Disclaimer: The Hobbit belongs to Professor Tolkien and Peter Jackson.

Musings of a King

Thorin shifted uncomfortably on the bed between his sister-sons, both of whom were suffering from the flu. The youngest, Kili, was curled against Thorin's side. His cheeks were unnaturally flushed and his nose was running. The little fella breathed through an open mouth, snoring slightly because of his congestion.

Fili, the older of the two brothers, had his back pressed against Thorin's leg as he slept deeply. His fever had finally broken that afternoon, and he was exhausted.

Holding Kili against him with one arm, Thorin reached out and gently placed his hand against Fili's cheek. The child's skin was still cool to the touch; the fever had not returned.

Kili shifted in his sleep and moaned, reaching for Thorin. "Uncle," he sighed miserably, "I don't feel well."

"I know, Kili," Thorin soothed as he lifted the small dwarf into his lap. Kili cuddled against his uncle's chest and Thorin stroked the boy's sweaty dark hair back from his face. "You will soon be feeling better."

"Mum, too?" Kili asked in a raspy voice.

Thorin's sister had also succumbed to the nasty flu bug that had sidelined her sons. Dis had been in her bed across the hall for the past two days, unable to summon the energy to care for her boys or her house.

"Yes, your mum will be well, too," Thorin assured him.

Kili sighed and squirmed until he found a comfortable position, his small fist wrapping itself in the fabric of his uncle's tunic.

"Sleep now, Kili," the dwarf king told his nephew quietly.

The child yawned and rubbed his cheek against the rough fabric that covered Thorin's chest. "All right, Uncle," he sighed.

Thorin stroked the small dwarf's cheek with the backs of his fingers until Kili's breathing evened out in slumber.

The dwarf king held Kili tighter and then ran a gentle hand over Fili's blonde tresses. These boys were his greatest treasures, but they were of the Line of Durin. Things would be expected of them; they would have duties to fulfill, responsibilities to bear. Because of who they were, their lives would be fraught with danger.

Thorin's heart clenched at the thought. He had already lost so much in his life – his grandfather, his father, his mother, his brother. The very idea of losing these boys, boys whom he was raising as if they were his own sons, made his blood run cold.

The dwarf king sighed. He was a king without a throne, without a true home. Fili and Kili were princes of a kingdom that no longer existed. One day Thorin hoped to regain Erebor for his boys so that they could live the lives they were destined to lead.

"Uncle?" Fili asked softly as he rolled over in the room's semi-darkness, the only light coming from the fireplace.

"Yes, Fili?" Thorin asked gently.

"Is Kili all right?" Fili coughed slightly and burrowed deeper under the covers.

"Your brother will be fine, Fili. Go back to sleep; you need your rest."

"Yes, Uncle," the boy answered, already dropping off to sleep.

Thorin's melancholy mood deepened. He could not protect his boys from their future any more than he could protect them from childhood illnesses. His stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

"Love you, Uncle," Kili mumbled sleepily against him, rousing slightly from his slumber.

"And I love you, Kili," Thorin assured the small prince, vowing to do everything in his power to see that these boys, his children, would inherit the kingdom they deserved. "Go to sleep now. Morning will be here before you know it."

Thorin found himself awake the rest of the night watching his boys sleep and planning for their future.

The End