#fili fluff

You sat up, blinking, half-expecting the illusion to shatter like a dream. But it stayed: sunshine filtered through sheer curtains, delicate and golden. The travel-worn pack you’d carried since Bree was nowhere in sight—someone must have taken it to be cleaned. Your clothes—the ones that had stubbornly collected dust and grime no matter how often you brushed them out—were also gone.

You slipped out of bed, feeling strangely small among the elven-made furniture, and opened the door. An elf waited—graceful, serene, impossibly composed. They smiled softly, as if they'd been expecting you.

“Come,” they said. “The baths are ready. Lord Elrond thought you might enjoy a moment of peace.”

Peace. The word alone nearly brought tears to your eyes.

---

Steam curled through the bathing chamber like mist over a lake. Warm water lapped at your skin, washing away days of exhaustion. You sank deeper, eyes closing, and for once, there was no need to keep tension in your shoulders, no need to stay ready to run or fight or catch up.

Just… breathe.

It felt selfish, almost, to let yourself enjoy it when the journey ahead remained dangerous. But you’d never been pampered before—never had the luxury of gentleness. You tried not to imagine what the dwarves would say if they saw this. Well… some of them. You could already hear Bofur laughing kindly, and Dwalin grumbling that it made you soft.

But Fíli… You didn’t know. He was always difficult to predict.

He’d been kind to you. Respectful. Protective in his own way, though he never said so outright. He treated your height as a logistical consideration rather than a joke—walking beside you on steep paths, offering a steadying hand without comment. He never laughed when you lagged; he slowed his pace.

Still, you doubted he—or any of them—had ever pictured you looking like anything other than the road-worn stray who had stumbled into their quest. You weren’t sure you pictured yourself as anything else.

When you stepped from the bath, the elves had prepared clothing. Not extravagant—just… beautiful. Soft fabric in colors that reminded you of twilight, fitted to your shape with the kind of care that said 'you deserve this' . They braided your hair with gentle fingers, twisting it in patterns that mirrored the starlit motifs in Rivendell’s carvings.

You caught sight of yourself in a polished mirror.

Clean. Presentable. Almost elegant.

You barely recognized yourself.

“You look lovely,” an elf murmured.

“…Do I?” Your voice sounded small.

“There is more strength in beauty than most believe. Wear it proudly.”

---

Back in the halls, you found the dwarves gathered—voices loud enough to echo off the delicate arches. They looked comically out of place in this refined sanctuary, like a troupe of boisterous thunderclouds in a landscape of moonlight.

Bofur saw you first. His eyebrows shot up.

“Well now! Don’t you scrub up nice!”

Several heads turned. But one reaction mattered more.

Fíli stood near the balustrade, hair shining in the morning light, blades strapped to his back even here among the peace. He laughed at something Kíli said, but the sound faded as his gaze drifted across the room—landed on you—and stopped.

His smile stilled. His breath hitched. For a heartbeat, he just stared.

Not in shock.

In awe.

You froze, unsure what to do with his attention. His eyes traveled over the new braidwork in your hair, the fabric that fit just so, the shift in how you carried yourself now that you didn’t feel like a burden or an afterthought. Something softened in his face, melting all the lines that battle had carved there.

Kíli elbowed him lightly. “Brother? You look like a trout that’s forgotten how to swim.”

Fíli blinked, swatted him away, and stepped toward you. Slowly. Carefully. As though approaching a wild creature he didn’t want to scare off.

“You…” His voice failed for a moment. He cleared his throat. “You look—different.”

You curled your hands together, suddenly shy. “Is… that bad?”

“No!” His answer was immediate, too quick, like he couldn’t allow the possibility to exist. He tried again, gentler. “No. It’s… good. It suits you.”

You ducked your head, heart tripping. “The elves insisted.”

“Well.” His lips quirked, warmth returning to his voice. “I might have to thank them.”

Before you could think of a reply, Thorin barked orders from across the space, calling everyone to prepare for counsel. The others shuffled off, but Fíli stayed a moment longer—as though unwilling to break the moment.

He hesitated, then offered his arm. Not because he thought you needed help. But because he wanted you to know you deserved to walk beside him.

“May I?” he asked.

You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, surprised at how natural it felt.

“Yes,” you breathed. “You may.”

As you walked with him, you caught him glancing at you from the corner of his eye. Like he was memorizing this version of you—clean, confident, comfortable—and trying to reconcile it with the person he’d known on the road.

Not replacing one with the other.

Just… adjusting the picture in his head. Adding to it.

The council chamber of Rivendell felt like a place carved out of a dream—open air, carved stone, sunlight filtering through the leaves. The sound of conversation echoed like distant music, elves and dwarves and humans speaking in cautious diplomacy.

You stood with the company, hands clasped in front of you, trying not to fidget. You weren’t technically a member of the council. You weren’t royalty or a warrior of renown. You were just… you. The curious little traveler who had stumbled into a quest larger than herself.

But Fíli never moved far from your side. It was subtle—he didn’t stand in front of you like a guard, but beside you as though sharing his space was the most natural thing in the world. Every time someone jostled too close, he shifted, placing himself between you and them without drawing attention to the gesture.

You didn’t think he noticed he was doing it.

You did.

Thorin spoke with Elrond at length, their words heavy with duty and the weight of kingdoms, and you tried to listen. But your mind drifted—not from boredom, but because you could feel Fíli watching you. Not constantly. Not in a way that demanded anything. Just… glances. Checking in. A flicker of concern, like he expected you to vanish if he blinked too long.

At one point he leaned close—not touching, but near enough that his voice reached you alone.

“Are you all right?” he murmured.

“Yes,” you whispered back. “Why do you ask?”

He hesitated. Then: “You seem… quieter than usual.”

A small laugh escaped you. “I’m trying not to embarrass anyone.”

“If anyone here is embarrassed by you,” he said softly, “it would be their mistake, not yours.”

He said it with such conviction that it startled you. You turned to reply, but the council reached a point of tension—a raised voice here, an objection there—and the moment fell away.

Still, the warmth lingered.

When the council finally dispersed, the company filtered into the gardens, each dwarf settling into their own way of coping with the clash of politics and prophecy. The air smelled like rain on stone and pine needles warming in the sun.

You found yourself alone for the first time since morning. Or so you thought.

Fíli found you before long.

He approached slowly, bootsteps soft on the grass. Not hesitant—but careful, like he respected your space. You sat on a low stone bench overlooking the waterfall, and he stopped just short of joining you.

“May I sit?” he asked.

You nodded.

He dropped down beside you, elbows on his knees, staring out at the falls. His braids gleamed like gold wire in the sun. Silence settled—not heavy, just there, like a comfortable blanket neither of you needed to shake off.

“You look like you belong here,” he said at last.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“In this place. All of this—” He gestured at the archways, the gardens, the gentle breeze lifting the leaves. “It suits you. More than the dust and danger and sleeping on rocks.”

You smiled, a little embarrassed. “I thought you’d say it made me look out of place. Like a stray dog someone brushed and put a ribbon on.”

His brows drew together, expression sharp and offended. “I would never say that.”

The fierceness of his voice surprised you. He turned to look at you fully, gaze steady and unguarded.

“You are not a stray. You chose this road. You walk it with us. That makes you part of the company—no matter how you’re dressed.”

It was rare to hear him talk like that. Fíli laughed easily, teased easily, fought bravely—but this direct honesty was something else. A glimpse beneath the confident exterior.

“And besides,” he added more quietly, “I think you look… well. Wonderful.”

Your heartbeat stuttered.

You turned away before he could see your expression, but he noticed anyway. You could hear it in the soft laugh he tried—and failed—to hide.

A short while later, Kíli called from across the garden, waving both arms like a child trying to signal a ship.

“Fíli! Come on! Spar with me before Thorin starts lecturing us again!”

Fíli groaned. “If he disapproves of seeing us fight, imagine how he’ll react to knowing we were avoiding him.”

Kíli shouted something about honor and blades and "stop stalling, brother!"

Fíli didn’t stand. Not yet. His fingers brushed the stone bench, just beside your hand. Not touching, but close enough to feel the possibility of it.

“I’ll see you at supper?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said, finding your voice. “I’d like that.”

His smile was brighter than the midday light.

He stood, took a few steps, then paused and looked back once more—as if committing you, clean and braided and unburdened, to memory.

Kíli tugged him away, laughing.

The moment remained.

Dinner was a lively affair. The elves were patient hosts; the dwarves were loud guests; you were somewhere in between, trying not to spill anything. After hours of travel rations and woodland scrap meals, real food felt like luxury.

Bofur leaned across the table with a wink. “So. About this little transformation of yours…”

You sighed, bracing.

He grinned. “I approve! Always said you had a spark to you. Now look at you—proving me right!”

You laughed, tension easing. “I think I just needed a bath.”

“A bath?!” Dwalin barked. “That’s all it took?”

Nori smirked. “We should throw half this company into the water, see if we get miracles.”

Fíli, you noticed, said nothing. He ate quietly, though his gaze lifted to you more often than he looked at his plate. When he did speak, it was only to agree with whatever compliment the others offered—not to repeat it, but to confirm it, as if speaking of a fact rather than an opinion.

At one point, when the table’s energy was high and no one was watching, his hand brushed yours beneath the table. Not an accident. Just the barest, tentative touch.

Enough to ask a question wordlessly.

You answered by not pulling away.

He stilled, as though that small contact meant more than any spoken declaration.

You wondered if it did.

By the time dinner ended, laughter chasing the lantern light up toward the carved ceilings, you felt… different. Not because of the dress. Not because of the braids.

Because you weren’t invisible. Not to them. Not to him.

On your way back to your room, quiet halls stretching long and starlit, you heard footsteps hurrying behind you.

Fíli.

He slowed when he reached you. Hands behind his back. Biting back nerves.

“I—uh—I wanted to ask you something,” he began, stumbling over the words like they were unfamiliar terrain. “Tomorrow, before we leave… would you walk the gardens with me? Just us? There’s something I’d like to say away from the others.”

Your breath caught.

Was this—?

You swallowed. “Yes, Fíli. I’d like that. Very much.”

He exhaled, relief flickering across his face like sunrise.

“Good. Then I’ll meet you here. In the morning.”

He hesitated, as if debating something.

Then, gently—so gently—he bowed his head toward you. Not a formal dwarven bow, not quite. Something smaller. For you alone.

“Sleep well,” he said.

You wondered, as he walked away, if your heart would ever return to a normal rhythm again.

Morning in Rivendell felt like waking inside a held breath—soft, suspended, waiting. Cool air drifted through the corridors in gentle drafts, carrying the scent of pine and distant rivers. You dressed in the elven-made clothes again, not out of vanity, but because they felt like armor made of comfort instead of metal. Like proof that you could be something other than survival and dust.

When you stepped into the hall, Fíli was already there.

He stood with his back turned, hands behind him, rocking slightly on his heels the way he did when nerves nipped at the edges of his confidence. His hair was freshly braided, beads catching flashes of gold in the early light. For a moment, he didn’t notice you.

Then he turned—and froze exactly the way he had the day before.

“Good morning,” you said softly.

Fíli blinked, recovered, and bowed his head in greeting. “Morning. You… well. You look ready for the day.”

“I hope I am,” you murmured. “Though I admit I haven’t walked anywhere yet. I might trip the moment we step outside.”

His grin appeared—quick, bright, unguarded. “If you fall, I’ll catch you.”

He said it easily, like a promise already made.

You walked together through Rivendell’s gardens. The path wound past fountains and carved bridges, through clusters of flowers that looked like they’d grown from music rather than soil. For a time, silence filled the space between you—not sharp, not awkward. Just there, like a companion.

Fíli broke it first.

“I used to think of you as—” He paused, reconsidering. “Someone the road changed. Someone who needed it.”

You swallowed. “And now?”

“And now,” he said slowly, “I see there was more to you the whole time. Not hidden. Just… waiting for room to breathe.”

The words hit harder than he probably meant them to. They felt like being seen—truly seen—in a way that was frightening and comforting all at once.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever had room before,” you admitted.

“Well,” he said, voice warm, “I hope this journey leaves space for you. Even when it’s difficult. Especially then.”

He glanced down at you, expression softer than the mist curling off the waterfalls.

“You deserve that much.”

You reached a quiet alcove where the stone railing overlooked the valley. Birds wheeled high above the water, their calls echoing like distant bells.

Fíli stopped walking. His boots scuffed lightly against the stone. You turned to face him.

He looked nervous. Not frightened, but uncertain—like someone stepping toward the edge of something important.

“I asked you to walk with me because there’s something I wanted to say,” he began. “Something I’ve been trying to find the right words for.”

You nodded, encouraging.

He exhaled.

“When you joined us, I thought you might turn back. I thought you were… fragile.” His face twisted with frustration. “That was wrong. You’ve held your own through everything we’ve faced. Longer marches than you should have had to endure. Nights without rest. Storms. Goblins. The things most of us have trained for, you survived through will alone.”

You opened your mouth, but he raised a hand—not to silence you, but to finish his thought before courage escaped him.

“But even then, I only saw how strong you were because the world made you be. I didn’t understand that strength can be quiet. That it can look like gentleness. Like patience. Like choosing kindness when you’re cold and tired and scared. I never thought that was less than steel.” His gaze was steady, earnest. “Now I think it might be more.”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t retreat into humor or bravado.

“I’m glad Rivendell gave you a chance to feel comfortable. To rest. To feel… like yourself.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t know I could.”

“You can,” he said. “And I hope you will. Even after we leave here. Even when it’s hard.”

He stepped closer—not invading, just offering.

“And I hope—if you want—it doesn’t have to be something you face alone.”

The breath you released trembled.

“Fíli,” you whispered, unsure how to gather everything you felt into one sentence. “I don’t know what to say.. ”

He smiled sadly. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed you to know.”

He reached into his coat, hesitating only briefly, and withdrew something wrapped in cloth. He offered it, palm open.

“For you.”

You unfolded the cloth carefully. Inside was a small charm—a simple piece of worked metal shaped like a knot of three interlocking lines. Dwarven craft. Not ornamental. Not expensive. But personal. Something someone made with intention.

“It’s.. a traveler’s token,” Fíli said quietly. “From the Blue Mountains. Kíli and I were given matching ones when we came of age. I… well. I traded a bit with one of Elrond’s smiths to make a third.”

“You made this?” you breathed.

His ears went pink. “I helped. Somewhat. I held the metal and got very specific and very annoying about the engraving.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it—warm and helpless.

You lifted the charm. It felt solid in your hand. Safe.

“Fíli,” you said, voice shaking in the softest way, “I… don’t know what this means.”

He swallowed. “It can mean nothing. If that’s what you want. Just a token for luck.” Then, quieter:

“Or it can mean you’re not walking the world alone. That someone is choosing to share the road with you.”

You looked up. He held your gaze, nervous but unflinching.

“It doesn’t have to mean more than that,” he added. “Not until you want it to.”

Your heart felt like a small, trembling animal learning it could uncurl. Slowly. Carefully.

“I want it to,” you whispered.

Fíli’s breath caught. “You do?”

You nodded. “I don’t know what comes next. But… yes. I want that.”

Something in his expression went soft at the edges, like molten metal cooling into something strong.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said.

He carefully reached for your hand—pausing long enough to give you room to pull away. When you didn’t, his fingers laced with yours slowly, reverently. Like he’d been waiting a long time for permission.

His palm was warm. Calloused from training. Steady.

You stood there with him, overlooking Rivendell, and for the first time the journey ahead didn’t feel like a cliff you were about to fall from. It felt like a road.

One you didn’t have to walk alone.

Eventually, voices rose from the courtyard—a sign that the company was gathering. The moment had to end. The road was calling again.

Fíli squeezed your hand once before letting go.

“We should join the others,” he said. “Before they come looking.”

“They would,” you replied. “Some loudly.”

He laughed. “Kíli most loudly of all.”

You started down the path, but Fíli paused. You looked back at him.

“One more thing,” he said, voice low. “When I saw you in those clothes yesterday… I didn’t think you looked like someone changed by elves.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“I thought you finally looked like someone who remembered she deserved care.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Words wouldn’t fit past the feeling in your chest.

Instead, you reached out and took his hand again.

This time he didn’t let go.

Packing to leave Rivendell felt different than arriving. On the way in, you had been dust, exhaustion, and the thin edge of hope. On the way out, you were still all those things—but now wrapped in something gentler. Something chosen.

Dwarves packed loudly, of course. Armor rang like bells. Boots thudded. Voices ricocheted down elegant corridors never meant for so much clamor. The elves bore it all with a kind of resigned serenity that was very nearly admirable.

You tightened the straps on your bag—a clean bag now, mended by skilled hands—and adjusted the little token Fíli had given you. You wore it tucked beneath your clothing, close enough to feel when you breathed. Not a secret, but not a spectacle. A promise in progress.

Fíli found you as the last of the company filtered out to the courtyard. He didn’t swoop in or hover; he just stepped beside you like it was the place he was always meant to stand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I think so,” you answered. “Ask me again when my feet hit the road.”

He chuckled. “If they slip, I’ll catch you.”

You snorted. “At this point I’m starting to think you want me to fall, just to prove your reflexes.”

His eyes sparked with mischief. “If I did, would it work?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Worth a try,” he murmured, smiling.

In the courtyard, the company gathered. Thorin spoke with Elrond, voice low with the gravity of future choices. Kíli practiced restless footwork with his bow, unable to stand still for more than two breaths. Bofur hummed something cheerful and off-key. It all felt familiar now—reassuring in its chaos.

You stepped forward to join them, but before you crossed the last few paces, Fíli reached out, fingers brushing your sleeve.

“May I walk beside you today?” he asked quietly.

It was the carefulness in the question that undid you. Not possession. Not assumption. Choice.

“Yes,” you said, steady and sure. “I want you to.”

His expression warmed, like sunrise finding a window.

Then Kíli appeared at his brother’s shoulder with the subtlety of a falling tree..

“So!” he declared, clasping his hands behind his back like an innocent man. “Anything interesting happen on your morning walk?”

Fíli froze. You froze. Kíli’s grin widened like a child discovering contraband sweets.

“No?” he continued. “Nothing at all? Not even, say… emotional revelations? Promises of shared futures? A quiet moment on a balcony overlooking the waterfalls?”

Fíli groaned. “Kíli.”

“What?” Kíli asked, eyes bright. “Just trying to spark conversation. I’m making memories here.”

“You weren’t there,” Fíli pointed out.

“Not physically,” Kíli agreed. “But spiritually? I was absolutely there. Watching. Cheering.”

You pressed a hand over your face. “I’m going to start falling on purpose and see if I can take you with me.”

Kíli gasped. “You wound me! And so soon after I gave my blessing—”

“You didn’t,” Fíli muttered.

“I did in my heart,” Kíli countered. “And that’s what matters.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. It broke whatever tension lingered, and Fíli’s shoulders eased. He looked at you—really looked—and his smile turned into something small and private.

The road from Rivendell curved along the cliffs. The air was crisp, the world sunlit and wide. And though you were back on uneven ground with a pack tugging at your shoulders, it didn’t feel like returning to hardship.

Fíli stayed beside you, matching your tempo without fanfare. Not slowing down so you wouldn’t be left behind—simply choosing to walk with you.

“So,” he said, voice low enough not to carry. “When we reach camp tonight—there’s something I wanted to ask. Nothing heavy,” he added quickly. “Just… something.”

“Should I be worried?” you teased.

“Probably,” he said gravely. “I’ve been thinking.”

You gasped. “Dangerous.”

“The deadliest of all my activities.”

Your shoulders brushed as you walked. The contact lingered—a small spark of awareness in the air. Not urgent. Not demanding. Just a steady warmth.

You wondered if anyone else noticed.

They did.

About an hour after setting out, Bofur fell into step behind you like a man casually not-being-subtle.

“So,” he began.

“So?” you echoed.

He nodded toward Fíli’s back. “Our princeling seems rather… attentive today.”

Fíli heard his name and tensed like a startled deer, but didn’t turn around.

You cleared your throat. “He’s just being polite.”

Bofur snorted. “Lass, that lad’s been polite since the day we met. This is different. This is the sort of polite that’s practically holdin’ a banner sayin’ ‘look at me, I care.’”

Fíli tripped. Just slightly. He recovered immediately and pretended he hadn’t.

You tried not to laugh. “Bofur, it’s fine. We’re just—figuring things out.”

“Aye,” Bofur said. “I know. Just wanted to say: if it ends with you lettin’ him braid some of ya' hair, we'll pretend not to see. Fo' a while at least.”

Fíli made a noise of despair.

You smiled. “Thank you.”

“What are uncles for?” Bofur replied.

“You’re not my uncle,” Fíli muttered.

“Spiritual uncle,” Bofur corrected.

Kíli shouted from ahead, “Spiritual uncles can give blessings too!”

“No they cannot!” Fíli shouted back.

When you finally stopped for the evening, the world glowed with dying sunlight. A clearing opened by the river, and the company set about making camp.

Fíli approached you once more.

“Would you sit with me?” he asked. “Just for a moment.”

You nodded. You found a fallen log overlooking the water, away from the bustle. The river shimmered with the last of the light, the sound of it like a lullaby.

Fíli sat close—not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating through the space between you. He fiddled with his hands, searching for words.

“I know the road ahead is dangerous,” he said. “And I know there are no guarantees. For any of us.” His gaze flicked to you. “But if there is room on that road for something good—for a reason to hope—then I want to make space for it.”

Your heart slowed, not with fear, but clarity.

“What are you asking?” you murmured.

He swallowed. “I’m asking if it would be all right… if I stayed by your side. Not because you need me. Not so I can protect you or worry over you. Just because I want to.”

You breathed in. Out.

“Fíli,” you said softly, “you’re already there.”

He blinked, uncertainty cracking.

“I want you beside me,” you continued. “Not as a guard. Not as a prince. Just… as you.”

Silence. Then a slow exhale. Like he’d been holding his breath since the moment you left Rivendell.

He reached for your hand again. This time, when your fingers laced, it was certain. Not tentative. Not hesitant.

Chosen.

Fíli leaned just slightly toward you. Not asking for a kiss. Not assuming one. Just sharing the same space, the same air, the same moment.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted quietly.

“Neither have I,” you said.

“Good,” he whispered. “Then we can learn together, " he said, fingers already in your hair, playing with it absentmindedly.

As night settled, the company gathered around the fire. Kíli clocked the hand-holding immediately, elbowed Bofur, and both looked delighted. Thorin noticed next. His eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in assessment. After a long moment, he inclined his head once, almost imperceptibly.

Permission.

Respect.

Maybe even approval.

No one made a spectacle of it. No one teased loudly. The world didn’t stop and point. Life just… continued. With Fíli’s hand in yours and the token resting against your heart.

The journey ahead was still long. Still frightening. Still uncertain.

But now, for the first time, the road felt like something you could survive.

Not alone.

Never alone again.

Night fell in quiet layers—soft darkness, crackling firelight, the hush of the river threading through the trees. The company settled in around the flames, each dwarf finding a comfortable sprawl of bedrolls and cloaks, the subtle sounds of sharpening blades and murmured conversation fading into the rhythm of sleep.

Fíli sat beside you, close enough for warmth but far enough to give you a choice. He always seemed to give you choices.

“You should sleep,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “You first. I’ll take the watch.”

“You had the last watch.”

“I don’t mind,” he said, gaze drifting toward the darkness beyond the trees. “There’s a peace here tonight. I’d rather keep it than hand it off.”

You wrapped your blanket around your shoulders and settled on your bedroll. The air held a lingering chill, curling around your ankles and wrists the way night air always did on the road—sharp enough to bite. You lay still, trying to get comfortable, trying not to shiver.

It didn’t escape him.

Without a word, Fíli slid his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over you. The fabric smelled faintly of travel and metal and the campfires of a hundred nights before this one.

“Fíli,” you whispered, “you’ll freeze.”

“I’ll live,” he said simply. Then, after a beat: “But if you don’t take it, that would be a different story.”

You hesitated. He lowered himself beside you, not under the blanket, just near enough that his presence reached you like a hearth’s heat.

“Is this all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” you said. And it was. It truly was.

He lay back, hands behind his head, eyes on the stars peeking through the canopy overhead. For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The fire crackled. Someone snored. Someone else muttered in their sleep about food.

It felt normal. It felt like belonging.

Fíli’s voice eventually broke the quiet, soft enough that only you could hear.

“There’s a saying in our language,” he murmured. “A dwarven phrase I grew up with. My mother used to tell us before long journeys.”

You turned your head to look at him. “What does it mean?”

He hesitated, then spoke the words in Dwarvish. "Baruz-kadad amrukh farn.”

They rolled like mountain stone, warm and deep and old.

“It means,” he translated slowly, “may your steps find a road that welcomes you back.”

You felt the weight of it settle in your chest—not heavy, but rooted. A blessing, not a prayer.

“Is that what you wish for me?” you asked.

Fíli turned his head then, eyes finding yours in the dim firelight. “No,” he answered. “Not just that.”

He shifted, bracing himself on one elbow, leaning just slightly closer—not enough to trap you, only enough to make the moment real.

“I wish,” he said, voice steady but threaded with something vulnerable, “to be someone that road leads back to.”

Your breath caught. He waited. Not demanding. Not expecting. Just waiting in the space between question and answer.

You reached out, fingers brushing his—the barest touch, like testing the edge of dawn. He didn’t move except to turn his hand so your fingers could slide into his. It felt like choosing something. Not a story. Not a dream.

A future.

“I hope it does,” you whispered. “I hope it leads to you.”

Something in him loosened—tension melting away as if it had been waiting for that single sentence. He lowered his forehead to yours, not quite a kiss, not quite a bow. Just contact. Just closeness. A promise made in silence.

“I’ll walk with you,” he murmured. “As long as you’ll have me.”

You squeezed his hand. “Then stay.”

He laid back down beside you, closer this time, sharing the blanket. Not wrapping around you, not overtaking your space—just a warm line of presence at your side, solid and reassuring.

The river sang. The fire dimmed. The stars held their breath.

And as sleep pulled you under, the last thing you felt was Fíli’s thumb brushing the back of your hand—once, like punctuation. A quiet vow in the language of touch.

Not a beginning.

A continuation.

Together.

"He was fussing," Fili simply said, finding his spot once more. It was still late at night. Many hours would have to pass before morning would greet Middle-earth.

"Fussing?" you repeated, looking at the little boy now clinging to your side. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. "Wake me next time," you told your husband, resting your cheek on top of the babe's. "I can get him."

Fili raised a brow. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I do believe I'm quite capable," he said. "Besides, I had no intention of waking you. It's his fault."

Fili poked the little boy's soft side, earning a bout of giggles from him. The boy hid his face in your embrace, wriggling away from his father.

You let out a soft laugh, holding him close.

"I appreciate it," you softly said, eyes flickering up to Fili's.

He leaned forward once more, this time pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Sleep. Uncle wants us with him in the morning."

You let out a hum of acknowledgement, unable to stop your eyes from fluttering shut once more. You did not see as Fili watched you and his babe fall asleep once more, comforted by the sheer presence of one another.

He had the world right here, in these stone walls.

You aided the throne, and it helped that the dwarves who sat upon it were like family. You would die for the line of Durin, you’d kill for them. 

So when you saw those idiot men, full charge on the back of a ram up to Ravenhill and directly into danger you pushed yourself harder than you ever had to get to them in time. You ran up the incline, slashing at any foe in your way. Your mind clear of all except your goal, to get to him, to protect him, to hold him in your arms.

The number of enemies thins out as you reach the top, only a few orcs stay near to the tower and they are taken out easily. You push yourself harder.

Finally, with shaking hands and cuts on your fingers from the jagged rocky edge, you rise above the summit and haul yourself into a standing position, quickly spinning and taking stock of what awaited you.

Thorin, Dwalin, Kili, and Fili are standing in a huddle near the center of the ice. Thorin gives commands and the others nod before splitting off.

Splitting off?! What kind of daft idea is that? You shake your head and scoff under your breath before once again launching into a run to meet up with your beloved and his brother. 

Quietly you slip into the stone structure behind them following the princes as they make their way up the semi-exposed stairway.

You only speak up when Fili utters his ridiculous plan about splitting up even further, you tell him as such.

“That is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard you say out loud, amralime.” Both princes make their best impressions of spinning tops and snap their gaze to your slightly amused one. “Three is better than one in all scenarios, we shall go together and give ourselves a fighting chance.” Your tone left no room for discussion and you motioned for the boys to continue onwards. 

The princes in all their chivalry sandwiched you, Fili in front of you, and Kili behind, all three of your heads were on a swivel. It wasn’t until you almost reached the top that you motioned for your little party to stop and listen.

You didn’t understand black speech but you knew what it sounded like, and though it was soft you could hear a conversation occurring on the other side of the wall you were hiding behind. 

You shift slightly, going to whisper the plan to your companions but before you can the brothers have managed to have what you can only assume was an idiotic silent conversation sealed with a singular nod at each other.

Because one moment, they are crouched behind the wall with you, and the next they are letting out a battle cry and rushing over the wall and directly into unknown danger. You’d take the time to roll your eyes and bang your head against the rock if you had the time. However, you need to jump into action, so you do.

Launching yourself over the wall only moments after the brothers, your eyes lock onto their fight immediately. Four or five orcs, all armored and armed to the tooth tower over the dwarf princes and slash at them from all angles. 

You run through the empty space whenever you see it slashing the sides that the orcs leave open and decapitating them whenever given the chance. Together you take down three before you hear a shout from Kili and the movement around you freezes.

You also freeze when your eyes land on the sight of your lover and future husband in the grasp of Azog the Defilier. He dangles Fili over the edge and speaks loudly down to whoever is standing below. 

You do not hesitate before acting, taking too long lunges and readying your sword you launch yourself at the back of the pale orc, fully sheathing your sword into the space where his heart should be and pushing both of you off the side of the wall face. 

If you had given this plan any thought at all you would’ve deemed it as idiotic as the plans the men had made, but all you saw in that moment was the life of the dwarf you loved, in danger. You acted swiftly and without thought and it could very well cost you your own life. 

You watch as Azog’s grip on Fili loosens and the dwarf is released from his grasp, falling oolong side you and into the snow piled at the bottom of the wall. A fall that will surely bruise him but he would survive and that is all that matters.

Nobody tells you how it feels to fall to your death, it must only take seconds, and yet it feels like a lifetime. An entire lifetime rushing past you, the wind blowing through your hair, and the view blurring out of focus. Eventually, like all things that fall you reach the ground.

You are not fortunate like Fili to land in a snowbank, instead, you land atop the body of an Orc, your head crashing against the ice as you try to roll off of him. 

The orc is unmoving next to you as you stare into the sky above you, your breathing is labored and your vision is growing dim. 

Is this what it feels like to die?

You see Fili’s concerned face hover above your own before everything goes dark, you think you smile but you can’t be too sure.

Your vision is restored all at once, and the first thing you clock is that the view is different. Where you last looked upon the bright sky, with your lover’s face gazing down on you, now you only see dark stone and wooden beams, caressed by the flickering light that indicated a fire nearby.

You hear the cracking of wood and nothing else. You take a moment to do a mental scan of your body. There is a slight pain in all of your limbs and you’re reminded of a knife wound you took to the thigh. The most prominent is the dull but persistent ache radiating from the back of your head. 

You try to sit up to get a clearer picture of what is happening, moving makes the pain worse but it is still not the worst you have felt so you push on. Groaning under your breath you make yourself stand. 

You get a better look at your surroundings, the room your in is decidedly dwarvish, the intricate carvings in the wall, and the build of the fireplace enough to give that away. You were in a room inside the mountain, presumably, one in the furthest reach of the east wings, where the dragon damage was less severe. 

While you stand and gaze around the space you find yourself in, the door to the room opens slowly, and in walks a blond dwarf with a braid matching your own. He carries a tray of food in his arms and doesn’t look up immediately.

When he does he freezes, looking your body up and down and up once more. He blinks twice and a smile with the brightness of the Arkenstone itself radiates from his face. The tray is cast aside onto the table in the center of the room and he takes quick strides to get to you.

He wastes no time pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your hair. 

“You are awake.” He mutters into your locks.

“I think so.” You reply.

“You have been asleep for a week, I carried you down from Ravenhill myself. You were looked at by both Oin and an elvish healer. It was terrifying.”

“More terrifying than fighting a dragon?” You try to tease. It doesn’t land.

“Yes.” Is his serious reply. “You did not hear the sound of your head hitting the ice, nor did you feel the panic I felt when you wouldn’t open your eyes again.” His words are fierce and full of fire, contrasting with the almost delicate hold he has on your body.

“I am sorry.” You whisper. “I did not think, I just saw you in danger and the rest was instinct.” 

“I understand, but I am still not happy.” Fili pulls back slightly and looks into your eyes as he speaks.

You match his gaze, “I can live with that.” You place a singular delicate kiss on his lips, smiling at the feel of his mustache braids on your face. The coolness of the beads makes you feel alive. And you are glad for it.

“Thorin wishes to see you. I promised I would tell him when you woke.”

“Why does he want to see me?” You ask.

“Maybe because you saved his heir and killed the orc that had been hunting us for nearly half a year?” Fili cocks his head to the side and smirks at you. 

“It is bad to say that I wish to spend a little more time with you before being unleashed into the grasp of the rest of the Company?”

“Only if it is also bad that I wish the same thing,” is his easy reply. “How about we just eat for now and then we can decide what to do next after that, hmm?” His voice is soothing and his idea favorable. You nod and he smiles again.

So you two spend the rest of that evening together, talking, eating and hodling onto one another. 

Both of you are sure that this is not the last battle you will face together, but this one ended well and you will cherish the moments of peace in each others company.

It had been predicted that the storm would be a powerful one, and here it was proving itself in the middle of the night. You could barely make out any of the scenery you normally admired even in the dark of night, the snow so thick and whipping around so forcefully it seemed as though everything beyond the mountain had been erased.

The thought gave you mixed feelings; scared at the power of nature but also in awe at being able to admire such a thing, thankful to be tucked away in your own little corner of the fierce world. You snuggled in deeper to your plush mattress, the warm furs that dressed it feeling welcome on your skin as you continued to watch the ever-persistent blizzard.

It brought an eerie sense over you; a vulnerability that the storm could break down the stone of the mountain and rip you from your warm bed, but at the same time you also felt a calm sensation ease that small fright, knowing you were safe and protected.

Deep breaths sounded from the sleeping form beside you, Fili’s heavy body reassuring as he continued his dreams completely unbothered by the wreckage that threatened just outside.

Your focus was now turned to him, the slow, steadiness in the rise and fall of his back that faced you contrasting against the erratic fury of the storm.

Although it was near freezing and the fire in the hearth was reduced down to glowing coals, Fili was all the shelter you needed from the biting cold.

You shifted so you were flush up against his back, the icy tip of your nose thawing on his flaming skin, and you couldn’t help but give a small smile at the wonderment that was his ability to produce fiery heat no matter the temperature.

His shoulders and arms stood out from the blankets, exposed as much as the peaks and slopes of the mountain that surrounded you, making you marvel again at his resilience.

Did he not feel the cold at all?

Your hand carded over his waist, his body warming your chilled fingers as you moved toward his fuzzy belly, his large hand automatically covering yours with a gentle squeeze.

“Did the storm wake you, amralime?” he asked in a hoarse and sluggish voice, smoothing his rough hands up and down your arm, instantly spreading heat through the parts he touched.

“Mhm,” you hummed in reply, the roar of the breeze almost drowning you out completely.

A strong gust blasted suddenly, shaking the fragile panes of the window, the storm reminding you once again of its power but also of the asylum of Erebor, the strong layer of solid rock a barrier from its peril.

You could see the silver of the beads at the end of Fili’s mustache glimmer in the cold, blue light as he shifted onto his back, a sleepy groan sighing out of his lungs. The frosty aura that overpowered the dying orange glow of your chambers matched the same icy hue you knew lay hidden beneath his eyelids, but only one brought you comfort.

His arms folded around you as he turned onto his other side to face you, enveloping you in a comforting embrace, his body forming a shield between you and the bitter conditions waiting to bite at your skin.

Fili pressed you against his chest, your arms locked between your hearts, your face nestled into the soft hairs that adorned his toasty skin. You inhaled his hot, sleepy scent; the smell so starkly different from the crisp, dampness of the cold that creeped into your room.

A muffled giggle escaped you and resonated through his thick upper body when he slung his heavy leg over yours, pulling your lower half into him so you were now completely encased by his naked form.

“You’re safe and warm, my love,” he said with sleepy assurance, kissing the top of your head once, then placing one on your forehead and then your nose before nuzzling his face into the small space between your neck and pillow. “Go back to sleep, it will pass soon enough.” His words tickled against the sensitive skin on your neck, and your heart made a flip at secretly wishing the storm would never end.

A tired smile pulled weakly at your lips as you looked out at the blizzard once more, this time thankful for the chaos it created, knowing you’d have many more hours trapped away in your bed with your One covering you with a possessive hold that no amount of bad weather could breach.

The snow continued to sway and swing to the song of the wind and it wasn’t long before soft snores purred out of Fili as he fell back into the solace of sleep, creating the perfect melody for you to drift away to. His limbs and muscles twitched and fluttered involuntarily, coaxing you back into your own dreams as the world lay quiet around you other than the storm.

———

Taglist

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Hoping against hope that Mahal would be on their side as they pushed along the Great East Road. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield were starting to feel the effect of the upcoming spring. For the April rain showers haven't lifted in 2 days.

Finally it was Dori, who broke first to ask help from the company's wizard. "Here, Mr. Gandalf? “ He shouted up the pony line. “Can't you do something about this deluge?"

“It is raining, master dwarf. And it will continue to rain until the rain is done! If you wish to change the weather of the world, you should find yourself another wizard.” The shot from the front of the line. 

“Are there?” squeaked a voice from somewhere in the middle of ponies and dwarfs.

“What?” 

“Other Wizards?” It was the company’s burglar, a hobbit, Bilbo Baggins. "Are there?"

Thinking about the Wizard replied "There are seven of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman, The White. Then there are the two blue wizards. Do you know, I’ve quite forgotten their names." Chuckling to himself, Gandalf seemed amused that he didn't remember them.

"And the rest?" Bilbo asked, while swiping his soaked bangs from his forehead.

Smiling back at the curious hobbit, Gandalf continued "well, there is Radagast, The Brown"

"Is he a great wizard or is he…more like you?" shooing away a fly, the hobbit missed the laughter of the dwarves and glare sent to him by the wizard.

Snappy, Gandalf replied. "I think he’s a very great wizard, in his own way. He’s a gentle soul who prefers the company of animals to others. He keeps a watchful eye over the vast forestlands to the East, and a good thing too, for always evil will look to find a foothold in this world." Fading off into his own thoughts, Bilbo had to yell out his next question before the wizard seemed to be back. 

"And the other two?!"

Jumping slightly, Gandalf shook his head. " Oh right, yes that would be the two black wizards, Now those are not so gentle souls." He chuckled to himself "They are the warriors, the protectors of our order." 

Sticking a finger in his ear to shake any water out that might be clogging his hearing, he asked another question for Gandalf. After a few moments of this, Bilbo spoke again. "Where are they now?"

Gandalf quickly answered, looking over his shoulder "Well, that is something we'll soon out, my dear friend." Confused faces shot up at him. Even Thorin's, who was riding alongside him.

 "It’s just a mere stop along the way. The Black Wizards were rumored to be on this side of the Misty Mountains. And I have a strong feeling that we won't be too hard for them to find." the wizard spoke easily.

"For them to find?" asked Thorin, finally speaking up "Are you saying that they will join us?"

" I sent word to them the day before yesterday telling them we would be passing through." Gandalf nodded down at the dwarf king, trying to reassure him. 

"And?" The king pushed back "what did they have to say?"

Sighing, Gandalf huffed again, "Well, we'll know what they said sooner than later."

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