AkiRei Writes Hobbit

The bone had not broken through the skin, which was a blessing, for she knew that she would not have been able to stomach seeing her baby that way. But it was also a curse - Dίs had some knowledge of broken bones, but not enough to tell how badly he was truly hurt. She picked him up out of the water and rushed through the village to the healer’s house, Fίli at her heels. Gróin was away, but his elder son Óin had trained in his father’s craft and was known to be just as skilled, if not as practiced.

A broken limb is a broken limb, it will heal or it will not, he had said as he encased the lower half of Kíli's leg in a splint, wrapping it tightly with bandages. The toddler was sniffling, trying not to cry in front of a relative stranger. Fίli was holding tight to the boy’s hand, and the glare on his face as he told Óin not to hurt his favorite brother was so severe Dίs would have laughed in another circumstance.

When Thorin returned to the settlement a few days later, he found one nephew bedridden, surrounded by scraps of parchment and coal for writing practice, and one nephew sneaking into the shared bedroom to give the younger toys, even though Dίs kept catching him and smacking his hands.

“He doesn’t need toys,” she said. “He disobeyed me, that’s why he’s hurt.”

“Your mum is right.” Her brother had nodded sagely and knelt down to Fili’s height. “This is his punishment, Fίli, and games won’t help your brother to heal faster. Be a good lad, and help your mum clean up.” But when Thorin came out of the boy’s bedroom after visiting, she could see a paper of salt candy half-stuffed under the boy’s pillow, and a new sling-shot on the bedstand. She spared the young king a small glare, but that time, she let it slide.

At thirty-two, Fίli went with his uncle to a small village of men, a few leagues north of The Shire. He had taken a liking to blacksmith work, and so Thorin decided to let the lad tag along while he finished a job. This particular village was declining swiftly, and Thorin was merely delivering new weapons and tools for the men, and enough shoes for the horses to get the population moving. He wanted Fili to witness the end of the transaction, to get a sense of the business side of smithing, before he chose a craft.

Fίli was so excited in the days before they left, he did not even notice Kίli’s envy. When they were walking from the home, though, Fίli had turned to clasp his brother's arm. He promised to bring him back a gift, and leaned in to whisper. Dίs heard the sounds of their native tongue, but could not make out the words. Her younger son had seemed mollified, and only extracted one more promise from his brother before seeing him and Thorin off with a bright smile.

When her son and brother returned, Fίli was very quiet. He answered all of Kίli’s questions and produced the promised gift (a beautifully stitched leather arm cuff), but the excitement was lost from his gaze. Late that night, after Thorin and Kίli had gone to bed, he sat in his mother's embrace and cried. He had been unprepared for the cruelty of men toward their race, and could not fathom how such a strong, respected dwarf as his uncle tolerated it. He was more angry than sad.

"We are of Durin's blood!" he said for the fifth time as Dίs smoothed her fingers through his hair. "Uncle is a king! How can he just..."

Dίs shushed him gently. "Your uncle is proud of his blood and rank, my darling, as you should be. But that means little to men, especially this far from home, with Erebor lost to us." She cupped his chin and tilted his head up. "We must never be too proud to do what must be done," she said firmly. "But we must also never forget where we come from. You are Fίli, son of Dίs, Crown Prince of Erebor. And one day that title will hold meaning beyond ourselves once again."

Fίli had nodded and wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and gone to bed. Dίs had stayed up until the light shone through the windows, watching the fire burn low.

At seventy-three and sixty-eight, both boys had grown into strapping young men before her eyes. They had shadowed Thorin and learned to lead by watching as Thorin learned, growing into a king, though his kingdom was scattered. Her brother had built a sizable settlement in the Blue Mountains, prosperous and thriving. Several groups had arrived from the Iron Hills since the loss of Erebor, and many had decided to stay. It was not what Belegost and Nogrod had been in ages past, nor was it as grand as Erebor, but it was something.

Thorin had been taking both boys on his trips for the last few decades, and Fίli had become a skilled charmer when needed. Kίli lacked his brother's charisma, but made up for it with the blunt honesty so many leaders refused to use in royal courts. Together they were formidable, but Thorin thought they still needed more.

"Marriage?" The boys often spoke in unison, which amused Dίs and annoyed Thorin to no end. They always knew what the other was thinking, and Dίs supposed it was due to their close age.

“Yes, marriage. Fίli is already of age, and Kίli will be in another two years. I see no reason to not begin searching for suitable matches.” Thorin’s tone brook no argument; having no sons of his own, he needed Dίs’ boys to carry on the line. While neither one was adverse to flirtation, they had never seriously eyed any of the girls in the Blue Mountains, and their anxiety levels had obviously skyrocketed at the mention of commitment.

“Uncle, let’s be reasonable,” Fίli began, smiling that little smile he had inherited from his father. “Mum was not married until she was eighty. I think we could stand to wait a few more years, don’t you?"

"You can wait to marry, certainly. That does not mean we cannot be thinking of potential matches for you both."

"But, uncle, I do not wish to marry," Kίli insisted, his lips turned down in a pout that Thorin refused to acknowledge matched his own.

“Brother. Perhaps it is a little early, yet, to speak of such things. I do not want to think of my sons being taken away by some young maid,” Dίs chided, smiling. “Give them a few more years, Thorin.”

The king would not be swayed, though, and a few weeks later, there was a grand feast in the Blue Mountains. Tables were laid out end-by-end, covered in food and drink. Sconces lit along every few feet illuminated the merry-making dwarves as they moved through the ancient halls, repurposed for their new lives.  Every young maid over sixty was given a special invitation, along with a chaperone, to attend and spend time with the young princes. Her boys were perfect gentlemen, as far as Dίs could tell. They politely chatted with each lady who approached them. Some laughed, and some blushed, and both Fίli and Kίli seemed to get on well with several. The evening had been going perfectly, and Thorin was pleased. It was just after midnight when he decided to leave the feast, leaving Dίs to watch over the boys.

Dίs remembered what happened next as clearly as she remembered her husband’s laughter. She could not hear the talk from her seat, but she could see quite well. Her sons had both been speaking with a group of three young lasses. The conversation had seemed to be going well. Suddenly, Kíli's face went red as a hot poker. Fili’s expression darkened like a thundercloud, the girls all stopped giggling, and Dίs could sense the tone of the conversation had soured. Before she could make her way over to head off whatever trouble had started, Fίli had started shouting in colorful language she had not taught him. Kίli stepped between his brother and the girls, and was rewarded with a faceful of red drink for his troubles.

Dίs never found out what had sparked the fight. Her sons had returned home, had a short talk with Thorin, and no more mention of marriage was heard in their house.

Dίs had trouble admitting that her boys were old enough to leave her. She watched in silence as they prepared for their journey, packing bags and sharpening daggers. Thorin had left days ago, hoping for support from the dwarf lords. Dίs knew that no help would come, but her brother had no concern for their small group or futile odds.

“The mountain is there, just waiting to be taken back! If we do not act on this, Dίs, someone else will!”

As a Durin princess, Dίs knew what had to be done, and knew when she could not argue. That did not mean she was happy about it. Her boys had, unsurprisingly, jumped at the chance to follow the only father they’d ever known on his grand adventure. They tried to allay her fears in the days leading up to their departure.

“We’ve been training since we could hold a sword, mother. We grew up waiting for this,” her eldest said, kissing her cheek as he passed with an armful of weaponry (how he planned on carrying all that, she was unsure). She knew that neither son had any idea of the true danger they faced. Fίli, though, generally showcased a maturity that she had not expected from either of her rowdy boys. She worried about his safety, of course, but as she watched her younger son move through the house, she could not shake the memory of Kíli's face, pale and shiny, as he writhed in pain and clutched at his leg.

That morning, as they laced up their boots and triple-checked their bags, Dίs pulled her youngest aside. As he looked down at her, she realized for the first time just how tall he had become. Taller even than his father had been, looking at her with those same eyes.

She did not say anything at first. She took his hand and pressed a small stone against his palm, folding his fingers over the smooth surface. He looked down at the rock, brushed his thumb over the letters, and gave her a bright smile.

“I promise I’ll come home, mother. You don’t need to worry,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I’ll come home after we kill the dragon, and I’ll bring you to Erebor myself.”

Dίs looked up at her son, and over his shoulder to Fίli, who waited by the door with a smile.

“I look forward to it, my little one. May Mahal keep you safe.” She pulled him down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and then moved to give her elder the same treatment. “I will be waiting here for you.”

They said their goodbyes, shouldered their packs, and she watched from the door as they walked from her sight, laughing and shoving one another.

Kíli returns to the bedroom tonight to find it empty. Unusual, but not terribly so - he came back earlier than he tends to, after all. He doesn’t bother with a bath (he had been far dirtier on the journey here) and simply shucks off his princely tunic and trousers, leaving him in nothing but loose smallclothes. He settles on the small couch, drink in hand, to wait for his brother. He does not wait long.

Kíli hears the bedroom door open as he is taking a drink. When his brother doesn't speak, he turns his head to see what could be wrong, and nearly drops his goblet.

Fíli is standing just inside the doorway. His lightly tanned cheeks are flushed a healthy pink, and his hair is falling free from its single braid to hang loosely about his shoulders. His shirt is tossed over his arm - he must have been in the forge all day, Kíli's mind suggests. Fíli's eyes, usually bright and clear as the sky after spring rain, are dark as they focus on Kíli and stay there. A flutter of something begins in the young Prince's stomach. He sets his drink down carefully.

"Brother?" His voice sounds hesitant and high-pitched, and his cheeks feel warm. His heart thumps pleasantly as Fíli steps toward the couch. "Is something wrong?"

Kíli realizes his brother's chest is heaving as he nears. He wavers between excitement and worry - Fíli is usually so composed, part of him fears something may have happened. But he recognizes that particular sway to Fíli's walk, that certain need shining through his eyes. He hasn't seen either in several weeks, and the anticipation makes him breathless. He turns back to face the fire, grabbing his goblet and gulping down a mouthful of the strong wine.

Fíli stops just behind the couch. Kíli can hear his breath, can sense his presence like a solid wall. He feels his brother lean down, and a warm exhale of breath raises gooseflesh on his neck.

“Kíli.”

It is only his name - just a word, really, simple sounds produced in the throat and directed by the tongue and lips - but it nearly brings a moan to his mouth. Fíli’s voice is ragged, desperate, in a way that Kíli has not heard in a very long time. It reminds him of the day after the battle, when he and Fíli had hidden away in a forgotten closet of the mountain. Thankful to be alive, and frantic to feel that the other was alive, too.

He leans up and faces his brother, reaches out to take his hand. Slowly, he stands, placing his drink down once more. Fíli rounds the couch, his hungry lips meeting Kíli’s. Without realizing the movement, they find themselves standing beside the bed. Fíli’s hands are on Kíli’s loose shirt and tugging. Kíli accommodates his brother; soon both Princes are disrobed. Kíli moves backwards onto the mattress and Fíli crawls after him, his strong arms supporting himself as he kisses the dark heir.

Kíli loves to talk, especially with his brother. Tonight, though, they need no words between them. They need only the feel of loose hair tickling sensitive skin, of lips tracing lines across shoulders and down chests. Teeth leaving their impression on necks, the sound of harsh breathing and quiet moans. Calloused fingers are pressed to Kíli’s lips and he quickly parts them, enjoying the hitch he hears in Fíli’s breath as his tongue laves the digits.

Fíli’s mouth is down near Kíli’s stomach - his muscles clench when he feels a tongue dip into his navel - and his breath is hot on the younger Prince’s skin. The tingling in Kili’s body is overwhelming, and he knows his pupils must be blown to twice their normal size. Fíli’s free hand is brushing over his thigh and hip, but never touching the aching arousal between his legs. Impatient, Kíli lifts his right leg and hooks his knee over Fíli’s shoulder, which earns a deep chuckle.

“Eager, brother?” Fíli’s teeth are white in the darkened room, his grin intoxicating. Kíli returns it with a smirk after releasing the fingers in his mouth.

“You’re the one who jumped me,” he retorts, pushing Fíli’s hand down away from his face. “Hurry up. It’s been too long.” Fíli is only too happy to oblige.

His mouth returns to Kíli’s skin, his tongue teasing a spot right above Kíli’s collar that sends a stream of pleasurable tingles all the way down Kíli’s body to join the heat forming in his lower stomach. It nearly keeps Kíli from recognizing the small burn of being stretched too quickly as Fíli thrusts his fingers inside of him. He doesn’t mind the sting, though - he’s felt it more than enough times, and he knows that it only leads to greater pleasure later. His hips move by instinct now, helping Fíli’s questing digits find the bundle that makes him tense and arch.

“You’re being slow.” His breaths are nothing but short pants as his nails dig into broad shoulders. That hot mouth has found a path down Kíli’s chest and stomach, now hovering just at the inside of the younger’s thigh.

“I just don’t want to hurt you.” Fíli’s words are soft and his eyes, pupils nearly concealing the iris, are still full of concern for his brother. Kíli smiles and rakes his hand through Fili’s golden waves, snagging his fingers on the remnants of his braid.

“I am fine, Fee. Please, I just want to feel you.” He sits up and tugs on Fíli’s hair, their lips coming together once more. “Please,” he whispers, pitching his voice in a way that his brother has never been able to resist. A broken groan escapes the blond and Kíli is pressed back down on the mattress. Breath mingles and hearts beat as one as their bodies join, and Kíli drowns in his brother’s embrace.

Later, with their bodies long cooled and Fíli fast asleep beside him, Kíli lies awake. He watches the steady rise and fall of Fíli’s chest, listens to the occasional snore that Fíli refuses to admit to in his waking hours. Marvels at the feeling he gets just looking at his brother’s face. The quickening of his heart and breath, tingling in his stomach that spreads to his limbs.

There he was, coming up to from the left. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she watched the dwarf approach. As he neared, she dropped into her best curtsy, one of the few things she remembered from her mother.

"Your highness," she began, only for him to interrupt her.

"Róa, please. It's always just Fíli with you." His smile was brighter than the gold that glittered in his hair and on his fingers. "I'm so glad you made it. You look..." He struggled for a moment, seeming unable to find the words. Róa took pity on him.

"It's so amazing to be back. Erebor is beautiful. I honestly didn't believe it could look like this, what with how it was before." She turned to look out over the hall once more. "Everyone seems to have settled in well."

"Aye, we have completely rebuilt everything that monster destroyed, and Thorin reopened the mines two years ago." Róa felt the air change as he leaned against the stone railing next to her, and she shifted enough to keep their arms from touching. She wasn't sure she could handle actual contact.

"How is Thorin? And your brother? I know Oin was having leg trouble when I left, has he recovered? What about--" His laughter cut her off, and she gave him a questioning look.

"Have you been worrying about us all this time?" he asked, grinning at her. She had to force herself to focus on something other than his mouth to answer.

"Of course I have. I can't trust you to stay out of trouble, I know better," she replied, trying to tease. He turned to look at her properly, and she thought her heart might very well break when his smile faded to a small frown.

"Then why did you leave?"

Róa was at a loss. It was a simple question, one that she could answer easily whenever she asked herself. To have Fíli ask left her breathless, and she found her voice had vanished. When he did not receive an answer, the expression on his face made Róa wish Smaug would return to swallow her up. She hated being responsible for his poorly-hidden disappointment, but was unsure of what to say to mend the air between them.

“I want to show you something.” He suddenly took her hand, and she found herself being dragged along the balcony. He pressed his hand to the stone wall at the end of the walkway. A blast of cool evening air blew back her loose hair as he led her out onto what he simply called a porch, but what looked to her to be a giant, open room carved into the side of the mountain. Stone pillars lit with torches lined the wall to either side of the door, and the railing that protected visitors from falling to their deaths. He tugged her over to the balustrade, pointing out across the dark landscape.

“You see those mountains there?” Róa squinted, but even with her decent night vision and the light of the moon, she saw nothing. He continued. “Neither can I, really. But I know they exist there, to the west, because we crossed them together once. We crossed the mountains and braved the wilds and fought side by side. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Of course I remember --” She stopped when he gripped her wrist, his face more serious than she had seen it since the battle.

“Why did you come here, Róa?” She frowned at him.

“You invited me for your name-day, you dolt.”

“Yes, but you haven’t come the last four years. Why now?”

“Because,” Róa began, then found herself without words once again. She had been sitting at home in Bree when she received the letter, just as she had four times before. The handwriting was the same, a bit messy, with R’s and K’s that leaned to the left, and M’s that could barely be read. She had told herself she wouldn’t come, only to pack a bag and invite Bilbo along for the trip. “I don’t even have an answer for myself, Fíli, so I don’t have one for you. I’m sorry. I should have just stayed home.” She tried to pull away, and his hold tightened.

“Róa, please, I am glad you came,” he said softly. She made a small noise, and he loosened his grasp, his hand instead moving up her arm. She shivered beneath the soft touch. “I am glad you came...and I would be very glad if you stayed.” Her gaze shot up, and she was reminded of just how close he was standing when she could see nothing but his eyes.

“Fíli?”

“I want you to stay here with me, Róa. I wanted to ask you before, after the battle. But you left so quickly…at first I feared you had fallen, until Bilbo told me you had headed back to the Greenwood with a group of elves.”

“I am sorry to have worried you.” Her mouth was dry, her voice just a whisper. She felt his fingers brush her cheek.

“I was just happy to know that you were safe. But I have missed you. That’s why I invited you, each year, to come for my name-day. I had hoped that we might--”

“Please stop,” she whispered, pulling away from him. She took a breath and closed her eyes, so she would not have to see the blond dwarf’s face. “Prince Fíli, I am nothing but a straggler your uncle’s company picked up along the way. I’m not even a proper dwarf. I just…” Her voice failed and she turned her back to him. She tried to ignore the way her heart ached as she squared her shoulders. “Please forget about me, as I have tried to forget you.”

“Róa.” Strong arms wrapped around her waist and a warm chest pressed against her back. “It matters not to me if your mother was a human. I wouldn’t care if you had no dwarf blood at all. All I care about is you.” He turned her around and cupped her chin in his hand, lifting her face so that their gazes met. He smiled at her, and she marvelled at just how close in height they were. He was only a hair’s breadth taller.

“Fíli, I…” He silenced her with a soft brush of his lips against her own. His next words were barely a whisper.

“Come with me.”

-----

The bedroom of Erebor’s crown prince was not something she had ever thought to see in her life. It was grand, and big enough for her living room and kitchen combined. But it was sparsely decorated, with just a few rugs, a table and chairs, and a large bed. Weapons lined the walls on either side of the hearth. It was so like Fíli.

She was running her finger along the furs on the bed when she heard the door open again. Fíli entered, juggling a wine bottle and two glasses. He set it all down on the table and filled both glasses, offering one to Róa. She accepted with a shy smile and sipped slowly. She did not want to get drunk. Fili knocked back his own glass, and she felt his gaze as it traveled over her form. With her cheeks flushing pink, she sent him a look.

“Can I help you with something, prince?” He chuckled and gave her a cheeky grin. She thought her heart might burst - she was sure he could hear it pounding.

“Nothing at all, lass. It’s just that I don’t believe I have ever seen you in such...fitting clothing.” He set his glass down and stepped closer. “While we were fighting for the mountain, you wore trousers and a coat, like all of us. But this dress…” His fingers slid down her side, tracing the simple embroidery that disguised the stitching. “Where did you get it?”

“I made it.” She was regretting the tight bodice she had sewn. Her breath was coming shorter, and she wished she could loosen the strings binding her chest and stomach.

“It suits you.” He touched her hip. “You are beautiful, Róa.”

Róa took as deep a breath as she could manage and carefully set her glass aside, her hand trembling. She risked a glance at his face, and his expression sent shivers down her back. Heat began to collect in her stomach and spread through her blood like fire.

“Do you truly think so, Fíli?” she asked, reaching up to press a hesitant hand against his cheek. He took her hand and brought it to his mouth instead, his lips caressing her fingertips.

“I do. Would you allow me to prove it?” He placed both hands on her waist, lightly, and she could see the fear of rejection in his eyes. She smiled and leaned her head close to brush her mouth against his ear.

You were especially cold, lacking the thick skin that seemed to prevent all but the worst of the elements from affecting the dwarves. You watched as Bilbo huddled close to his pony, soaking up her warmth, while Bombur fought the damp wood. You decided you may as well be useful, and moved over to help the man. After several unsuccessful attempts, you looked over to the scribe of the journey.

“Ori?” You called to the scholar, who eagerly joined you. “Might we have some bits of spare parchment? The wood is just too wet from all this rain.” You shivered as a gust of wind whipped through your camp, and tugged your shawl closer around yourself. “Just one or two pieces should be enough to get a fire started.”

“Of course!” The young dwarf went to his bag and pulled out a few strips of parchment paper, happily handing them over for the sake of a fire. Soon enough, a small but growing flame was crackling merrily, and a quiet cheer went around the camp. While you had been fighting to create a bit of warmth, Kíli had been off tracking down a few rabbits for dinner, which he presented for Bombur to cook.

With bellies full and clothes drying, most of the company settled down for sleep. Bilbo was snuggled close to the fire, the poor hobbit still suffering from the chill. He sneezed a few times - you hoped he wasn’t coming down with a cold.

You were still rather chilled, yourself. Your clothes had been sopping wet just like the others’, and you’d shed more than was generally considered proper to let them dry. It left you shivering, no matter how close you sat to the flames. The wind was up and you’d never dealt with the cold well. You had a blessedly dry blanket wrapped around your shoulders, but it was not quite enough. You felt your forehead, fearing that rather than the hobbit, it might be you who was catching something.

You felt a presence at you back, and then all of a sudden, you were surrounded by a warm body - trousered legs stretched out on either side of yours, and two strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a burning chest.

“Cold, lass?” The voice, warmer than the fire, pressed against your ear. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold trailed down your spine.

“Fíli? What are you doing?” You were sure that your voice hadn’t been so high when you spoke to Ori just a while ago. His chest rumbled with a laugh, heating you from the inside out.

“Keeping you warm, of course. We can’t have our guest catching a chill, can we?” His arms tightened, and between the cage they made with his legs, and the chest against your back, you were starting to feel quite comfortable.

“You didn’t need to do this, though. I would have warmed up soon enough.”

“Aye, but I’d rather keep you warm myself. You don’t mind, do you?” he asked and leaned his chin against your shoulder, so that you could see his smiling face from the corner of your eye.

“Well, I suppose if it’s between you and the cold ground…” You teased, which earned another chuckle, the vibrations sending all thoughts of cold from your mind. “I appreciate the use of a warm dwarf body.” You turned your head to look at him, which he was clearly not expecting, since his lips remained to brush against your cheek. You blushed crimson while he smiled.

You ran through the field, each dark head on the ground making your heart stop, until you saw that the face was wrong. You called for him, but your shouts went unanswered.

You found the King, injured but moving, and Dwalin and Balin, both free from serious injury. The others were not far off - Ori had a cut above his eye, and Gloín was wrapping a bandage around his calf. Even Fíli made his way to the bedraggled group, limping, but with a bright grin on his face.

“Hey, where’s Kíli?” he asked you.

“I can’t find him! He wasn’t with you?”

The second prince remained missing throughout the day. Each hour that passed saw the hollow void in your chest grow, your panic soar. Your voice was hoarse from calling his name. At midnight, Thorin called a halt.

“We will continue the search in the morning,” he told Fíli, giving you a sympathetic look over the blonde’s shoulder. “We all need food and sleep. We cannot continue as we are.”

“But, uncle…!”

“I am sorry, lad. He will have to last until the morrow.”

Fíli tried to comfort you, even as he struggled to accept the king’s command. You sent him on his way to rest and eat, and made your way out of the mountain. You climbed the remains of the stone wall you had built in preparation of the elves’ arrival, and slumped against the wall, holding your knees to your chest.

You tried not to cry, truly. You knew you had shed enough blood and tears over this damned mountain, and Kíli would have teased you if he’d seen you. Yet cry you did, sobbing quietly against your knees, the warm, salty liquid burning your cold cheeks.

The crunch of boots on gravel marked someone’s approach. You glanced beneath your arm, seeing a familiar set of shoes come to a stop beside you.

“I said I’m f-fine, Fíli,” you barked, more harshly than you intended. “Just go away.”

“If my brother’s done so much to anger you, it’s a good thing I’m not Fíli.”

Your head shot straight up, staring into the dark silhouette, a bright white smile visible even in the dim moonlight.

“Kíli!” You jumped to your feet and wrapped your arms around his neck, your sobs returning with a vengeance. Strong arms enveloped you in a comforting embrace, and a chin rested on the top of your head.

“Peace, girly. I’m sorry I made you worry,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “You know I would not have left you like that.” You sniffled and pulled away to look up at him.

“But you...we couldn’t find you, Kíli. What, where did you...why…” He placed a finger against your lips.

“Not even Mahal could keep me from you, love.” He leaned forward, his mouth just barely brushing against your cheeks, and when he pulled away you could see the remains of your tears glistening on his lips. “Forgive me?”

From your house on top of the hill, you could see Erebor looming in the distance. In this weather, she was merely a dark mass in the mist, but you knew all too well what was truly there. And you knew that in just a little while, Bard would return with his children, whom he had taken to visit the company of dwarves. With that thought, you returned to the kitchen to finish cooking. They would be cold and hungry when they came home, you reasoned, and you wanted to be sure to make them comfortable.

Soon enough you heard the door open, the sound of heavy footsteps and soft curses reaching your ears. With a smile you set a lid over the cooking pot and made your way through the large house to the front room. Bard was just removing his coat and hanging it on the hook, water dripping down onto the floor. He kicked off his sopping boots and turned around, smiling when he saw you.

“Welcome home,” you said, glancing behind him at the closed door. “Where are the girls? And Bain?”

“It was so cold, I didn’t want to bring them all the way back,” Bard explained, moving over to stand in front of the fire, holding his hands towards the flames. “Thorin agreed to let them remain for the night. I’ll go and fetch them in the morning.”

“So it will just be the two of us tonight?” Your face heated at the thought. You shared a bed with the man each night, but you had never been truly alone with him. The children had always been nearby. You shook the impure thoughts from your mind and smiled.  “Well, supper is ready. Come and warm up,” you insisted, taking his hand and pulling him into the kitchen. You sat him down at the table, pouring him a glass of wine.

You could feel Bard’s eyes on you as you puttered about the room, fixing up a plate and setting it down in front of him. When you went to move away, he grabbed your wrist to stop you. “Wait.”

You blink down at him and smile. “What is it, Bard? Is there something else you need?”

“No, nothing. I just...you know you don’t have to do all of this for me. For us,” he said quickly. “Living here and helping with the children, and the chores. You could have stayed in Erebor, or returned home. And I still don’t know why you chose me, there are other and better choices and I-”

You lean down and press your lips against the man’s open mouth, your hand brushing against his cheek. Once he begins to respond to the kiss, you pull away with a smile.