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There was a precipitate loud thump, a distant chuckle, and the golden haired dwarf was sent rolling down the dirty hill. Fili had dodged the sharp rocks on his way; if it was luck, or one of the many effects of the curse, no one would really know. The dwarf only stopped when his sword was what half stuck him to a pine root.
Meanwhile, The Company grew ever impatient as there were no news from their thrifty scout, and wasn’t sure if it was realistic to fret over this. Perhaps the dwarves were just eager to proceed, since their food had grown short already and their stomachs were starting to beg again. The ever so zealous Ori was sitting beside Kili, occasionally leaning the back of his knuckles over Kili’s forehead as he was laying down, half covered with furs, including Thorin’s cloak; his head rested comfortably over Bofur’s nicely folded scarf. Everyone felt worried about the young prince, who seemed to suffer more than he belated the quest; and that was saying a lot. He coughed rather often, and whenever he did so, one could guess that he had some difficulty breathing or even speaking. The leader of the company had had to make new calculations about the journey because of his fever. He only wished they would reach Erebor at least before Durin’s day.
“You seem to be better. How do you feel, Kili?” Ori politely inquired with his strong articulated way of speaking; he leaned forward a bit and tilted his head to watch the prince. This latter’s cheeks were slightly reddened still and he breathed heavily once his eyes blinked open,
“Where… is Fili?”
Ori shook his head, “Not back yet.” The youngest of the dwarves had a didactic book over his lap where he gathered all the information that he could about their journey; even Kili’s temperatures had been meticulously gathered.
Thorin walked over to where his younger nephew laid and he ducked his head to glare down at him. “You should not force yourself to speak” he warned, his brows furrowed. There was no anger in his speech, but one could notice the hint of impatience in it. Kili had been forbidden to use his voice since he had it terribly hoarse, and Aule knew how stubborn he was to follow such instructions. This dwarf was one of the most loquacious dwarves of the Company afterall.
Suddenly, Dori loudly unsheathed his sword and Bombur stopped gnawing on the last piece of honey cake.
“What is this?” Thorin demanded, startled from the sudden agitation all around.
In no time, Nori and Dwalin were on their feet. The tallest of the dwarves, who now handled Ukhlat and Umraz in both his hands, barked: “We heard something.”
The hobbit ran to the middle of the group and placed a hand on Sting; if the dwarves had actually heard something altogether, it was alarming. He only wondered how he hadn’t, though. But soon he caught it as well. It was not a light sound now, either. The bushes hissed, not far away, and out of it there came leaping a form, which was swinging two trenchant swords. It was Fili, and Thorin would have stopped the rest of the Company if his nephew hadn’t just struck Bifur. His arm had been injured and everyone was pendulous at the betrayal. The blond dwarf did not seem at all surprised, and was actually ready to step up to Dwalin.
“What in Aule’s beard?” Thorin was unable to unsheathe Orcrist to face his heir; him of all the dwarves! Fili was growling, and for one second he did look like a lion, hair cascading from his forehead – rather un-princely, and his teeth showing. His eyes looked more ferocious, and there was something in them that did look as noxious as the edge of his swords, or as incendiary as the gold of his hair. It all happened rather quickly: Dori had been tackled down, as had Bombur, and if it had not been for Dwalin, the strongest of them besides Thorin, Fili would have been rather unstoppable. There was fire in each one of Fili’s movements.
“Calm down! Car’ful, the arm! The arm! yer stubb’rn lad!” Bofur held on to his cousin as he dragged him from the fuss, taming the gesticulating dwarf that looked more than confused: he looked utterly terrified, and also extremely offended. His khuzdul sounded messy, like he had run short of curse words already.
Balin had trotted towards Ori to keep him from getting just as harmed, because he knew that this latter had still the very same courage of youth in his veins – besides the naive trait. It was only once Fili was disarmed that the eldest dared to speak. His white beard looked spiky, as if from the scare. “What brought you to such pernicious acts, child?”
Balin’s voice was more calm than anyone could have managed at that moment. Dwalin was the one who held Fili’s arms behind his back. Nori the thief made sure Fili’s swords were kept at a distance, and Dori was dusting off his clothes, watching, visibly still stunned. Bofur had wrapped a random piece of clothing just a bit over the wound of his querulous cousin Bifur.
There was silence for a moment, before Fili let out a harsh growl: “I am no child! And you!” he was glaring at Thorin the whole time, “Your quest is doomed! Your company will fall! The fire breather shall whither all of your beards!” Dwalin pulled back more on his arms but Fili’s voice went on, with a slightly prophetic tone to it. “I have failed to slaughter you and spare your waste of time: Kill me now! End my own miserable life. At least, I won’t misuse it like you intend to do with yours!”
The leader of the Company stood, and for once, his almost hubristic trait did not prevail. This was surely not the nephew he had raised, and even less the dwarf he had brought with the Company. His inveterate heavy brows arched; his mouth had opened, as if to say something, but there was no sound out from it.
“It cannot be… this is a spell.” Balin uttered, just as sagacious as ever, “Fili would not say such things.”
“Agreed…” whispered a tremulous Ori.
“Nor do such things! Look at what the lad did h’re!” Bofur breathed out.
“Just end this!” Fili was not really growling anymore; he was pleading, begging. He would have fallen to his knees if only Dwalin had let him.
There was a heavy silence as everyone secretly pondered how this turn of events would develop. Would killing him be the solution? That was out of question. But what if he ought to stay alive, how would they bring him back? The worried look on everyone’s face was reluctant in accepting that, whatever they could do, nothing would probably lift up the spell from the blond dwarf, whose eyes looked reddened, malicious as they had never been before. Fili was the heir to the throne, and if Thorin came to die facing the dragon, Fili would be the heir of Erebor. Not to mention, Fili was one of them afterall! It was the brave charismatic warrior which every single one of them would choose to teach their own dwarflings for battle!
“Gandalf will know what to do” reminded Nori, glaring at his leader in an ultimate hopeful hint. But this time, the answer that came was a rancorous one: “The wizard comes and goes when he pleases, but his reasons are never ours. WE need to do something.” Thorin had learnt long ago that he would not trust just anyone, and he had reasons to do so. As a leader, he had the consciousness required to judge when he had to handle his troubles himself. Relying on Gandalf to sort everything was not something he would just gladly give into.
“Ever so proud.” The hobbit commented with a heavy brow. It is useless to say that at that comment, Thorin snapped immediately. Not only the Company had been physically shaken, now it seemed as if it had been poisoned noxiously from the inside. All of the dwarves leaped into a huge argument, shouting and gesticulating. Fili seemed to be the only one who was silent, and even though no one noticed, there was a very slight smirk over his lips.
“Say that again!”
“Gather your wits!”
“What did you say?”
“You halfwit!”
“How dare you?”
“...Fee?”
“You beardless idiot!”
“This is not my quest!”
“FEE?” The hoarseness of Kili made it hard to be heard, but his silence and isolation was probably what had saved him from joining the dispute.
Thorin was the first to silence himself when he remembered his nephew laying down in his fever. The rest followed the leader’s gaze, but the blond dwarf’s eyes were the widest for a moment.
There was nothing or anything that could stop Fili. In a moment of distraction, Dwalin’s grip was clumsy over the other’s arms, and he managed to slip free. There was no treachery, no second intentions as he did so. Fili’s steps were true again and although he was almost stopped by the others in his deliverance, he fell onto his knees next to his beloved brother and leaned down to extend his arms in a hug. Kili reciprocated the best he could, eyes closing slowly as if he knew.
Thorin could feel himself breathe again. Dwalin was still wondering how he had let him escape; while Bofur’s contagious smile slightly reappeared, Bombur was ready to cheer from joy and move onto his next meal.
Fili only pulled out to halfly crouch as he looked back over his shoulder, meeting his uncle with a stare. “There is a lake, further down the valley. We should go before dusk and make camp there” His voice was back to its natural mature tone. He placed his hands over Kili’s burning temples; he seemed rather sicker than before, with a slight layer of sweat covering the skin of his face. Carefully, he dropped a caring kiss on his brother’s warm forehead before standing up; it was time for Fili to look after him, as it had always been and as it always would remain.