So Comes Snow After Fire

10.iv

The truth was, Fíli was jealous. Not in that mean, begrudging way that would have traded his brother's happiness for his own. But still, Kíli had something Fíli had always hoped he would find, and now supposed he might well have to give up.

It had always been understood that at least one of them was to marry and continue the royal line. While as the eldest, Fíli felt such responsibilities more strongly than his younger brother, he had always expected that in this instance, Kíli would come through. Kíli always seemed to be flirting with some girl or other; he would choose one some day, and then Fíli would be free to settle his own choice when he wished.

It wasn't that he disliked the prospect of marrying. His own parents, though he had known them together only briefly, had proven how happy a union could be. But that was just it: Fíli had always looked to them, and hoped that he might find something just as meaningful someday. But theirs had been a match made in exile, with no concessions to politics. As the king's heir and with his brother pursuing an elf, Fíli knew he had to think of doing as he was expected.

And so, as he drafted invitations to next summer's council of the Seven Kingdoms, he tried not to be annoyed at having to imply, politely, that the Crown Prince would be happy to make the acquaintance of any unmarried maidens of the noble families. It had been Thorin's suggestion, and Fíli had been reasonable enough to acknowledge that the advice had been kindly meant: his uncle was offering him a chance to find someone whom he truly cared for. And yet Fíli still felt they all were somewhat constrained by Kíli's unconventional choice, and that no-one would be quite so hurried to see the eldest prince wed if there was not the alarming possibility of half-elven sons looming on the horizon. It didn't matter if Kíli gave up his right to the throne; everyone, Fíli suspected, would feel relieved if more than one unmarried prince stood in the way of the bloodline.

Fíli was sorting out the multiple official seals for diplomatic letters when Kíli himself burst into the room.

"Hallo, brother," he said, striding energetically up to Fíli's writing desk. "Looks like your work has been harder than mine."

"I'm almost done. Here; hold this." Fíli thrust a small crucible of golden wax into his brother's hand. "...don't know how you're s'posed to do this with only two hands."

As Kíli melted the wax over the lamp at the table, Fíli readjusted the ornamental ribbon holding the letter closed. "Ready," he said, holding everything in place as Kíli dripped wax over paper and ribbon. "Make sure that's the right seal!" he blurted, as Kíli grabbed for one of the three on the desk.

"Relax; I did pay attention when Balin taught us all this." Kíli slapped a seal down over the cooling wax, and Fíli saw with relief that it was the right one.

"Really? Because I remember you drawing dragons in your notes. Wait—" Fíli caught his brother's arm as Kíli drew it back. He recognized that studded vambrace. "Where'd you get that?" Fíli demanded, his voice eager.

"Tauriel."

Of course. When they made their hasty escape from the Elvenking's dungeons, they had abandoned what gear hadn't already been confiscated.

"She sends a gift to you, as well," Kíli continued, whipping something from his belt: Fíli saw it was his own matched knives. They settled comfortably into his hands as he took the offered handles. After giving them a few easy twirls, Fíli inspected them, running his fingers lovingly along blade and hilt. The steel was as bright, the polished wood as smooth as when he'd last had them. Whatever else he might have said about his erstwhile captors, they respected a fine weapon.

"Should I give you three some time alone?" Kíli teased.

"Shut it; you know you'd be as happy to see your old bow again."

Kíli nodded, not disputing that. "She's sending the rest of our things by the river route to Dale."

"So how was your visit to the Elvenking? Did you get to sleep in your old cell?"

Kíli snorted.

"They gave me a guest room so big I nearly got lost trying to find the necessary."

"And what did Thranduil say? He's glad you're taking his troublesome captain off his hands?"

"I suppose!" Kíli laughed, still incredulous. "He's the last one I ever expected to encourage us. Remember how our cousin Onar used to try to convince us that if we did what he wanted, we'd get something out of it, too? That's what it felt like. But Tauriel believes him, and I believe her."

"I'm impressed with you, playing the diplomat."

"So am I! But I told myself I'd never be any good to you or Uncle or Tauriel if I couldn't do it."

Fíli nodded, sympathetic; he knew all too well the feeling of acting, not out of confidence, but from necessity. And yet the confidence usually came in time.

"Did you give Tauriel your gift?"

"Yes. We're quite official now," Kíli announced proudly.

His brother laughed. "You've been very unofficial for some time."

"I know." Kíli shrugged. "But I knew she was the one I wanted. I couldn't just let her get away."

"No," Fíli agreed, thoughtful. He doubted that Kíli's sureness was simply an effect of his general impetuosity; if it was, Kíli would likely have settled with one of the handful of girls he'd noticed before now. What must it be like to feel so sure of someone? In spite of Fíli's own hopes, he could not fault his brother for pursuing Tauriel so earnestly.

"Well, I'm glad for you, Kí," he added. "Now, if you'll help me seal the rest of these letters, we can catch a drink or two before dinner."