keep careful watch of my brother's s o u l;;

With a last lingering kiss to the high curve of his cheekbone, Fili steered them toward the makeshift door of their rooms. The pace was slow and a little uneven, to compensate for Kili’s recovering strength, but Fili had always been patient. In time, they found their way back to Oin’s surgery. Fili peered in cautiously, feeling like his guilt was stamped across his forehead for why they were there.

One of Oin’s students was wandering about, checking on some of the other patients, though the surgery itself was mostly empty; there was a dwarf their age that wore his left arm in a sling, dressed in the common attire of the stone masons, and one of their mother’s kitchen boys who had come to have some burns on his hand treated. Kili slowly let go of his brother’s arm, and instead slid onto one of the beds, grimacing lightly as he placed a hand on his stomach. “I’m all sore” he huffed quietly, then looked up and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The scar, I mean. It stings a bit.”

Fili stared down at the parchment in his hands, his fingers shaking as he read the simple message, the words looking so innocuous and yet.. how they stabbed into his heart. His fingertips brushed over the silver hairpiece hesitantly, before carefully scooping it out from the fold, the dark strands of hair clasped in it silken smooth against his skin. “Kili..“ he breathed, the letter falling from numb fingers as he pressed the strand of hair to his lips, feeling tears of fear well in his eyes. A moment later he was pocketing the clasp and the hair, placing it close to his heart, as he ran to saddle his pony for the ride to come. “Don’t worry nadadith… I’m coming.”

He went quiet, eyes fixed on Kili’s lap as plans for both a card holder and a bed table began unfolding in his head. Fili couldn’t claim to be the best at woodworking but he knew several that were and could make a masterpiece out of even the poorest drawn blueprints. Why weren’t these sorts of things already being made? Maybe they were and he’d never had the need to find out.

“We’ll think of something.” He glanced down at his hand himself. “Just, uh... maybe it should be somethin’ I can do with only one hand...”

Counterpoint to the melancholy in his words, his hands were telling a different story. His free hand had slid beneath Kili’s shirt, the knuckles tracing patterns along his back. (It hurt less if he let them curl naturally.) The other hand was busy stroking his brother’s length in long, careful movements. “I’m the only one you ever had sex with. Getting you to sit still by nefarious means doesn’t count.”

His eyes slipped shut briefly. “Ye know a good many things, be sure of that.”

“Seein’ as ye should do just fine for me” he hummed softly, pressing a kiss to his brother’s head, “Oh, ye do, my love. But ye also didna touch me for weeks.” The grin widened on his face. “Nay t’mention I’ve always had a very lively mind regardin’ such things.”

Still, he smiled (though more than a little apologetically) and nodded. He much preferred to think about other things besides his duties, like what Kili would look like bedecked in precious gems and furs. Having Kili as his official consort was a daydream he’d spent much of his life perfecting. “Can I?” he asked, all innocence, “D'you think you’re up to the task of royal consort, even with that lively mind?”

He grinned, gently nudging his forehead against his brother’s before rising back to his feet, if a little unsteadily. “Shall we go, brother dear?” Grimacing lightly, he placed a hand on his abdomen. “Maybe I’ll, uh… need some support, though.” He didn’t precisely like to admit it, however.

Fili stared down at the parchment in his hands, his fingers shaking as he read the simple message, the words looking so innocuous and yet.. how they stabbed into his heart. His fingertips brushed over the silver hairpiece hesitantly, before carefully scooping it out from the fold, the dark strands of hair clasped in it silken smooth against his skin. “Kili..“ he breathed, the letter falling from numb fingers as he pressed the strand of hair to his lips, feeling tears of fear well in his eyes. A moment later he was pocketing the clasp and the hair, placing it close to his heart, as he ran to saddle his pony for the ride to come. “Don’t worry nadadith… I’m coming.”

He reached up to gently press Fili’s palm against his chest, bandages or not. “Dinna be scared. Just… be my brother, an’husband. Feel free t’tell me stories, too.” The corners of his mouth twitched softly. “What kinda stories would ye tell me, then?” he asked, lightly running his palm over the curve of his brother’s upper arm. “Tell me anything.” As long as it kept both their minds off any feelings of guilt, everything was welcome, after all.

Long ago Fili had acquired a rather large mental library of stories- classics about Durin the Deathless and histories and legends, and others more obscure coming from Elven lore. He tried to avoid telling those in Uncle Thorin’s earshot, though now may be as good a time as any. His fingertips picked nervously at the edges of the bandages poking out over Kili’s collarbone, trying to think of one that had nothing to do with the one-handed elf in so many of those particular stories. He didn’t want Kili to start thinking he’d lose his hand entirely. “Ye’ve already heard all my stories. D'ye want a tragedy or a comedy? Or… we could play a game instead?”

Carefully he leaned his cheek somewhat more against his brother’s shoulder. “Well?” His good hand rested on Fili’s chest, his thumb gently running over the rough fabric of his shirt. “Any suggestions?” He wasn’t particularly able to play chess right now, after all.

Fili stared down at the parchment in his hands, his fingers shaking as he read the simple message, the words looking so innocuous and yet.. how they stabbed into his heart. His fingertips brushed over the silver hairpiece hesitantly, before carefully scooping it out from the fold, the dark strands of hair clasped in it silken smooth against his skin. “Kili..“ he breathed, the letter falling from numb fingers as he pressed the strand of hair to his lips, feeling tears of fear well in his eyes. A moment later he was pocketing the clasp and the hair, placing it close to his heart, as he ran to saddle his pony for the ride to come. “Don’t worry nadadith… I’m coming.”

He reached up to gently press Fili’s palm against his chest, bandages or not. “Dinna be scared. Just… be my brother, an’husband. Feel free t’tell me stories, too.” The corners of his mouth twitched softly. “What kinda stories would ye tell me, then?” he asked, lightly running his palm over the curve of his brother’s upper arm. “Tell me anything.” As long as it kept both their minds off any feelings of guilt, everything was welcome, after all.

Long ago Fili had acquired a rather large mental library of stories- classics about Durin the Deathless and histories and legends, and others more obscure coming from Elven lore. He tried to avoid telling those in Uncle Thorin’s earshot, though now may be as good a time as any. His fingertips picked nervously at the edges of the bandages poking out over Kili’s collarbone, trying to think of one that had nothing to do with the one-handed elf in so many of those particular stories. He didn’t want Kili to start thinking he’d lose his hand entirely. “Ye’ve already heard all my stories. D'ye want a tragedy or a comedy? Or… we could play a game instead?”

Carefully he leaned his cheek somewhat more against his brother’s shoulder. “Well?” His good hand rested on Fili’s chest, his thumb gently running over the rough fabric of his shirt. “Any suggestions?” He wasn’t particularly able to play chess right now, after all.

Fili stared down at the parchment in his hands, his fingers shaking as he read the simple message, the words looking so innocuous and yet.. how they stabbed into his heart. His fingertips brushed over the silver hairpiece hesitantly, before carefully scooping it out from the fold, the dark strands of hair clasped in it silken smooth against his skin. “Kili..“ he breathed, the letter falling from numb fingers as he pressed the strand of hair to his lips, feeling tears of fear well in his eyes. A moment later he was pocketing the clasp and the hair, placing it close to his heart, as he ran to saddle his pony for the ride to come. “Don’t worry nadadith… I’m coming.”

He reached up to gently press Fili’s palm against his chest, bandages or not. “Dinna be scared. Just… be my brother, an’husband. Feel free t’tell me stories, too.” The corners of his mouth twitched softly. “What kinda stories would ye tell me, then?” he asked, lightly running his palm over the curve of his brother’s upper arm. “Tell me anything.” As long as it kept both their minds off any feelings of guilt, everything was welcome, after all.

Long ago Fili had acquired a rather large mental library of stories- classics about Durin the Deathless and histories and legends, and others more obscure coming from Elven lore. He tried to avoid telling those in Uncle Thorin’s earshot, though now may be as good a time as any. His fingertips picked nervously at the edges of the bandages poking out over Kili’s collarbone, trying to think of one that had nothing to do with the one-handed elf in so many of those particular stories. He didn’t want Kili to start thinking he’d lose his hand entirely. “Ye’ve already heard all my stories. D'ye want a tragedy or a comedy? Or… we could play a game instead?”

Carefully he leaned his cheek somewhat more against his brother’s shoulder. “Well?” His good hand rested on Fili’s chest, his thumb gently running over the rough fabric of his shirt. “Any suggestions?” He wasn’t particularly able to play chess right now, after all.

Fili stared down at the parchment in his hands, his fingers shaking as he read the simple message, the words looking so innocuous and yet.. how they stabbed into his heart. His fingertips brushed over the silver hairpiece hesitantly, before carefully scooping it out from the fold, the dark strands of hair clasped in it silken smooth against his skin. “Kili..“ he breathed, the letter falling from numb fingers as he pressed the strand of hair to his lips, feeling tears of fear well in his eyes. A moment later he was pocketing the clasp and the hair, placing it close to his heart, as he ran to saddle his pony for the ride to come. “Don’t worry nadadith… I’m coming.”

He reached up to gently press Fili’s palm against his chest, bandages or not. “Dinna be scared. Just… be my brother, an’husband. Feel free t’tell me stories, too.” The corners of his mouth twitched softly. “What kinda stories would ye tell me, then?” he asked, lightly running his palm over the curve of his brother’s upper arm. “Tell me anything.” As long as it kept both their minds off any feelings of guilt, everything was welcome, after all.

Long ago Fili had acquired a rather large mental library of stories- classics about Durin the Deathless and histories and legends, and others more obscure coming from Elven lore. He tried to avoid telling those in Uncle Thorin’s earshot, though now may be as good a time as any. His fingertips picked nervously at the edges of the bandages poking out over Kili’s collarbone, trying to think of one that had nothing to do with the one-handed elf in so many of those particular stories. He didn’t want Kili to start thinking he’d lose his hand entirely. “Ye’ve already heard all my stories. D'ye want a tragedy or a comedy? Or… we could play a game instead?”

Carefully he leaned his cheek somewhat more against his brother’s shoulder. “Well?” His good hand rested on Fili’s chest, his thumb gently running over the rough fabric of his shirt. “Any suggestions?” He wasn’t particularly able to play chess right now, after all.

Fili stared down at the parchment in his hands, his fingers shaking as he read the simple message, the words looking so innocuous and yet.. how they stabbed into his heart. His fingertips brushed over the silver hairpiece hesitantly, before carefully scooping it out from the fold, the dark strands of hair clasped in it silken smooth against his skin. “Kili..“ he breathed, the letter falling from numb fingers as he pressed the strand of hair to his lips, feeling tears of fear well in his eyes. A moment later he was pocketing the clasp and the hair, placing it close to his heart, as he ran to saddle his pony for the ride to come. “Don’t worry nadadith… I’m coming.”

He reached up to gently press Fili’s palm against his chest, bandages or not. “Dinna be scared. Just… be my brother, an’husband. Feel free t’tell me stories, too.” The corners of his mouth twitched softly. “What kinda stories would ye tell me, then?” he asked, lightly running his palm over the curve of his brother’s upper arm. “Tell me anything.” As long as it kept both their minds off any feelings of guilt, everything was welcome, after all.

Long ago Fili had acquired a rather large mental library of stories- classics about Durin the Deathless and histories and legends, and others more obscure coming from Elven lore. He tried to avoid telling those in Uncle Thorin’s earshot, though now may be as good a time as any. His fingertips picked nervously at the edges of the bandages poking out over Kili’s collarbone, trying to think of one that had nothing to do with the one-handed elf in so many of those particular stories. He didn’t want Kili to start thinking he’d lose his hand entirely. “Ye’ve already heard all my stories. D'ye want a tragedy or a comedy? Or… we could play a game instead?”

Carefully he leaned his cheek somewhat more against his brother’s shoulder. “Well?” His good hand rested on Fili’s chest, his thumb gently running over the rough fabric of his shirt. “Any suggestions?” He wasn’t particularly able to play chess right now, after all.

He rested his arms around his brother’s neck, holding him close to kiss him properly, lightly nipping his lower lip. “I also like when ye take care of me like that.” He shifted a bit, his abdomen smoothing against his brother’s hand.

He kissed him back solidly, eager to give whatever else might please his baby brother. Fingers releasing the curls, they slipped down to trace over the heat between Kili’s thighs before wrapping securely around it. “Tell me something I don’t know,” came the quiet request.

Still… “As for the takin’ care… I love how you’re the only one who ever got me to sit still for a while” he noted, the grin returning to his face at that, and he lightly nipped his brother’s lip, “With whatever means necessary, aye?”

Travel across the most special places in the world.

Travel across the most special places in the world.

Jaser, Canada | by Ezra Jeffrey