#feelsforfili

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.

Fíli turns at the sound of her footsteps against the stone. The haunted, wild look in his eyes has her pulling him out of public view and into her arms. Then the dam he’s carefully built is absolutely destroyed. His harsh sobs echo around the room and hot tears soak through the shoulder of her dress as they both sink to the floor. Kíli rubs his back and kisses his temple, offering as much comfort as she can.

Eventually, Fíli pulls away. His eyes are now rimmed with red but the wild look seems to be gone.

“He gave me this.” Her brother holds up the King’s ring, which had been Thorin’s ever since Azanulbizar. Now it’s Fíli’s, “He shoved it into my hand and then…”

As his voice begins to give away again, Kíli takes the ring and slides it onto his left middle finger, removing the Heir’s ring from his right one as she does.

“We’ll have to give this to Frerin.” Is all she can say, “And maybe get this one resized…?”

Or just make a new one. Fíli is looking at the ring as though a warg has attached itself to his finger, not a great start for a king.

A knock on the door has them stumbling to their feet; Fíli quickly wiping his eyes and Kíli grabbing a wrap to hide the damp patch on her shoulder.

Dwalin steps into the room hesitantly, bowing low when he sees them both.

“The lords are ready to meet with you – yer Graces.”

Kíli takes her brother’s hand, gently encouraging him to make to long walk (that feels even longer now) to the informal throne room.

If the new king is shaking as he addresses the lords for the first time – nobody is stupid enough to mention it. 

  Two months seem to fly past but also drag. Fíli is content to disappear whenever he's not needed and nobody - not even Kíli - knows where he is. It causes the lords to whisper about how he’s not ready. Balin tells her one night during their nightly meetings in the parlour of the King’s rooms.

“They say that Dáin should take the throne instead.” The elder says quietly, pouring them both more wine.

“Dáin wouldn’t,” Kíli points out, “But Stonehelm might.”

“Aye.” Balin agrees, thoughts of Dáin’s son making the mood even grimmer.

“Fíli will be a good King.” The woman insists, glancing over at the door leading to their new room.

“Especially with you as his Queen.”

  On the day of their coronation, Kíli is being laced into her new dress when Fíli comes into the parlour. He’s wearing a long blue robe that had a large fur collar reminiscent of the one on Thorin’s coat, a black tunic and sharovary as well as a silvered chest plate that’s been polished ‘til it shines.

“You look beautiful.” He tells her quietly after the maids have been dismissed. Kíli cups his cheek, trying her best to be comforting.

“You look like a king.” She replies, fingers curling around his ear.

Grief clouds over Fíli’s face, a sight that the woman has come all to familiar with nowadays.

“I can’t be king.” He confesses, “I can’t be like Thorin…I doubt I can lead men into battle, I won’t be able to control the lords.”

“Yes you will.” Kíli insists, “It’s not about being like Thorin. This is your reign Fee. Be yourself and the people will love you for it.” She ducks her head to catch his eye, “And I’ll be right beside you.”

Fíli smiles brightly.

“I’m glad for that atamanel.”

  Fíli kneels before the throne (the large one that has the Arkenstone atop it) listening to the chanting that echoes around the hall. The High Priest is asking him questions that have an obvious answer. The crown suddenly settles on his brow…and it doesn’t feel as heavy as he’d been fearing. When he stands and turns around he sees his people (and they truly are his people now) cheering (because Durin’s line remains unbroken), he sees Thranduil acting as though all of this is completely beneath me and Bard’s family cheering along with the rest; Tilda’s actually jumping up and down in excitement.

And Kíli’s stood there, smiling at him as though he’s the greatest thing she’s ever seen.

And for now (if only now) he feels confident in himself. The court factions may be moving against him (not that they’d admit it) and rumours of dark forces are springing up again, but for now he’s at peace with himself.