#botfa au

You Saved Me

Thorin x Warrior!reader

WC: ~3k

warnings: violence, death, it's essentially a botfa re-write so...

a/n: thank you for the request, this was entirely written in a burst of passion at midnight so if they're are any typos I'm sorry, let me know and I'll fix them <3

You were a feared warrior, one with skills you’d been honing since you could walk. Your parents had been killed by an orc pack when you were but a baby and you were taken in by the rangers who found you crying by the bodies of your loved ones. Almost a year ago you were sent a letter by that blasted grey wizard, an invitation, or maybe a plea you weren't sure anymore. Join a company of dwarves on their quest, and keep them safe. That is all he asked of you.

You had tried, you really had tried to keep them safe but when those blasted dwarves took one look at you and decided that there wasn't any possible way you knew anything about fighting, it became difficult. You had several moments where all you wanted to do was clobber them over the head, but you refrained. 

Hello! Thank you so much for requesting, soft (and very much alive) Kili is one of my greatest weaknesses <3. I hope you enjoy~ :)

How does Bilbo do this? 

You cursed yourself between the sharp cramping in your calf and stiffness in your lower back. You had been nestled between this gigantic pillar and statue for at least half an hour now. To your blooming annoyance, your target had yet to show himself in this looming hallway. 

Sneaking around was never your strong suit. In the not too distant days of war, you had preferred the much more upfront approach of dancing with your sword as it carved forward pathways out of orc and goblin alike. At least finding human sized hiding places was relatively easy in the vast halls of the newly rebirthed Erebor. 

Just as you began dreading another muscle seizure, the voice you had longed to hear graced your ears. Peeping around your hiding spot you spied Kili breaking off from Thorin at the grand entryway to the corridor. 

Perfect. 

So, this will likely make its way into my current AU Hobbit universe with the survival of Thorin, Fili and Kili but it's hardly complete. But I felt the desire to write it...

Bag End looked the same but it was not the same. Or rather, Bilbo thought gloomily as he sat amid his armchair, HE was not the same. For good or ill, Gandalf had been right. He had returned from his journey, whole and well but not the same Hobbit as he had been when he left, not by a long shot. He had seen things, done things, experienced things and while he was glad of it, he was not the same. He doubted that he would have wanted to be the same. Thorin now ruled in Erebor, his two sister-sons strong by his side. The mountain thrived and beamed with life. When the first signs of spring had allowed him to return to the Shire, he had seen his first dwarven children arriving with the first of the travelers from the Blue Mountains and his heart had swelled and warmed. Home, yes, home he was again, amid his armchairs, his books, his plants. He had truly missed the feel of a warm fire without the chill of the wind and the sound of chirping birds amid the morning. He had missed the taste of morning tea, sweetened with just a hint of honey. He had missed the feel of his robe, wrapping him tightly amid its warmth. He slumped deeper in the chair, sipping his evening tea slowly. Bag End was quiet, the perfect atmosphere for writing or reading. He felt no desire to do either. Oh, his nights had not been silent in some time. He would spend the time before retiring listening to stories of lore from the dwarves, or laughing at Fili and Kili's antics or perhaps joining in a song with the rest of the Company as they got out their instruments and made merry. Occasionally, on nights that were truly full of joy or when Fili and Kili had applied extra pressure, the King himself would take his hands upon a harp and play, his deep baritone seeming to vibrate within the entire mountain, deep to its core. He laid back, looked up at the ceiling. There was no music here. There would be parties amid the square within a few days but the kind of parties he normally avoided still held no interest. After all, a party was only as good as the people you could mingle with. He would spend more time trying to avoid people than trying to converse. They were not Dwarven parties. Huffing with indignation, Bilbo rose and trotted down to his bedroom. Surely, a night sleep in his own bed would do wonders. Collapsing amid the familiar sheets did little to calm his nerves nor ease the emptiness that settled in his heart and his stomach. He rolled over and listened. Silence. No mutterings down the halls, no slight clanging of a late night watchman trying to be quiet and failing miserably. No light snores coming from the nearby rooms. No half whispered 'just one croissant, Fili, no more, I promise!' just outside his door. It took another moment before the real impact to hit Bilbo and it careened through his heart at a rapid fire. He was lonely. He was back, back at the Shire, back at Bag End but it was no longer home. Home was where your family was and he had none here. Burying his face amid the sheets, Bilbo wept his homesickness to the quiet of his homely smial. He could not go more than ten minutes in Erebor with tears before someone was hounding him, wrapping their arms around him or demanding he join them or "who did it--I'll bury my ax so deep in his skull, Mahal himself will hafta remove it!"

Final Piece

Following my The Durin Line lives setting, Bilbo is staying in Erebor until Spring but instead of longing more for the Shire, he’s starting to feel more at home.

Bagginshield is up to you—platonic or romantic.

—-

If he were to be taken from this world right now, Bilbo was certain he would be at peace.

The cooked snow geese had been divine and he was fairly certain that even his Hobbit stomach would be satisfied well into the evening until the time came for breakfast. Bombur’s spices were applied expertly and the two princes had done well in locating perhaps the largest fowl they could. Their hunting skills were hardly to be teased. Thorin had trained them well and the entire Company, as well as the lingering dwarves continuing to work were ever grateful. Full bellies ensured that hard work would be done the following day.

Bilbo was on his way to his own room for a well-deserved sleep when the laughter from one of the repaired halls caught his ear. Padding down the halls, being careful not to slip on the blasted narrowed walkways, he found the Company scattered about the floor before a roaring fire. Thorin, Dwalin and Balin seated amid chairs, Bofur and Bifur on the hearth itself, Bombur on a separate cushioned chair. Dori and Ori seated on a large lounge as Nori leaned against the wall and Gloin and Oin talking from small stools by Balin’s left side. Sitting on the floor before the fire were Fili and Kili, their wolf pups in their laps.

A sharp twinge cut Bilbo’s heart.

His mother and father used to gather before the fire in much the same fashion, telling stories and songs as the night faded away, especially in the cold witner months. The roaring fire painted the two princes with orange and red as they scratched their pets behind the ears. The laughter from the room was reminiscent of a much simpler time, a time when Bilbo felt he belonged somewhere, when he did not feel quite so isolated and different. The inviting atmosphere of the room was almost overwhelming.

“Hey, Bilbo!” Fili suddenly called and waved. “Come on in! The fire feels amazing!”

Attention drawn to him, the hobbit found himself smiling as Gloin waved towards him as well and Ori called “Please, Bilbo! Join us!”

Taking careful steps inside, he glanced around for a seat before opting to sit beside the princes on the floor near the flames. Kili tugging on his arm to join him likely had little to do with it however.

“Glad you could join us, Bilbo,” Balin smiled “We were simply sharing a collection of stories to drive out the cold of the night. I’m afraid you have missed some of the funnier tales of young Fili and Kili.”

Fili pouted “All the better! Uncle needs to pick on someone else!”

Thorin laughed and blew a smoke ring in good nature “With all the grief you two have given me, I consider it appropriate payback.”

The room erupted into laughter at that point and Dori commented, “Thorin, you know that they get such behaviors from you.”

The King’s response was cut off by Nori suddenly laughing and demanding, “Kili, are you braiding that pup’s fur?”

The young Prince glanced up and corrected “His name is Goldfire, Nori!”

Rolling his eyes, the dwarf countered “Alright, lad, are you braiding Goldfire’s fur?”

Nodding firmly, Kili insisted “He’s a royal hunting pup. He should look the part of the bird killer he is!” His fingers busied themselves again in the slightly long fur among the white furred creature’s back. Goldfire only yawned widely and patiently let his master continue his work, resting his head in the boy’s lap. There was not enough fur to do a long braid but the small little plaits ran the length of the wolf’s spine, from shoulder to tail base. An rather odd look and yet Fili was quick to start to do the same with Shadow’s fur, though the black furred wolf took offense and rolled onto his back and was not satisfied until the golden haired prince had supplied several rubs to his belly.

Dwalin remarked “Fierce hunters, indeed.”

Fili glanced up “Hey, they are! They’re just relaxed right now.”

Kili added “Besides, they don’t have to be on guard. You all aren’t going to do anything and they know it!”

Bilbo spoke up, “So who has who trained? You to them or them to you?”

The two Princes exchanged glances, shrugged and when Shadow whined again, Fili was quick to supply a rub to the creature’s stomach once more to cease his whining.

Thorin snorted and eyed Bilbo, “An excellent question with an obvious answer.”

Laughter broke out and despite the teasing, the gentle ruffle of Kili’s hair by Nori was done with nothing but affection. Bilbo laughed along with the others. A deep hearted, belly laugh. The whole room just felt…right. Whole. Warm. It was a sense of belonging that he had not felt in years. When the chuckling died down, Fili eyed the Hobbit and remarked “Bilbo, your hair’s long enough to braid. You should try it.”

Blinking, Bilbo reached into his curls and pulled one out, measuring the length. It had grown quite extensively. He supposed he should have expected it. After all, the many months on the road and now, the time spend amid the city, he had hardly had time to trim it. Yet, looking around the room at this collection of dwarves, all with some form of braids (even Kili now, though they were short ones near his face) he suddenly felt no desire to, despite what the hobbits at home might have said. Oh, long hair unless you were female was often seen as scruffy looking and uncivilized but he saw nothing uncivilized about this group of folk. This group of strong, honorable…loyal folk.

So, with a smile, he said, “I must admit, I have never done braids for myself. I doubt I could make them look decent.”

Dori spoke out, patting his leg, indicating the spot in front of him, “Do come here then, Bilbo and I’ll handle that!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the hobbit complied and let Dori work his magic. He lost himself amid the feeling, amid the gentle teases about ‘don’t make him look like Fili, we don’t want to scare anyone’ and the stories of drunken escapades that no one was spared from. He lost himself in the feeling of contentedness when the strong meal and fire began to work its magic and Kili began to utilize his uncle’s leg for a pillow. He lost himself amid Ori’s gentle singing at the request of the others. He lost himself amid Dwalin’s loud, boisterous claims of ‘we’ll only need a week before we can do a coronation, mark my works.’ He lost himself amid the deep tone of Thorin reminiscing about the lost days of winter in Erebor and amid Bofur’s songs of stone women and night gems that led lost children home. He lost himself amid this feeling of connectedness, amid the feeling of contentedness.

            Fili caught up to the orc before too long. He wasn’t well fed, despite his size and the battle had left him with some deep wounds. Plus, Fili had come to know these lands so pushing him to an area of land with deep pits and a not quite so frozen water crossing was easier than he had planned. One orc was not about to sacrifice himself needlessly. For all their horrific appearance, the real threat of orcs was their sheer numbers. One on one, a dwarf could easily fall a well-trained black creature. Fili was more than average in sword skill and this orc was obviously more accustomed to a crossbow or another distance weapon. The shape of the muscles in his arms gave away that. All the same, it was important not to be come complicant. Thorin had taught them well that it was overconfidence that killed more of their people than all other causes combined.

            “What are Orcs doing in Erebor’s lands?” Fili finally stated, both swords held upright and threatening. “Your kind is not welcomed here.”

            He didn’t get a response but then, he really didn’t expect one. It wasn’t like their enemies routinely spouted off all their information. He gave the dwarf prince a hiss and bared his pointed yellow teeth instead, along with a word in Black Speech that the Prince was fairly certain was not of a complimentary nature. He approached, side-stepping, to get as close as he could without lowering his own guard. It was a hard situation. Openings were hard to keep closed when there was just one of you! Where was—

            The arrow swishing by his ear and embedding itself directly in the orc’s knee, driving him to the ground, gave Fili his answer. It didn’t take long before his dark haired sibling had taken up stance next to him, another arrow already cocked in his bow, string pulled taut. “You’d best answer us, Mordor Filth.” The younger Prince had never been very diplomatic but in this case, his threats were well deserved. Fili saw the harsh anger in his brother’s eyes and was glad he’d opted to grab his bow and not the sword. An angry Kili made stupid mistakes with his blade. This close, the wind wasn’t so much an issue (he could tell his brother had not been aiming for the knee) though the slowly gathering snow might be before too long.

            Again, silence, answered their demands. The orc was certainly more nervous now though.

            Fili spoke again, “If you’re not going to give us answers then you have no good reason for trespassing in our lands. I doubt I need to tell you that such an action carries a death sentence.”

            Kili angled his bow up, just slightly, “Just give the word, Brother.” He spat. “I’d love an excuse to harpoon his head.”

            Fili paused, gave his brother a ‘wait a moment’ look. After growing up together, they had perfected communicating with no words. While Kili’s face was still contorted with rage, he kept his grip firm on the arrow.

            The standoff lasted only about another three minutes when the orc decided to try and make a move. Tossing his black mace at the two princes, he ducked and attempted to run to the left. He’d underestimated the battle prowess of the young princes.

            Fili caught the swung weapon with his left hand, dropping his own sword and in the same instant, Kili’s arrow left its string, perfectly aimed to skid just past his brother’s nose without cutting him in the least. A twang, a cutting of air and the orc fell to the ground, cold as the gathering snow about them. A clean shot, from the base of the skull to the front of the head.

            “Nice shot,” Fili remarked, dropping the heavy mace, grimacing as he wiped the sweat and grime off on his pants. He could not wait to get home and drench himself in a hot bath. Small as it might be, any residue of orc was stomach turning. He lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder, both out of respect and out of a slightly sadistic sense of if he had to suffer orc slime, so should his brother. His sibling gave a half-smile, half-scowl.

            “Thanks.” Kili adjusted his satchel closer to his body, supporting the bottom with one hand. “Whatta you think? Spy?”

            “No.” Fili remarked and kicked the orc over, looking for some sign. “Don’t think so. Scouting maybe? Though, from where, I’m not sure.” He pointed to the orc’s clothing. “I don’t know these patterns. Not from the mountains.”

            “Balin might know. Or Uncle. Take a piece of it back.” Kili suggested and then shifted his weight, cradling the satchel closer to his body for the second time. Fili took a second look and noted that the satchel was much plumper and rounded than before. Certainly not from the weight of all their scrolls and maps.

            “Kili.” He said pointedly as he took the orc’s patterned belt into his hand, cursing the filth of Mordor under his breath, “What did you do?”

            The younger dwarf grinned sheepishly. “Sorry, Brother. When I was headin’ after you, I tripped and I almost squashed them.”

            “Them?”

            Kili lifted the flap of the satchel and first a black furred then a white-gold colored head popped up, ears alert and noses sniffing.

            Wolf pups. Two of them.

            “Kili, what are you doing?” Fili stated, though he found himself kneeling over and scratching the dark furred one behind the ear. It was small, black as night, with deep brown eyes and a coal black nose. It lifted its ears, slightly, head tilted and responded to the kind gesture of affection with a half whine and a limp lick to the dwarf prince’s hand. They were young, from the looks of it. Not quite young enough to be on milk but young enough. Wolves around the Misty Mountains had pups year round but it was odd to see them so far from a range or forest. “They were with the dead wolf?”

            “No,” Kili remarked, rolling his eyes, “They fell out of the sky with a litter of kittens.”

            Fili set his brother with a glare though he supposed that had been a stupid question.

            “Yeah, they were under the wolf. Looks like there used to be five pups. But those damned orcs…ate the others.” He looked sick to his stomach. “These two musta hid or been under the mother or something because they weren’t touched. They came out when the orcs took off and tripped me. I almost fell on them.” Eyes soft, Kili reached down and stroked the head of the golden furred wolf that leaned into his touch. “So, I wasn’t gonna just leave them there, Fili.” Glancing skyward, he observing the cold onset of snow and he set a firm look on his sibling. “And I won’t just leave them here either.”

            Raising a brow, Fili inquired “So, what do you plan to do? Take them home to Erebor?” Judging by his brother’s determined face, Fili was well aware that such a task was exactly what he planned to do. Why? They both knew that their uncle would absolutely forbid it. Erebor, while stable, was still in the process of being rebuilt. The cold winter months were approaching. Two extra mouths to feed, and ones that may not yet be strong enough to take meat or even milk without aid, were not what their kingdom needed right now.

            Though, the golden haired prince would be a liar if he said the dark furred one was not intriguing him and if he said that he was not trying to brainstorm solutions that would allow them to harbor these pups, he would also be in denial.

            “Well, you did almost convince Uncle when we were kids, remember? If Ma hadn’t come home, Uncle would have said yes to that wolf pup.” Kili remembered that moment with immense clarity. Their mother’s refusal to let them keep the brown furred creature when Thorin had been mere minutes away from saying yes had broken Kili’s heart. It was the only time he remembered screaming at his mother about how mean she was and storming into his room in tears. While he had apologized later for screaming at her, he had refused to speak to her otherwise for nearly three days. Now, with a similar situation at hand but without his mother yet arrived, he may have been a bit conniving to take advantage of it but he could hardly help it. “You remember that, right?”

            “Aye, of course I do.” Fili smirked. “You were a little brat for several days.”

            Pouting indignantly, Kili retorted, “Had right to be. Ma was being unfair.” Reaching into his satchel, Kili pulled the golden furred pup up into his arms and without prompting, Fili did the same with the dark furred one. “See? They like us.” He added “And they look like us! This one is a wolf-you and that one is a wolf me!”

“Just what I need…a version of you with sharp teeth,” Fili snorted though not without a smile.

Sticking out his tongue playfully, Kili shifted, lifting the small canine up to his shoulder, as if he were a baby dwarfling, Fili could see the golden coloring among the white fur, circling the pup’s face and trailing down his back in parallel lines. He supposed if he were to have a wolf form, it likely would have been similar to that. “It reminds me of that special gold Uncle used to talk about…” Kili went on, supporting the pup under the tail which was swishing happily back and forth. “What did Uncle call it?”

            “Fire-Gold.” Fili supplied. “Ma has a necklace made of it.”

            “That’d be a good name for you,” Kili stated to the wolf child. “Firegold!”

            His answer was a yelping sound and a tiny tongue caressing his nose. Smiling, Kili nuzzled the pup’s nose back.

            Sighing heavily, Fili’s thoughts were interrupted by a soft paw padding up at his face. Centering his sight on the pup, he couldn’t stop a similar grin from crossing his own face. The pup was smaller than the other one with dark black fur but brown coloring about the face. Eyes dark as chocolate gazed out at him and the creature gently batted at his face again with their paws, letting out a pathetic whine at the same moment. Fili relented, adjusted his grip on the pup and gently stroked its head. He was rewarded with a soft whimper of pleasure.

            “Come on, Fili.” Kili practically pleaded. “They love us, see?”

            Fili’s heart felt heavy and the longer he both looked at Kili and held this wolf in his arms, he felt that he would hardly be able to release them into the cold of the elements. He would never be able to do it. Not with the way the creature was looking at him, not with the way his brother was laughing so joyfully at the tiny pup’s affections, and not with the pitiful whining the dark furred one in his arms was emitting as it nuzzled its small head up under his chin, seeking comfort in the warmth of his furs and leather.

Another story in my "Durin's Line Endures" AU, a re-write universe of the BOTFA. In this piece, Thorin is finally meeting with the Six Fathers of the other Dwarf families to perform the King Select--the official ritual where the other Six Fathers must give their support for his claim to the throne before they can make it official. While Thorin has gained many followers, he also still have many doubters. His two sister-sons are all too happy to set them straight.

Fili was quite sure that he had never been quite so frightened in all his life.

            The battle outside Erebor had been full of tension and fear but it had been tension and fear that he knew how to tackle. He knew from training with his uncle and Dwalin that you took the anxiety that war generated and molded it to suit your needs. He had done the best he could with that but the fear he felt now was entirely different.

            Taking a deep breath, he let his reflection stare back at him.

            In many ways, he looked the part. Formal but not overwhelming tunic and slacks, hair braided into the symbols of the Line of Durin and his feats as a warrior set amid the firmly set face. He knew that he would not look any better no matter how long he stared. The scars from the battle had healed and their marks would not easily fade.

            He fingered the braid that hung by his face, empty without its mithril bead. While he knew that nothing could be done about it, it still ached his heart each time he saw the empty loose hairs. He hoped, prayed, that they would be able to salvage enough material, of some kind, to recreate it.

            It had been the bead that his Uncle Frerin had left for him after his death and while he had never thought of the implications of it before, the idea that his uncle would not be able to recognize him in Mahal’s Halls without that special bead…it made him weary.

            Turning on his heels, he slipped from his room into his brother’s, slipping through the small connecting hallway. He wasn’t surprised to find Kili flopped face down on the bed, his slacks and undertunic on but his outer shirt and boots flung on the floor. Kili had never been one to hide his emotions and stress reeked off him like a bad fever.

            “Kili, c’mon.” He picked the outer shirt off the ground and gently twapped his brother’s rear with it. “The King Select is going to start soon and I really don’t want to make Uncle any more worried than he already is.”

            After a moment pause, Kili sat up, paused and reached down to scratch Goldfire’s ears where the pup had remained since early that morning. He accepted the tunic from his brother and pulled it over his head. “Do you think the Dwarf Fathers will challenge Uncle?”

            Fili sighed heavily. “I don’t know. The Firebeards are a stubborn lot—“

            “They’ve got no right!” Kili snapped, fumbling with one of his braids. “They don’t know anything about what Uncle did. He’s earned the throne, more than anyone else ever will!” his face was a lovely shade of red and Fili would have not been surprised if steam were to rise from his skull if they’d been caught in the rain outside.

            He spoke the truth though. Fili was glad that he had a younger brother to state what he was thinking. He knew this was tradition, the King Select, but as far as he was concerned, it was the most foolish and wasteful tradition. After all, what did these dwarf families know? They certainly hadn’t thought it necessary to support their Uncle’s claim before the death of Smaug. They had not been here these past few months to watch their Uncle build up from literally nothing. Now, with a lot of the work done, THEY had the right to determine their Uncle’s claim?

            Unfair, all of it but all the same, they needed to support their Uncle, their King, not make it more difficult. “I know that and by the time this silly meeting is over, so will they, Kili.” He added, his voice firm. “We’ll make sure they know it.”

            Frowning still, nerves quite evident in his face, Kili nonetheless nodded and worked, absently, on his left braid. He had done it at least three times already but each time, his nervous fidgeting resulted in more knots than anything. He had never been very good at doing his own braids though he did very well at others’.

            “Here,” Fili took the mithril bead from his sibling and set a foot on the bedframe so he could lean over a bit. “Let me do it.”

            The younger brother reached out, curled his hand over Fili’s. “You should use it, Fili. You’re representing the crown prince. You should use it for yours…” He gestured to the loose braid to his brother’s left side but Fili immediately frowned and shook his head.

            “No. This bead was for you, not me, Kili.”

            “But you’re supposed to be the crown Prince and…”

            “And they can accept that one of my beads was lost on the journey here.” The sharpness to his tone made it clear that they weren’t discussing this anymore.  The loss of Uncle Frerin’s bead was a sore spot and he would not accept his little brother’s. If anyone would be denied the acceptance of Uncle Frerin when their time came to move to Mahal’s Halls, it would be him, not Kili.  

The younger dwarf relented, his fingers falling limp to his lap. The gentle lapping of Goldfire’s tongue on his hand was relaxing, in its own weird way, and he gave the small wolf pup a rub to the head in thanks. As childish as it might have been, he wished that they could bring the wolves into the meeting with them. Whether he wanted that because of the support they would bring them or so they could tell them to eat the other dwarf lords should they speak against their Uncle’s good nature he wasn’t sure.

            “There.” Fili finished with a tightening to the bead and smiled, nervously. “Come on, brother. The last thing we want to do is make Thorin wonder if we decided to come late. He is anxious enough.”

            Nodding, Kili stood and after a moment of scrutinizing one another (they both had forgone the more regal clothing as it was not proper until they were crowned; dark blue tunics with slacks and patterns of the Durin line were sufficient) the two dwarf princes left their chambers, nearly colliding with Balin in the hall. The white haired dwarf merely looked them up and down before giving them a warm smile, “You look the part of the Princes of Erebor, laddies.”

            Fili nodded, his face having taken on the stoic look he had been trained into but Kili simply remarked “Good, because we don’t feel like it. Are they here? Where’s Uncle?” He was talking fast, a trait both he and Fili had when they were unnerved.

            Smiling in what he hoped was a reassuring gaze, Balin replied, “Aye, they are here. Rather surprised us by coming as one group. Bilbo had the foresight to start sending in ale and meats almost as soon as we found a room. Hopefully, that will have loosened some of their attitude. They seemed less gruff when we moved them to the Meeting Rooms.” He answered the second question, “Your Uncle has already gone with Dwalin to gather in the King’s Council Chambers.”

            The two younger dwarves nodded but they said nothing verbally, just started to follow the elder down the hall. This was it. This was what their entire quest was laid upon; as much as they didn’t think tradition was necessary (and indeed, how much most of the dwarves living here thought it superfluous) one of the things that being a ruler meant was having the support of your neighbors. That was what this was for; for their uncle to gain their support. For all the other dwarf families to acknowledge that their Uncle was right to lead them, to unite them, to bind them all together, as the Line of Durin had always done.

            He was right for it but getting stubborn, hard-headed Dwarf Fathers to admit to it was another matter entirely.

            Their walk continued without speech and everyone they passed in the halls would pause and give a bow of encouragement before going back to their work. It was both unnerving and encouraging. Perhaps the Dwarf Fathers had seen the devotion of everyone here, the way that everyone had been looked after, how Thorin had done everything he was capable of doing to provide shelter, food. It was impossible NOT to see it.

            They spied Bilbo, just a hint of him, in the distance, sending in all manner of meats, breads and ale to the gathered dwarves. The scent of Bilbo’s famous sweet meat kabobs was unmistakable. Well, they HAD told Bilbo that a dwarf’s stomach was the key to friendships. Leave it to the clever hobbit to attempt to lighten the tension. They gave him a half wave of appreciation as they passed by.

            Balin occasionally glanced back at the two younger ones who followed him without a peep of their usual mischief. While Fili kept his composure as Thorin had hammered into his head, Kili was not quite as good at it. He was being careful about his posture, his stance but the way he would twist his hands and chew at his lower lip, the nervousness was quite apparent.

            They passed the throne slowly and took the pathway to the right. Both Princes looked over their shoulders at the seat where their Uncle would sit, where he would rule. The spot that he had told them about, how one day they would earn it back and that he would show them to wonder of their bloodline. How he would show them what the Dwarven People were capable of when they were not exiled and pursued.

            The Dwarf Fathers _had_ to see that.

            They had to _make_ them see that.

            “Fili. Kili.”

            Balin’s gentle inquiry shook the two princes out of their deep thoughts. The white bearded dwarf had stopped a few feet ahead, leaving the Chamber Door looming ahead, the seal of the House of Durin stamped into its golden sheen.

            “Balin.” Fili answered the inquiry. The older dwarf had been their mentor in many things and much like Dwalin, had proved more than a teacher but an extended member of the family. The look of seriousness on his face demanded attention and while anxiety practically poured off them both like water, they set their eyes and waited.

            “I won’t lie to you, laddies.” The elder dwarf tried to smile reassuringly, “This is not going to be an easy meeting. Your uncle is not without his allies but he is not without his critics as well.”

Frowning, arms folded over his chest, the dark haired Prince remarked, “They don’t have the right to say anything. They don’t know anything about Uncle. Not what’s important anyway. This is stupid.”

Fili nudged his brother with his elbow “But it _is_ tradition and that’s important to Thorin.” He hissed the name of their uncle with reverence.

“I know, I know…” Kili sighed heavily. “I just wish politics were less complicated.”

Chuckling a little, the elder Fundin brother offered, “Don’t we all, laddie.” He looked from KIli to Fili and back again a few times. “I know that my lessons on etiquette were not the most thrilling to either of you but—“ Balin offered.

            “We’ll remember,” Kili insisted.

            Fili added, “We may not have enjoyed them but we did learn, Balin. Anything we can do to help Uncle, we will.”

            Warmth flooded Balin’s eyes and it spread to his smile behind his beard “Aye, aye, I know you will. Do not take their words to heart, particularly the red bearded one. Ol’ Firebeard will be the hardest on your Uncle.”

            Fili nodded, resisting the urge to roll his eyes “We know, Balin. He showed up a few times when we were kids and I wish we had not. Always showed up, asking Uncle’s time and resources. For someone always showing up and asking for a favor, he was rather full of himself…”

            Snorting, Kili remarked, “Full of himself? He was lulkh.”

            Fili set his brother with a look. “Okay, no argument but I doubt calling him that will exactly win us any points, little brother.”

He pouted but nodded in agreement. “He still is one.”

 The elder prince remarked softly, “Maybe but we can be better than that.” He addressed their elder with a wide smile. “We will win them over with truth, Balin. Nothing else be needed.”

            Kili eyed his brother out of the corner of his eye. “And if they start dragging Uncle’s name through the mud, you’ll stand there and allow it?” He had seen Firebeard once or twice as a child and he had hated the dwarf both times.  

            Teeth clenched at mere thought, Fili retorted, “I will present myself honorably, as will you.” He eyed his younger sibling’s challenging look. “But I make no promises.”

            The King’s advisor shook his head but reminded them, “You two are both strong sons of Durin. The loyalty and ferocity of our forefather burns in you both. You are Princes of Erebor, just as your Uncle is King.” He clasped each of their forearms tight a moment, “All we need do is show it.”

            With that small spark of encouragement, Balin pulled from them, continued the rest of the way to the door and pushed them open.

            The two younger dwarves followed.

            They had seen the room. Thorin had shown it to them when they had begun to renovate the Throne Room but they’d never spent a lot of time in the Council Room. It was a wide open room with a broad table that was split into two half circles, with an elevated stone platform in between the two halves and three chairs on each half. It was where the King Select occurred and when it concluded, the selected would rise to the platform and the six clans would swear their support to him.

            The strongest feature that stood out though was the carvings on the wall. Made of stone and created with all kinds of gems, there were faces of all kinds of Dwarves decorating the room. Past Kings, from Thror all the way back to Durin the Deathless. They circled towards the ceiling where a visage of Mahal gazed down at them.

            It gave weight to the room.

            The spied Thorin right away. He was dressed in the same dark blue that they wore, the colors of Durin’s line, but he had not worn the cloak nor the crown. Simple tunics, slacks, over tunics. Nothing regal about it and the type of look they had always associated with the strong energy of their line. Thorin was not seated but rather stood between the two tables, with the platform opposite him, to his back.

            To his left, sat three dwarven lords and to the right three more. There was ol’ Firebeard, to the far left, looking as disagreeable as always. Fili suspected the old dwarf was incapable of being happy. Every time they saw him when they were little, he had that same look of sourness. The way he looked at Thorin though made Fili hiss through clenched teeth. This was going to be a lot harder than he initially thought.

Dwalin stood to Thorin’s left and while he wasn’t saying anything, you could feel the tension. The bald warrior looked like he was looking for any excuse to clobber one of the bickering Lords.

As the doors closed behind them, Thorin lifted his head and calmness flowed from him.

            “Ah, here they are. Balin, my wisest and most trusted advisor and my two sister-sons!” He offered to the Dwarf Lords, “Fili and Kili, Sons of Durin’s Line.”

            “Sons of Dis and Kalin,” Firebeard corrected Thorin with harshness. “Linked to you through your sister they may be, Thorin but it remains to be seen if we bestow the title of Durin’s Line upon them or you before the day is done.”

            Thorin clenched his jaw. An insult no graver there was. This dwarf meant to imply his sister-sons were not worthy of the blood that flowed through their veins?! Especially after what they had done on this quest? The names they had earned? The feats that would have historians arguing over which moniker to grace them with? Oh, he would like to show him that which he dared insult…