He suspected she was worried that she had upset him. I can't have that. He clapped his hands together. "So,” he smiled, “do you want to go a bit faster?"She was already flying.   
If you don't feel ready to take the crown, I can act as King until-

Some wish for Dain to be king.

…Even if you decide not to take the crown.

You will be the greatest King Erebor has ever seen.

I will accept the crown.

It is my duty.
The crown was upon his head. The Raven Crown. Dain Ironfoot had placed it there, under the eye of Gandalf the Grey and his Lady Mother, Dis.The crown had sat on many heads before, some lost it to time, others battle; some simply passed it on. His uncle had worn it, for a time. Now it sat on his head; for how long he did not know.Cries of "Long live the King” and “"King Fili!" filled the hall, the words echoing through the mountain. He had not expected to hear those words for many years, and nor had he wanted to, when he learnt what it meant. He would only inherit the crown for two reasons, either his uncle was close to passing or had been killed.Thorin had been killed.And now he was King.He felt his eyes grow heavy with tears, and for the first time since the battle, he let just one, fall. It fell down his cheek, leaving a trail behind it. It fell onto his useless legs, and he wanted to cry even more. But he was King now, and he had appearances to uphold. didn't. So, he drew breath and held his head up high.A King does not cry.The long marble path that stretched high above the rest of Erebor had been repaired, leading to the throne he was seated on. Yet, not an inch of it could be seen, for all across it stood dwarf, men, elf and hobbit alike. His mother stood to the left, and Dain and Gandalf to the right. He could see Róskva, near the company who stood at the front. They looked proud, smiles on their faces.He wished he could share in their pride.  Not all bore smiles, which he could see. Some of the dwarves from the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains stood respectfully, their mouths pressed into a thin line, only speaking when duty called for it. It did not bother him; it would be impossible to have full support for his claim. But he knew he must be watchful. Treachery was not unheard off among his people.Bard and Thranduil stood behind the company, next to each other. Each had brought their children, who stood beside them. The Elvenking and Bowman seemed closer as of late; he suspected a strong friendship had been forged between them. He took it as a sign that perhaps for the first time, all three Kings, himself included, would be able to get along.He continued to look among the crowd as they called and chanted, many with their swords and axes brandished in the air.Then he saw them.Those faces.Those two pale faces.They stood just behind Dwalin, one with deep, proud blue eyes, and the other with dark brown eyes and matching hair.He drew a sharp breath at the sight. He wasn't sure if he wanted to run to them, or away. They cannot be here. They are dead. Aren't they? He shunned himself for thinking such a thing. Of course, they weren’t here, he had buried them himself; seen their pale soulless bodies.He shook his head, and when he looked back they were gone, just like last time.He composed himself from his moment of panic. I am a King now, he reminded himself. I must not lose my head. After all, It was just his imagination.Still, he shivered.   It was odd, being King. People behaved differently around him, like he was the most valuable jewel ever to be found, yet at the same time the most breakable and vulnerable. All the while insisting upon how the jewel is strong and resilient. It was exhausting. He barely had a moment to himself now, guards always close by, watching him and anybody that neared.So it was moments like this, alone in the halls when he finally had solitude, that he now treasured. Never had he thought he would miss something as once boring as being by oneself.This late at night the halls of Erebor were quiet, and the only sound that could be heard was the from the turning of his chair's wheels, rolling easily along the smooth surface of the polished rock. He was one of the few still up; many had settled down for the night in their own quarters. He had spent most of the day signing things, reading paperwork, approving plans and listening to his people's needs, and acting on them if possible. Just as he had done since a crown was set upon his head. Though none required any strenuous physical energy, his mind was tired, strained from reading fine prints and simply maintain the façade of diplomacy.As he made his way to his quarters, his crown sat heavy on his head, and he felt himself sag in his chair. His eyes were growing heavy, but he needed to stay awake. Just long enough to get to his chambers and take his medicine anyway, then he couldn't care less where he slept. It wouldn't be the first time he had fallen asleep in his chair these last few weeks.A flicker of movement caught his eye, and for a brief moment he thought it was them again. He shook his head, better to not think about that. He pushed the wheels of his chair forward, desperate to get back to his chambers so he could sleep.Then he was falling.His crown landed next to his head on the cold marble with a clang. He gasped sharply, pain ripping through his torso where Azog's blade had ripped through him. His head throbbed where it had hit the hard floor, and his ears rang with the sound of a thousand bells. Someone attacked me, he realised. And they were likely to attack again moment.He was in danger, and he needed to react. Róskva had placed several blades within the sides of his chair, but first he had to reach them.First he had to stay alive.Drawing a deep breath, he pushed himself up onto his palms and twisted around so he was propped up on one elbow, only his side exposed. He looked up to see his attacker. A dwarf, of the Iron Hills, judging by his clothing. Was he holding something in his hand? His vision was too blurred to tell.Desperately, he dragged himself towards his chair, but a blow to his abdomen stopped him in his tracks. He cried out, his torso burning. Had he been stabbed? Panicked, he grabbed at his chair with an outstretched arm, and with whatever strength he could muster he pulled it towards him, quickly reaching for the closest weapon.With a snarl, he lashed out wildly at the dwarf in one swift stroke, managing to draw a long red cut along his attackers’ arm. The dwarf stopped, inspecting the wound, not seeming to mind the pain. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet his. He smirked, once again raising his blade.Fili wasn’t sure he had the strength or energy to fend off another blow, but he readied his weapon nonetheless, trying to see through the haze in his eyes.Just as the blade was about to strike, his attacker was suddenly thrown violently against the wall by some force Fili couldn’t see. A moment later the dwarf slumped down to the floor, unconscious.Fili let a breath he didn’t know he was holding escape him, letting himself sink back down to the ground. His breathing felt ragged, and his mind struggled to piece together the events of the last few moments. Someone had tried to kill him. And he had barely been able to do a thing about it. Only once before had he felt so defenceless. So helpless.He moved to push himself back up, to try and see his saviour, but once again he found he didn’t have the strength to move from the cold floor.No… Tears began to fill his eyes, and he felt his chest tighten. Not again, please! Drawing a deep breath, he raised his head and cried out for help, for anybody.