So Comes Snow After Fire

7.v

Fíli unwrapped the last pottery bowl from the crate and placed it on the table with the rest: dishes, vases, goblets, and mugs. Dís came up behind him as he refolded the cloths that had been used as packing, but instead of taking another dish to arrange on the cabinet, she clasped her arms around him.

"My darling, I'm so proud of you. And so grateful," she said behind his shoulder.

Fíli put down the folded cloths and caught her hands from his waist. As a little boy, he had watched the clay spring into shape at her touch, and he had been sure there was some magic in those strong, graceful fingers which could call anything she wished into being. He knew now, of course, that such power did not extend beyond the circle of her potter's wheel. She had not been able to bring her husband back from that fateful trading expedition, nor could she ensure that her sons survive their quest for reclamation and revenge.

"I'm glad you're here, Mum," he said.

"So am I." She held him tight for a moment and released him.

He took a pitcher from the table and set it in a place of prominence on the top shelf of the cupboard. He had always liked the way the light brought out a bronzy glint on the glaze of that particular piece.

When he turned round, his mother was watching him thoughtfully.

"You look more like your father every day," she said in answer to his curious glance.

Fíli smiled. The knowledge made him feel closer to the man who'd died while Fíli was still in his teens.

"You know," his mother continued, her tone introspective. "The hardest thing I've ever done was watch you two boys march down that road. But I'm glad I didn't stop you." She shook her head. "I know your uncle could not have accomplished this alone."

Fíli shrugged, not quite dismissive. "I'm not sure what I did. I couldn't bring him out of the dragon fever. And Kíli was the one who confronted him to go into battle." Sometimes his brother's impetuosity was good for something. Indeed, Fíli was still somewhat disappointed in himself for not having spoken up as well, either there on the battlement or earlier.

"Nonsense," she scolded him gently. "Your steadiness has always been your strength. Do you think your uncle could have come all this way if he did not know he had good men to follow him? Besides, you gave him someone to reclaim this home for."

Fíli nodded, grateful and humbled at once.

"I'm proud of you for staying with your brother in Laketown," Dís went on.

"There wasn't anything else I could have done." It hadn't really felt like a choice at the time. It was just the one thing to do.

"No? I think everyone, even Kíli, would have understood if you'd gone with Thorin."

"Didn't matter." Fíli shook his head. "Just thank Mahal she was there, or I'd be telling you Kí's last words right now." His tone was light, but he was deeply grateful he'd been spared that painful duty.

"Yes..." Dís mused, thoughtful again.

After a few moments, Fíli ventured, "Tauriel really is perfect for him. I mean," he laughed at himself, "maybe she's a bit tall, but... Kíli slows down around her, and well, she kind of opens up, too. She's not just some snooty elf."

His mother laughed. "I did not think she could be," she said.

"I just wish—" Fíli sighed, his exasperation coming to the fore. "I wish he'd talk to Thorin. The two of them haven't mentioned her since their argument, and that was weeks ago!"

Dís smiled at him gently. "I know, love. But this is your brother's challenge, and he must find the way through himself. If he can't, there's truly no chance for them."

Fíli eyed her curiously. He'd been sure she would take someone's side, and vehemently.

Her smile deepened, showing that same lively spark that Kíli's had from her. "Oh, I've told your uncle what I think, right enough. But perhaps it's best if the rest of us stay out of this now." She said it easily enough, but Fíli could tell from something swift and impatient in her glance that doing so would not be without effort.

"I suppose you're right," he agreed finally, and moved on to unpack the next crate of his mother's things.