#i gotta learn some fashion for erebor dwarves

[heart-select]

Sibling doodles ✨✨

[catbowserauthor]

Hobbit Story: Anchored 1

So, this story occurs before my "Calling in a King's Favor" and it actually was the start of my AU universe. I plan on finishing my re-write/AU of BOTFA in the near future but this story is what started it.

A missing scene from the Jackson movies, following the first battle with Azog. Emotions comes to a climax while the company stays with Beorn. Thorin has been playing Leader and King for the entire journey but he sometimes forgets that Kili and Fili need him to be an uncle too...and that some things cut deeper among family.

“Kili?”

                The dark haired dwarf waved his brother off as he stood, leaving the remaining group around the fire in Beorn’s main room. It would have been impossible to miss the tension etched in the youngest member’s features ever since their rescue by the eagles but it was odder still for him to refuse his brother’s company. By all accounts, he should have been attached to his brother’s side, as he usually was. Bilbo found it quite out of character. After the narrow escape they had, he certainly would have no shame in clinging to those around him, as much as he was able! Given how close the brothers were and indeed, how close Dwarven families appeared to be in general, it was a shock to see such company refused.

Yet, Kili appeared to be set on his mission. He grabbed his bow from the floor, tossing it over his left shoulder and just remarked “I need some air,” and went for the door.

Thorin, who had remained silent throughout most of the evening, nursing a mug of ale and occasionally puffing his pipe, kept his eyes on his nephew’s back a moment and then called “You should take someone with you. I don’t entirely trust this Beorn—“ He had lowered his voice out of respect but the malcontent was still quite noticeable in that heavy tone.

“Come, laddie,” Balin interjected “He has shown us no ill will. I’d say taking in a houseful of strangers with as much hospitality as he has should be cause for some appreciation.”

“I can appreciate the gesture without trusting the man,” Thorin countered and called again, “Kili! Take someone with you!”

Then, something happened, that seemed to Bilbo to be the most utterly confounding and potentially stupid stunts he had ever had the pleasure (or misfortune, depending on the moment) of witnessing. The younger dwarf stopped, stood still for a long moment. The chattering around the fire ceased and all eyes were fixated on the exiled King and the youngest heir to Erebor. There was unspoken anxiety in the room as Kili, normally obedient to a fault when given an order (the pony-incident had been a notable exception) made no move to call one of the others to accompany him. He simply paused in step a moment then as if on a cue, whirled around and snarled at his leader, in Khuzdul no less!

“Itkit! Itkit! Itkit! Itkit!”

Dwalin choked on his ale and Bofur almost dropped his bowl of stew. Bombur jerked his head about while Nori, Dori and Ori nearly fell to the ground in unison. Fili, still sitting on the ground, paled and made another attempt to reach for his younger brother but once again but shoved away. The others had simply gone silent, looking back and forth to one another, concern painting all their faces. Bilbo frowned, casting his look on Thorin. He had learned quite a bit about the dwarves on this journey and one thing that was consistent was that whenever they spoke their own language, it was when he was not around. The few times he had stumbled into camp when they had been speaking Khuzdul, they would immediately switch to Westron. Bofur had been kind enough to tell him that it was just something they liked to keep private to themselves. Bilbo could understand that. If there was anything he could understand, it was respecting one’s privacy!

That only made this act all the more troubling though. Bilbo had seen how stern Thorin was on preserving their culture so for Kili to outright break that ban while the hobbit was in the room was shocking. As for the word itself, the hobbit may not know the language but given the sharp tone that Kili snapped it in and the way he nearly wretched the door from its frame on the way out (even young dwarves were freakishly strong) he was willing to guess that it was not anything good. The reaction of all the others, the way they jerked their heads to Thorin, silently gauging his reaction, was another strong indicator.

A fear startled in Bilbo’s heart. Thorin Oakenshield was a truly frightening sight when angered and the sudden thought of that anger turned on Kili made him sick to his stomach. Oh, he had seen the love the Dwarf King held for this group. There was no faking the emotion he saw in the smiles he shared when he thought no one could see. All the same though, dwarves, it appeared, had horrific tempers and while useful in battle, it would be utterly terrifying outside of a war! Standing, he moved to stay Thorin, though how he planned on doing so, he had utterly no idea but the moment he set his eyes on their leader, he froze.

The rage he expected was not there. There was shock, utter bewilderment but not rage. Bilbo had learned quite a bit on his companions throughout the trip. He had learned Bofur never took off his hat, he learned that Bombur always snored the loudest, he’d learned that Kili talked in his sleep and Fili could not stay still to save his life. He had learned that Thorin Oakenshield’s eyes always gave away his heart. Those eyes were shimmering now as Bilbo looked up at them but not with the craze of anger. There was concern and worry painted in those eyes but not anger. How utterly bafflying! Was the word Kili had shouted not what he thought? No, no, he could quickly dismissed that thought. Everyone’s reactions had been proof enough of that. The entire room had frozen in time with that phrase. Yet, Thorin stood with nary a drop of aggression to him.

Reassured, Bilbo backed away but still asked “Thorin?”

The dwarf king seemed to snap out of his gaze with that inquiry. He blinked once, twice before shaking his head, as if coming from a daze. Setting his shoulders straight, he turned to their group “Mind the fire. We can’t afford to lose sleep over cold tonight. We’ll need it for the morn.” Stepping forward with that command, he was caught by the arm as he approached the door by his second sister-son, who was scrambling to his feet as if the floor was made of fire. It was hard to tell if he was trying to pull Thorin down or if the Dwarf warrior was pulling Fili up but either way, the blond haired lad’s arms were all but wrapped around his uncle’s left bicep.

“Thorin,” Fili pleaded “I-I-I can go talk to him. You know I can—“ He began but Thorin gave him a reassuring half-smile.

Nodding, the leader gently lay a hand over Fili’s. “Aye, I know you can but it will do us no good. There is something amiss between me and your brother and only we can fix it, Fili.” He added, in a slightly lower tone, “And I do mean to _talk_, my sister-son. Not yell. Talk.” Bilbo suspected that the latter half was not meant to be heard but he could hardly help it if he had well developed ears. There were unspoken words exchanged between the two of them by sight alone and the golden haired dwarf finally gave a reluctant nod and released his relative who quickly slipped through the doorframe.

Awkward silence reigned a moment before Dwalin, in his typical fashion, took a deep inhale on his pipe and exhaled a ring of smoke with, “Gotta hand it to the lad…balls of brass he has.”

 Taking an inhale of the comforting smoke, Kili let out an exhale slowly. He enjoyed a good smoke as much as the next dwarf but he did not engage as much as his brother or the rest of the company. However, he had found that the leaves Bilbo used were quite pleasant. Right now, he just needed to relax. He felt like all his muscles were bunched into sharp diamonds. Heart still racing, he tried to calm his racing thoughts but there was utterly no stopping them. The cool breeze was a bit of a comfort and he found himself shrugging off his outer coat, letting the cold seep into his skin.

He was in deep. He could feel it. What was he thinking? No, that was always the problem with him, wasn’t it? He didn’t think. Yet, he had been trying to push aside that building outburst ever since he had seen his uncle limp and unresponsive in the claw of that eagle. Even after Gandalf had revived him, even after they had climbed down Carrock and been forcefully introduced to Beorn, the feeling had not gone away. It had burned in his stomach and then moved to his heart, his bones, his head. It felt like the entirety of his innards was coated in molten lead.

“Kili.”

Closing his eyes tightly, he did not turn at his leader’s inquiry, just forced another inhale of smoke, much more than he usually did. It burned his lungs actually, to take such a large drag, but he needed something, anything, to close his mouth. The sound of Thorin’s voice normally brought him such comfort but now, after what he’d done, he was sure his uncle was going to half-kill him. More than that though, while he admitted to feeling a touch of fear for what might come from his leader and his king, his stomach was twisting again, like it had been doing when that Khuzdul had poured from his mouth. He was rather pleased with himself that it had not been something cruder.

The crunching of boots on earth, grass and rock scrambled the ground and Thorin lowered himself to sit next to him. There was tightness to his nephew’s posture that was not something the Dwarf King routinely saw. Oddly enough, while he should have likely been discussing the disrespect Kili had offered him, he felt no desire to do so. His heart felt weighed down, heavy as stone. He knew his nephews, knew them better than they knew themselves at times. This was not his Kili. Kili was the tiny dwarfling that would have spat in Mahal’s face if it would have earned him the respect of his uncle. Kili was the young dwarf who never stopped training, even when it became apparent that the ax was not the weapon for him, out of fear of disappointing his king. Kili was the boy that foolishly had charged in face a trio of trolls with nary a clue of how to dispatch them because they threatened a comrade.

This Kili that occupied the patch of earth beside him was stoic, empty and devoid of any conversation. That was far more disheartening than if his nephew had been lying on a bed with a poisoned gash through his belly.

“Kili, talk to me.” He tried to keep his tone even but he was fairly certain that came out more ‘order’ than ‘concerned uncle.’ He’d had to play King and Leader so firmly on this quest that his rather paternal tone had been lost along the way. He sincerely hoped that it was not entirely forgotten. He longed for the time when they had taken Erebor back and where he and his two heirs could once more be family first and kings and princes second. Where battle would be memories of glory days and bravery and not a fear for each night.

The younger dwarf felt his muscles twitch at Thorin’s command. Talk to him…he wanted him to talk? That twisted feeling crept through his bones again and a horrible deep fire burned through his veins. Kili was not a dwarf who angered often, if at all. He had seen his mother angry, his brother angry and his uncle angry as well as nearly every member of the company, but he scarcely felt that sting. Right now though, it raged through him like an unquenchable flame. How dare his uncle act so nonchalant? How dare he speak as though the previous night’s events were just a routine occurrence to be forgotten?! As if to see him fall…to see him…bitten and thrashed, to see those horrible blood stains covering the familiar tunic that Kili and Fili had clung to on so many nights… like…like it was nothing to lose…

The desire to push his fist into the middle of his uncle’s face was exceptionally strong.

He settled for letting the smoke fill his cheeks, turning to look his elder right in the face and let a simple wisp of smoke slip through his lips in his king’s general direction. It was not as satisfying as a punch but the look of hurt on the dwarf’s face did give him some satisfaction. Smoke wouldn’t hurt a dwarf’s eyes, so used to dust and rock that they were, but the symbol of gesture was read without issue. Good. Let the stubborn old dwarf know what it felt like! Let him know what it felt like to be completely dismissed and forgotten about for the sake of your stupid pride…

KHUZDUL Translations:

Itkit--Khuzdul for "Silence" (singular)