So Comes Snow After Fire

5.ii

Fíli knew he should be proud of his brother for having done the hard thing—the right thing—and he was. But part of him still held on to his resentment. He just wished that, once in a while, there was some kind of consequence for the bold, irresponsible things Kíli did. Fíli knew he was being unreasonable to wish it—he certainly did not want his brother exiled or disinherited, and he knew that tonight was hardly the end of the matter between Kíli and Thorin. But still, it felt like letting Kíli off to forget that he'd done something so nearly catastrophic and just monumentally stupid.

And so, despite feeling wildly relieved to have his brother back, Fíli had remained cool throughout dinner, and when the two of them had retired, he shut himself into his bedroom instead of lounging in the common room. He wasn't really ready to go to sleep yet, and so he sat on the edge of his bed, tossing one of his knives as he often did when he was thinking, or in this case, trying not to.

After a while, a knock sounded on the door. "Fí? May I come in?"

Fíli tossed the knife and caught it again before answering. "Yes."

The door opened slowly before Kíli, whose eyes flicked from his brother's face to the knife in his hand as if half expecting Fíli to throw it at him.

Fíli looked down to the knife as well and then threw it towards the far end of the room, away from Kíli. He dimly registered the hollow thunk it made as the blade lodged in the wooden shield hung on the wall.

Kíli did not seem encouraged. "Fíli, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

I know, Fíli wanted to say, but didn't.

Kíli moved towards him again. "I should have listened to you last night. You were right." He stopped in front of Fíli. "You know I— I came back for you."

Fíli looked up at him and nodded. His brother's brow was drawn—Kíli didn't cry, not when he was upset, but he had that troubled, brokenhearted look that was almost worse. Fíli had sometimes wondered if that look was something special that little brothers were given on their way into the world. It would explain how they got away with all the things they did. Kíli had certainly exploited its power before, and Fíli himself had even banked on his brother's ability to elicit sympathy to get them both out of trouble when they were kids. But now, he knew the look was no ploy: Kíli was simply deeply and genuinely upset.

"Fí, I'm sor—" Kíli began again, but Fíli rose and caught him in a hug before he could finish.

"I forgive you," Fíli said, deliberately letting his resentment go. Holding grudges was something he had never been able to do; it made him feel so very petty.

"I've been a terrible brother and a terrible son," Kíli mumbled from Fíli's shoulder. "And to Tauriel, I would've been—" He sighed, then finished unhappily, "Basically, I've been a terrible everything."

"Nah, you've almost been a terrible everything," Fíli corrected gently. "But you came back. That's what matters."

"Thanks." Kíli clasped his arms around his brother's shoulders.

Maker be thanked, you're not the idiot I say you are sometimes, Fíli thought, but all he said was, "Thanks for coming back."