A/N: I started writing this story about two years ago and completely forgot about it! During Finals' Week I was searching for an entirely different file on my laptop, and I found this story instead. Originally intended to be a one-shot, the total length was almost 6000 words and it was never completed! I have fallen in love with it once again and I cannot believe I never finished it. My intrepid little muse, The Blue Canary, has scolded me quite severely for this tragic oversight… So I'm editing and making additions to what I originally had and shall continue to work on it. (Psst! Don't worry; The Mark of Gideon will still take priority.) I shall go ahead and post what I have so far in a series of short installments, with more to come eventually. Enjoy!

The Father of My Boys

Restless anxiety has rendered sleep impossible.

"Durin's beard," I mutter. A short, exasperated moan escapes me as I tear my blanket away and trudge wearily out of my room.

Like a befuddled bear I amble aimlessly around the house for several minutes, unsure what to do with myself. Eventually my heavy steps lead me to the fireplace where I fumble for my pipe left on the mantelpiece. I cradle it in my hands and pace before the dying fire as I attempt to light my tobacco. When I grow weary of treading the same piece of carpet I give up on my endless trek, and instead wander outdoors where I quietly idle on the front stoop to smoke.

Nights like this have become a semi-regular occurrence as the days before my scheduled departure slowly dwindle. Anticipation like agitated butterflies tickles and torments my insides when I try to sleep, plaguing me with persistent wakefulness and driving me from my bed. I cannot help it. Soon I shall travel north to meet with my cousin, Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, to seek his participation in our impending quest for Erebor. I dread the difficulties that will follow if he rejects my plea, but my hope is that he will see the vital importance of this opportunity—the chance of a lifetime, a chance to reclaim the home I have grieved as lost for decades, the stronghold that housed my people for centuries. For the first time since dragon-fire and ruin it feels within my reach.

With a thoughtful puff I send one smoke ring floating off into the darkness… then two… then three. Inhaling deeply I remove the pipe from between my teeth and sigh, watching as the smoke unfurls from my lips and dissipates into the warm air. For the first time my promises to my sister-sons do not seem so empty.

Erebor is the legacy of my people. For too long we have lived as refugees in mountains that are not ours, exiled from our own. Too many do not remember the place we have come from, have all but forgotten the home of Durin's folk. Too many were born beneath alien stone. Like my lads.

I rebuke myself for that last thought. Too few were born… always too few. For all their longevity of years, dwarves bear children in too small a number to be called plentiful. Dwarflings are precious; their birthplace does not matter as long as they come.

And two of them are mine own kin.

With a small smile my brooding thoughts wander to my nephews, and a familiar sense of warmth brightens my heart. Fíli and Kíli are my pride and joy. They have grown strong and sturdy with the fire of Durin's blood in their veins; their eyes are sharp with the spirit of youth, their feet firm on the ground from years of training and experience. Both are as quick in wit and word as they are in sword and hammer, and I am honored to call them my sister-sons. They shall both accompany me on the quest, although at first I did not wish it so. It is not for lack of confidence in their abilities, but they are yet so young—especially Kíli, who burns bright in the passion of his youth, naïve and untempered in a manner that Fíli is not, and he maintains a worrisome streak of recklessness.

Balin made me see that it was without question Fíli, as my eldest nephew and heir, had an undeniable right and responsibility to be part of the journey. I realized I couldn't think to argue it, because it is part of his birthright as much as it is a part of mine. Eventually Fíli joined the dwarves on my private counsel where he was heartily welcomed, though my heart skipped a beat at the thought of him joining us in facing the dangers yet to come. Though fair of face amongst a group of wizened dwarves, he is sound of mind and wise beyond his years; despite myself I grew pleased with his presence.

But when the question came of his younger brother's role in this venture, I had been firmly opposed to his participation. Perhaps the presence of one of my nephews was required, but in my mind it did not mean that both had to be placed in such danger—and though it was by no means intended as a slight against Kíli's character or ability, I feared his impetuous nature would bring him to harm. The sense of over-protectiveness I've had for him ever since he was born reigned strong in my heart. Were it not for Fíli's stubborn persistence and artful arguments made in his brother's favor, perhaps I would never have changed my mind. I soon came to realize, however, that Fíli and Kíli a packaged deal as they have always been, and where one goes the other must follow. I relented—and Kíli signed the contract with the rest of the company. Though I still have my reservations, I must confess that on a selfish level I am grateful to have them both by my side.

Notwithstanding, I find myself wondering if I am doing right by bringing them along. Can it be called good to take them on so perilous a journey, one with so uncertain an ending? What if they are hurt? Mahal forbid, what if one brother should perish? I do not know if the other could go on. And if they both…?

I chew on the end of my pipe as I resist the temptation to further agonize over these questions, ones I have asked of myself a thousand times already. It is folly to entertain such dark notions. My nephews are coming along and that is that. They are not children. They can take care of themselves, with or without my help. I cannot help but wonder, though, what their father would've said to that if he were here.

Would he be angry at me for so willfully putting his beloved sons into harm's way?

I inhale too quickly and a copious amount of tobacco smoke assaults my windpipe. My eyes water and I cough roughly. These are questions I prefer not to consider. And yet…

And yet.

My thoughts now settle on Jóli, another fine dwarf laid to rest far before his time. Another family member lost… and what I would give that he was yet among us. I miss his company, and his counsel. Most importantly he left behind a wife and two small children who needed him. I have always been a poor substitute to his sons, though I have always tried my hardest to fulfill their needs as best I could. Oftentimes I've failed… quite miserably, in fact… but despite all my inadequacies I've only ever wanted them to be happy, to know that they are loved, treasured, and that I would do anything to give them the lives they deserve.

And they are such good lads.

They are just like their father. Fíli especially inherited his appearance—the charismatic nose, the soft smile and gentle brow, his great mass of tawny hair—but he also has Jóli's silver-tongued talent with words. On the other hand, Kíli possesses much of Jóli's personality—the fierce temper, sharp wit, and dazzling charm—but his dark eyes, too, are of his father. Both have his good humor. How proud Jóli would have been, as proud as I am now if not more so, to see the kind-hearted dwarves and talented warriors his sons have become.

He would have been so proud. Surely, even now; he would be proud that his sons are embarking on a quest to reclaim their homeland, so bravely and honorably. He would bless their efforts, if not mine.

I wish I could speak with Jóli one last time.

And as I wait for fatigue to claim me while I am embroiled in my thoughts, an idea comes to me, one so simple and yet comforting that I smile. I put out my pipe, rise to my feet, and go indoors in search of pen and paper.

To be continued…

A/N: Still editing the rest of it. Stay tuned for more!