A.N: Here it is! The last chapter of this particular part of this epic that I've suddenly ended up writing. It's a bit of a monster compared to the previous 1-2k chapters, but I couldn't split it up! No Khuzdul here apart from the title which means 'to hope', so no translations needed here afaik.

I hope you enjoy, and I'd love to hear your thoughts so any reviews would be fab~

Thorin felt numb.

Not the kind of numb where he'd simply been sitting in the same place for far too long, or when Kíli had fallen asleep on his leg after he'd read a story to them. No, that was nice, and warm, and, as much as he'd deny it, entirely comfortable.

This was the kind that was harsh, and wholly unexpected, as though winter had suddenly invaded his bones. Thorin was frozen in place, eyes locked on the boy who was tugging at his shirt, crying and whimpering. Thorin was vaguely aware of words flying past his ears that were ringing with a faraway echo of never said goodbye.

This was happening, it was real. The evidence was right in front of his eyes. Thorin couldn't deny this, couldn't disprove this. And that only served to make the matter even worse.

After a moment, he finally registered Fíli tugging on his shirt-sleeves, calling his name. Thorin couldn't bring himself to look at the boy, however, no matter how much Fíli begged and pleaded, because guilt was beginning to bubble up inside him, clawing its way up his chest and sticking in his throat like tar. How could Fíli come to him, of all people, after what he'd done?

Ered Luin had seemed so safe, faraway and secluded. Orcs would give up the trail as soon as they hit the hills of the Shire, Thorin had thought. There was no gold to plunder and no resources to loot. His people were living in famine and poverty, and any riches they once owned were now part of a dragon's hoard. There was little reason to follow them.

Clearly, he'd been too confident that day.

Breaking Fíli's grip on his arms, he pushed Fíli away and back onto the bed, and then he stood; his face a mask of stony determination.

This was all the kindling Thorin needed. The Dwarves had been sitting quietly for far too long.

A tiny voice in the back of his mind was breaking through the haze of red anger, telling him to stop and think.

But he'd done enough thinking.

oOo

Fíli shrank back onto the bed, towards Kíli. His arms stung where Thorin had shoved him away. He'd never seen Thorin act like that before. Fíli could see he was shaking and he kept clenching his fists over and over again, and Fíli was sure he could hear teeth grinding together, letting slip words in a language that he didn't understand.

Then, with a nasty jolt of realisation that surged through his fingertips where he'd placed a hand over Kíli's own, Fíli felt no rise and fall of his brother's chest.

Fíli's scream was enough to break through to Thorin, who turned wildly, eyes wide and lips curled into a snarl of retribution, but then his expression fell into one of confusion, and then realisation.

"Stay here!" was all Fíli heard before he heard a door slam shut.

Instinct kicked in, and Fíli just wanted to keep his little brother safe. He moved closer to Kíli, his hand reaching out to brush a few dark strands of wild hair out of Kíli's face. He looked like he was only sleeping, Fíli thought as he carried on smoothing his brother's untameable mane, as though that would keep his ragged breathing going. He took to carding his shaking fingers through Kíli's hair soon after, attempting to work out the tangles and knots, nonsensical mumbling spilling from his lips all the while as he tried to ignore the darkness looming over the both of them.

This isn't supposed to happen! Kíli's meant to be getting better now, not worse! Fíli thought, looking around wildly, as if he was looking for something he could do to help. But the darkness of the room seemed just as hopeless as everything else, and it seemed to grow by the second. There was nothing he could do, Fíli realised with a breathless sob, and he shrunk back onto the cold bed again, laying there in cold shivers besides his even colder brother, wishing for the night to end.

ooOOOoo

Thorin was deep down in the tunnels, the labyrinths of Moria, running with an air of wild, blind panic about him and a torch in one hand to shed some light on the darkened passages.

His thoughts were all over the place, colliding and ricocheting around in a haze of panic. Thorin tried to regain some control and he forced himself to think properly, now, while he had the time.

Fíli was awake and coherent now which was a good sign, Thorin began hopefully, but Kíli was completely unresponsive and his breathing was beginning to falter. He'd told Fíli to stay with Kíli, and now he could only hope he'd be able to find Óin – it was late, most of the tunnels were shut and most dwarves were sleeping.

Thorin had wanted a medical wing set up somewhere, but Moria proved to be too foreign and desolate after years of abandonment for any kind of efficient set-up bar the necessities of mining-works, forges and long-halls. Most of the dwarves who travelled with Thorin had simply chosen to camp outside or find shelter on the mountain's unforgiving terrain, refusing to set foot inside the cursed mines. And now Thorin was beginning to regret not putting his foot down on that particular issue – thisbloodypassagewayseemed to go on forever, full of nasty ruts and hidden potholes that could trip up even the most steady-footed dwarf.

Turning the corner to the main long-hall, he pushed the heavy doors open and burst in with an increasing sense of urgency about him – the kind that immediately silenced a room. The familiar faces of Óin, Gloin, Dwalin, Dori and Bofur stared back at him with matching expressions of confusion, illuminated by the soft glow of the torches along the walls.

Surprised, but relieved at the prospect of not having to spend an age navigating the labyrinths of Moria that he'd yet to familiarise himself with to find Óin, Thorin wasted no time.

"Óin! Come quickly, please!" Thorin didn't even offer an explanation, just a seldom seen look of unbridled fear that put the small gathering on edge. Fear was not an emotion portrayed by someone like Thorin in the company of others, even those known to him.

Especially not those known to him.

"What is it, lad?" Óin stood, squinting in the darkness as he moved away from the torches, but Thorin was already rushing back the way he came, not sparing another glance over his shoulder.

ooOOOoo

Óin pottered about Kíli's bedside, muttering and mumbling much as he had done before, only this time it was a little more frantic. Kíli was slipping into a nasty fever, his breathing was becoming increasingly laboured and from what little information they could divulge from Fíli, he'd definitely eaten something toxic.

"Fíli, how do you feel? Honestly." Thorin was sitting with his elder nephew on the stone floor beside a roaring hearth, keeping an eye on Kíli while Óin went to and fro. "You look a bit worse for wear, and that's puttin' it lightly."

Fíli just shook his head, eyes downcast and red rimmed. He'd been crying for an age after he'd returned with Oín, and Thorin didn't have the faintest idea of what to do until Balin showed up, conveniently, and had Fíli poring over a book of old tales about Durin's folk instead.

At least he was easily distracted, Thorin mused, deciding to put that fact away for future use. He'd been too distracted himself to keep Fíli away from disturbing Oín; the guilt from earlier was beginning to force its way back up again. Although, the scare that Kíli had given him had been enough to make him think, and listen to the rational side of his mind that was saying: Don't be rash, look after living first and worry about the dead later.

And that was reason enough, Thorin admitted. If Valí and Dís were truly gone, and a bitter ache settled deep in his chest at the notion, then the best that he could do for the moment was make sure Fíli and Kíli were kept safe.

But now, Thorin noted with alarm, Fíli looked on the verge of tears again. Thorin chose to sit in awkward silence, not expecting an answer from the boy after that.

"M'hungry."

Surprised that Fíli had even responded at all, Thorin felt the corners of his mouth tug upwards into something that wasn't quite a smile, but it wasn't far off. That, at least, he could do something about.

Fíli then tried to pull himself up, unsuccessfully. The boy grimaced and made a noise of annoyance as he flopped back down, matted locks of grubby hair settling in his face. Thorin dropped his hands from his temple and held out a strong arm for Fíli to grab on to, using his other hand to gently push Fíli's back so that the boy was standing upright.

"Th-thank you." Fíli blinked, still holding onto Thorin, almost like he was afraid to let go. After a moment, Fíli turned – almost instinctively – to seek out Kíli, who wasn't there next to him, but on the bed still. His shoulders sagged in barely-masked disappointment.

Thorin made a noise of disapproval as he felt Fíli's ribs sticking out crudely when he turned, his leathered hand still holding Fíli upright. Fíli looked at Thorin, brow furrowed in question.

"How long has it been since you had a proper meal, lad?" Thorin asked gingerly, eyes now taking in the rawboned, haggard appearance of his nephew, dirt across his face and neck (although they'd attempted to clean them up, it hadn't very successful, largely due to the fact that Fíli was not easily parted from his sickly brother) and a copious amount of scrapes and scratches disappearing under the ragged tunic he wore. He looked like he belonged in the streets of a filthy harbour town, not in the halls of Moria.

When Fíli tried to pull away, Thorin's concern only grew and his grip tightened. The boy's tunic was pulled askew, revealing a furious bruise, its angry purple claws spreading across his bony shoulder.

"Óin!" Thorin barked suddenly, ignoring Fíli's frantic pleas as the initial shock left him reeling slightly, eyes widening as they took in every other little bruise or nick on his pale skin. How had he kept so quiet?

Fíli defiantly turned and wrenched himself out of Thorin's grip, stumbling to one knee on the cold, stone floor with a gasp of pain, expecting some kind of retribution from Thorin. When none came, he gingerly looked up, only to see Thorin gazing down at him with concern in those familiar eyes.

"Fíli."

Fíli didn't respond. Thorin expected as much. He chose to ignore the path the conversation had taken for the sake of the boy, lest he stop talking altogether, and returned to his earlier worry. Fíli was clearly starving.

"Come, you need to eat. Óin will look after your brother." Thorin signed in rapid Iglishmêk 'later' to the healer, who'd paused, half-stride, as he'd already started to make his way over to Fíli. Óin nodded, returning to Kíli's bedside, but not before sparing a glance at Fíli's shoulder, eyebrows knitted and mouth turned down in concern.

Thorin looked back down at Fíli, who was still kneeling, head bent and sniffling softly. He was obviously trying not to cry, and the sight only made Thorin uneasy. He wasn't used to feeling so useless.

Thorin grimaced, and pushed the thought aside. He'd learn. It didn't look like he had much choice either way, not if Dís was-

Stop. Thorin caught himself. His thoughts would quickly turn dangerous if left to run their course, Thorin knew. He had to let it loom over him like a dark, heavy cloud for the time being, because these boys are your priority now, you old fool, he reminded himself.

Crouching down to Fíli's level, Thorin tucked a finger under his chin, forcing Fíli to look at him.

"I'm sorry, lad." Thorin's harsh glare softened in an instant and his voice dropped to a low murmur. Fíli blinked up at him, and the tiniest smile flickered across his face for a second, and then it was gone. Thorin breathed a sigh of relief. At least Fíli wasn't absolutely terrified of him. Yet.

"Let's eat, hm?" Thorin was eager to get this exchange back on course, with no more dramatics. Mahal, he'd had enough of them for one day. And Fíli needed to eat.

Standing, Thorin turned towards the door, half-expecting (or rather, hoping) Fíli would do the same.

He wasn't, however, expecting the blank stare that Fíli gave him instead. His way of saying no, Thorin remembered from days that felt like years past now, when they were only a matter of weeks behind him.

"You will do no good for your brother if you're weak and starving." Thorin grunted, patience dwindling and his sour mood returning rapidly at Fíli's blatant disobedience, even if it was entirely called for under the circumstances.

"M'nt hungry." Fíli mumbled, and Thorin was vaguely aware of Oín watching them quietly as he wrung out a wet cloth to place on Kíli's forehead. The thought quickly flitted to the back of his mind as Thorin was faced with the terrifying prospect of having to try and convince Fíli to do something he didn't want to do.

By Aulë, he could manage a city full of tax-dodgers and thieves and all manners of mind-numbingly complex issues and state affairs, but Fíli was lethal. This, he'd learnt when the boy was barely knee-high.

"That's not what you said a few minutes ago, Fíli."

The tides turned in Thorin's favour, however, and the telltale rumbling of Fíli's stomach soon saw him following Thorin down the gloom of the tunnels, tripping and stumbling on aching legs as they disappeared into the dark.

oOo

The way was long and gloomy and dangerous, and Fíli was sick of the dark. He felt sick to the belly with gnawing hunger, his arms were heavy and useless at his sides, his feet were numb and his legs just ached and ached, and it just got worse every time he hit a protruding rock or a loose stone.

At least he was here with Thorin, Fíli thought, but the faint glimmer of hope was quickly lost as Fíli hit yet another stone and felt his entire body give out, scattering the thoughts like ashes. His arms instinctively reached out to grab onto the nearest thing, which just so happened to be Thorin's hand, and Fíli cried out miserably. The fire shooting up his injured leg had returned and, no matter how much he tried to get back on his feet, Fíli couldn't stand.

He felt his cheeks burning with the sting of humiliation, and refused to look up at his uncle. He'd already cried for an age and used Thorin as a personal security blanket, and now he was falling over and clinging onto his uncle like a silly little boy again.

Mahal, Thorin probably thought he was a complete baby by now.

oOo

Thorin stopped, alarmed at the sudden contact. He turned and saw Fíli kneeling, eyes clenched as though blinking back tears and his cold, clammy hand holding onto Thorin's own in an iron grip.

It was then that Thorin realised, with a sinking feeling settling deep in his gut, that Fíli hadn't eaten in days, he was weak and tired and Thorin was making him walk the freezing passageways in almost complete darkness; the ruts and pebbles were countless and capable of inflicting some damage.

The feeling of being completely and utterly useless quickly returned, and Thorin thought, with a sense of hopelessness, that they shouldn't have come here at all. He could offer them nothing but a cold and lonely existence in these forsaken mines, and that was not the life they deserved. But a part of him couldn't bear to see them go elsewhere. They were his sister-sons, sons of Durin, and he would be loath to give them up so quickly.

He had to try.

"Fíli?" Thorin put the torch aside in an empty sconce, crouching down and taking Fíli's small hand into both of his own.

Mahal, what was he doing? Thorin thought to himself. He didn't know how to deal with children, even if they were his own nephews. Dís was always the one who-

Thorin shut his eyes tight, regretting his thought almost immediately as a fresh wave of desperation rolled through him, chilling him to the bone.

He had to get Fíli talking. Properly. Garbled words and half-finished sentences were not going to satisfy Thorin – he needed to know exactly what had happened.

And if his little sister was truly gone, then he told himself that he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

Even if knew he wouldn't.

When no reply came from Fíli, Thorin grumbled to himself for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, cursed himself for his complete inability to deal with children, and slipped an arm under Fíli's knees and one around his back, pulling him up and carrying him the rest of the way, ignoring Fíli's protests.

And he had to admire Fíli's utter stubbornness because by the time they reached the great hall, Thorin had some truly majestic bruises starting to bloom thanks to Fíli's relentless booting, and the boy was now striding behind him clumsily, adamant that he was able to walk perfectly fine and didn't need to be carried anywhere by anyone (although if he'd held onto Thorin's hand for most of the way, he didn't mention it).

So Thorin looked a bit worse for wear upon entering the great hall again, and he was greeted again by the faces from before (minus Óin) who all perked up at the sight of Fíli marching behind Thorin, although some curious glances were spared when they saw that Fíli was holding onto Thorin's hand still.

"Go and sit with them, Fíli, while I find you some food." Thorin said to Fíli, who reluctantly let go of his hand, but didn't move. He chose instead to stare at the group like a deer caught in the eyes of a hunting party, the fire in his leg dying down as quickly as it had ignited.

"Go." Thorin gave him a gentle nudge in the right direction, Fíli looking over his shoulder at him with the same doe-eyed stare that he always seemed to put on when Thorin asked him to do something he didn't want to do.

"Don't argue with me." Thorin rumbled, an eyebrow raising at Fíli's insolence.

"M'nt saying nothing." Fíli responded quietly, and Thorin swore he caught the familiar glint of mischief in his nephew's eyes that he'd been so used to seeing in Frerin all those years ago.

And before he could even open his mouth to reprimand the boy, Fíli was limping over to the long-table where the Dwarves were sitting.

"Lad, how'ya?" Dwalin was the first to speak up. Having been there when Thorin had found him, he couldn't quite scrape the image from his mind of the half-dead boy, like a ragdoll in Thorin's arms.

Fíli shrugged and looked down upon reaching the table, wringing his hands together and chewing on his lip.

"Been better." Fíli spoke eventually, meeting Dwalin's gaze. His Da' would've clipped him around the head by now for being such a baby, Fíli thought. He lifted his head, jutting his chin forward slightly, putting on a front with a practised air about him, as if he'd been through the motions plenty of times before. Dwalin half-suspected that wasn't far from the truth.

"I know you have, lad. Don't you remember me?"

"I-" Fíli looked at him, brow scrunching with the effort of finding some long-lost memory of the Dwarf sitting beside him, "Yeah, you.. ye came down with Uncle Thorin on tha' patrol."

Dwalin sat back, the answer seeming to satisfy him, much to Fíli's relief. That had been a stab in the dark, for Fíli realised with some niggling feeling of apprehension, that he could barely scrape together a memory of half the faces sat around this table, but he knew he'd seen them all before.

Thorin returned, sharing a dubious glance with Dwalin before setting down a bowl of piping hot oatmeal and honey in front of Fíli with a dull thud, sitting on the bench next to him.

Fíli remained silent after that, choosing instead to pick up the spoon and plough his way through the food as though he hadn't eaten in months, ignoring the fact that the hot oatmeal was burning his tongue and making his throat feel like sandpaper.

Thorin looked around at the group, noting some confused glances passed between himself and Fíli by some miners that he knew as Dori and Nori. Brothers, probably. He wasn't sure – they didn't look like brothers. At any rate, Thorin decided he should probably enlighten them somewhat. Fíli was a new face for many around these parts and understandably so; news of Durin heirs was not something people spread like wildfire, because Durin heirs were hunted. By Men, by Orcs and Goblins, by anyone who served some alliance with the Khiduz Dwarves or the Pale Orc.

But they couldn't find them if there was no trace of them, the Dwarves had said, and that was how it went.

"My nephew." Thorin murmured to Dori, who nodded once in recognition, leaning over to mumble the information to Nori.

"D'ye think you can tell them what happened, Fíli?" Thorin pressed, turning his attentions to Fíli.

"Mhm." Fíli paused, mid-way through raising his spoon to his mouth again.

No. He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to talk about it.

Glancing up at Thorin, he kept silent and simply took in the increasingly familiar features of his Uncle. The shorn beard, the scarred face, the intense eyes that were so like his Ma's that he felt loosely-guarded words slip from his mouth, and then fully formed sentences, and then he was talking.

Thorin listened, working out Fíli's speech oddities and filling in the gaps as he went. It was simple, a child's story, but inlaid with a painful innocence that had Thorin perched on the edge of the bench, white-hot fury flowing through his veins as the tale unfolded in all the wrong ways yet again.

This was no fire, Thorin kneaded the table with worn knuckles, staring dead ahead and devoid of all emotion, this was definitely a raid. An Orc raid.

It took a moment to realise that Fíli had stopped suddenly, eyes wide and unseeing, as though in another world entirely.

His last words of, "Da' set the horse off, then-" were left hanging in the air, every Dwarf expecting some conclusion to the sentence.

"Fíli?" Thorin searched out Fíli's gaze, but that seemed all but lost to the world.

"I wan' go see Kíli." Fíli looked down, away from Thorin, completely disregarding his question. Pushing his bowl away from him, he mumbled: "M'tired." and got to his feet.

"Fíli, wait. You can hardly walk!" Thorin growled unintentionally, poorly-disguised anger already beginning to seep into his words. He was doing well. Why stop so suddenly? Thorin couldn't work it out as he glanced around the table. It must have been something, a memory of something that had stopped him. A mental block.

Fíli turned to face Thorin again.

"Well, c'mon then."

"And who raised you to talk back likethat?" Thorin stood abruptly, patience waning dangerously.

"Lad's exhausted - just let 'im go easy, aye, Thorin?" Dwalin reasoned, although the slight frown he wore suggested that there was something behind his words other than outright concern for Fíli.

"Why don't you eat? Mahal knows you've not eaten properly for days. Or slept, for that matter. I'll take Fíli back, and find out how Óin goes." Dwalin added in a tone that left no room for negotiation, getting to his feet and clapping a solid hand on his friend's shoulder. Thorin sat back down with a grunt and nodded his thanks to Bofur, the miner from the West, who wordlessly passed him a mug of strong ale as Dwalin left with Fíli.

"Why are you lot awake at this hour anyway?" Thorin huffed, glancing around the table, noticing that they were armed to the teeth. He was greeted with various mumbles and shrugs, and the noise of shuffling feet and clinking metal as some got to their feet and made to leave.

"I meant nothing by it- it was a mere question." Thorin added wryly, bringing the mug to his lips.

"Patrols. Seems the nights are getting longer and the fires are getting colder." Bofur replied cryptically, his words lacking in their usual humour, "There's somethin' headed our way, and it ain't a good thing either."

"I know." Thorin nodded in acknowledgement, a serious demeanour surrounding him once more. "That's why I've been thinking-" he trailed off, bringing the mug back down onto the table with a dull thud. Rising, he met the expectant gazes of the remaining dwarves.

"I have a plan, but I don't think you'll like it. Any of you." Thorin managed a grim smile at that, before finishing his pint and striding out of the long-hall, leaving expectations hanging in the air behind him.

oOo

Thorin despised the passageways of Moria. Not only were they unreasonably cramped and difficult to navigate, years of ruin had left the rock to crumble and wear away and leave minute chasms streaking through the dolomite bedrock. Chasms and ruts, Thorin was reminded as he stumbled into the walls of the passageway for what was not the first time, that were fairly capable of tripping Dwarves up.

But after a few more minutes of stumbling blindly through almost complete darkness after forgoing a torch, thinking there was more chance of him setting himself alight than getting anywhere with it, he finally reached the place he'd been looking for.

At first glance, it was a simple chamber.

Upon closer inspection, it had been dug out of the rock; everything in it had been meticulously carved by bare Dwarf hands. The designs. The runes. The columns and the arches, remarkably geometric in design, all equidistance from each other. The smooth walls, worn down into clean lines and sharp angles after years of refining. The single stone table, carved out of the ground, in the absolute centre of the chamber, hexagonal in shape.

Nothing was out of place.

Thorin liked this room, for two reasons.

The first reason was that it had purpose, and structure. It had the work of his people etched into every little stone, as a true reflection of the skill of the Dwarves. It was a memory of the Dwarves, although long-lost, deep within the desolate mines of Moria. It was still here.

The second reason, Thorin mused, lighting a torch that was waiting in a sconce nearby, was that it seemed oddly fitting as a place for him to seek a way out of the predicament that Durin's Folk had found themselves in.

It was here; surrounded by the ancient power of his people that Thorin felt a little surer about the plan he had in mind.

Reaching inside his coat, he took out an old, positively ancient looking map that was yellowed and torn and ink splotched, and placed it flat on the stone table, smoothing out the crinkled folds with gentle fingers.

The flames cast enough of a gloomy light across the map to illuminate the drawings.

Running a finger over the fading lines, Thorin couldn't help the wan smile as he read the description aloud to the room full of ghosts.

"Erebor."

ooOOOoo

When Thorin returned to his room later that night, he was glad to see Kíli breathing a little easier.

"He woke, not long after you left," Óin had said, "But his fever is quite high."

"It could've been worse." Thorin grunted, sweeping his dishevelled hair out of his face. Óin simply nodded, pressing a cool, damp cloth on Kíli's forehead to cool him down.

"Aye. He should pull through, this little one – the poison will clear out if you keep giving him that-" the older dwarf tilted his head towards a vial that held a clear liquid that looked harmless, although Thorin was glad that it wasn't he who had to take it after the foul odour reached his nostrils.

"Fíli just needs to rest. Although, I daresay that'll be a challenge in itself." The healer smiled fondly, glad to see Thorin's mouth quirk into something that could almost be considered a smile.

"Thank you, Óin. I can do that, now. You deserve your rest, friend." Thorin set the vial back down after inspecting it (and discovering the unpleasant odour). Óin nodded his head once before packing up his satchel and leaving Thorin with strict orders for Kíli to drink the remedy little and often, whenever he could manage.

"Kee's gon' be okay now, isn't he?" Fíli sat up as soon as Óin left, startling Thorin who'd thought the boy had been asleep. So much for peace.

"Mhm." Thorin managed a nod and tight smile, but nothing more. Raising hope was a path doomed to failure, and Thorin knew better than to inflict that upon his nephew. So he just continued dipping the cloth into cool water and wringing it out before placing it on Kíli's forehead as Óin had been doing, until the boy stopped snuffling and seemed to drift into a more peaceful slumber.

"You should rest, Fíli." Thorin turned his attention to his eldest nephew as he felt the mattress dip behind him with the weight of the boy.

"I've slept 'nough." Fíli said simply, peering over Thorin's shoulder at his sleeping brother, steel eyes drawn tight and lips pressed together in grim determination.

It was in that cloud of steely determination that had shrouded Fíli then that Thorin saw a future, a spark of hope for his people. And Mahal knows that his people needed some glimmer of hope as the way grew dark and the reliance of his people grew thin. It would not be long before they turned tail and fled.

He couldn't quite explain it, but it was there. Thorin, in all honesty, felt a little silly for considering the notion; after all, Fíli was barely ten. Just a boy, and he would be for a while yet. To dress him up in armour and lay all those expectations on his young shoulders would simply rob him of his childhood, and Thorin knew what that would do to people. He saw what it did to his Frerin. And that was a price he would not pay again.

Nonetheless, Fíli'd already shown the makings of a remarkable prince indeed. Escaping from an Orc raid, leaving his family for a world he knew nothing of. A month on his own in the wilderness with a little brother to care for, and he'd survived against all odds. The little lion of Durin, Thorin thought to himself with a barely-there smile. No, they'd be alright. The both of them, Thorin added, looking over to Kíli's sleeping form.

Looking back to Fíli, who for all intents and purposes was standing over Kíli like a lonely sentry, Thorin found that he simply didn't have the heart to tell him to go and sleep.