Kings Under The Mountain

"Where's Dwalin - And Fili and Kili?" Balin asked suddenly, his grief bowed head snapping up, the tears plain on his face but a new sudden hope on his old face as he looked round the somber company. His friend and King, Thorin was gone but his nephews would take his place, too young perhaps for such a burden but Thorin lived on them, in his teachings and in their upbringing. He looked at the hunched form of Bilbo by Thorin's side; the Hobbit had been here, he must know the fate of his brother and Thorin's sister sons, but Bilbo did not look back at him. "Bilbo?" Balin began softly but urgently, needing an answer.

"Here." The crunch of boots on ice accompanied the soft growl of a voice he recognised with relief as that of Dwalin, his own brother. Balin turned, the start of a smile on his face that died before it ever got chance to shine. Fili.

"No. No." Balin pushed himself up from his knees and took a shaking step towards his brother and the body in his arms.

"I've got him." Dwalin whispered. He held Fili tight against his chest, like he might have carried a sleeping child; like he had carried Fili years before when he had been a child. He had closed Fili's blue eyes and made an effort to wipe most of the blood from his face, but a dark red trickle still crept from the corner of his blue lips and streaked across his too pale skin. He looked peaceful, but there was no mistaking death for sleep.

Dwalin slowly lowered Fili, grunting with the effort, laying him gently next to his Uncle. "My brave lad." Balin whispered, cradling Fili's head so it would not bump on the ice, though they all knew it hardly mattered anymore. Fili wouldn't feel it.

"Not Fili too." Bofur said, the anguish in his voice tinged with anger, the kind of anger than comes from the unjustness of the world. Fili was too young. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. He had fought so hard for his Uncle, for Erebor, for all of them. Balin had sunk back to his knees and had a hand clamped over his mouth as he dissolved into silent sobs that heaved his body. Dwalin rested a hand on his shoulder but said nothing. There was nothing to say. Bilbo had hunched over, rocking back and forth slightly, muttering to himself, the heel of his palms pressed tightly to his eyes as though the scene before him would not be truth so long as he could not see it.

"But Kili - What of Kili?" Bofur pressed, turning to Dwalin first who gave a small shake of his head. Bofur looked round at the others who all gave equally small shakes or stared straight through him their eyes glassy and distant. No one knew. "Well come on then! He could be hurt he could need our help!" Bofur turned and stormed off, practically sprinting, axe in hand, ready to do murder should any stray orc that had so far escaped cross his path. Oin, Gloin and Dori followed in his wake. Dwalin watched them go, Balin made to rise to follow but he felt his brothers hand tighten, the pressure increase, pushing him back down. He understood.

"Kili too?" Balin asked his words flat and empty, the grief he felt had gone beyond anything he could express. Tears could do nothing for the depth of his sorrow or the iron fist that was squeezing his heart so tight he could hardly breath.

"I fear it may be so." Dwalin breathed. "I heard- I... I did not have the heart to look." His words were choked with tears. Balin grasped the hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"Here!" Bofur's voice went up from the cold peak only minutes later but to Balin it felt like a age, "He's down here!" Then silence. No joyous cries of delight or reunion followed, only silence. Balin closed his eyes.

Bofur's party returned not long after that, more slowly and sombrely than they had left, their steps heavier than the physical weight of the burden the carried on their shoulders. Kili. His arms had been folded neatly across this chest while his dark hair was plastered to his forehead with blood and sweat. They lay him wordlessly with his brother and uncle being just as gentle as they had with Fili, making sure he lay comfortably. They knew none of these sons of Durin would feel the cold ice beneath them or a pebble in their back anymore but they still careful brushed the ice clear of debris before settling the youngest brother down. Then they stepped back, forming a loose ring around their fallen friends and family, a crushing weight of grief pressing them into silence save for the occasionally shaking breath.

"We will lay them to rest in the Mountain. Where they can watch over the halls they should have ruled." Balin whispered just loud enough for the company to hear. "And where we can watch over them." A whisper of assent and agreement filtered back from them the company in a growl. Yes. That would be fitting. Thorin belonged in Erebor and his sister sons there beside him. In death they would be Kings, resting under the Mountain.

All the feels. A quick one-shot of something I felt was missing from the movie. Reviews are always welcome.