/THE HEART OF EREBOR\

ACT VI
-The King Beneath the Mountain-

Chapter 65

The Madness of Hope

It seemed strange to think that it had been less than a year ago that Kìli had stood upon the wall above Erebor's shattered gate, believing all he had ever loved in the world was about to come to a violent and terrible end. He had been alone, abandoned and friendless, more afraid than he had ever been in his life, and certain that he was about to die. The despair he had felt in that moment remained engraved in his heart as one of the worst moments of his short life, and the days that had followed it had been no better, filled with grief and loss and pain.

And yet, it was just an echo now, an event that had been and gone. A past that felt far more distant than the short, intervening months should have allowed. He was doing his best to overlay such fading recollections with new memories, happier memories, not just for himself, but for those around him as well.

Some days it was easier than others. When wounds still raw were not yet open and weeping, and he could be enough to wrench a smile from beneath Fìli's preoccupied frown, or to scatter the dark clouds that formed over his uncle's head, to chase away the haunting memories that gripped his mother. Other days the events of the past were a weight they all felt, a veritable hammer above all their heads, just waiting for the opportune moment to pound them into the anvil of cruel fate.

The battles they had survived had left their scars, and he knew they would take time to fade; to heal.

Thorin's coronation would go a long way towards accomplishing that, or so he hoped. Their victory certainly felt more certain now that the crown was resting upon his uncle's brow. Now that oaths had been sworn and old alliances reformed. He was proud to have played a part in that, no matter how small that part might have been in the grand scheme of things. Proud of what they had accomplished, rising from the ashes of wrath and ruin to restore the Line of Durin to its rightful place amidst the Seven. Had this been one of Balin's epics, the adventure would have ended the moment Thorin took his rightful place upon the throne. Sadly, if this quest had taught him anything at all, it was that the stories of old only ever told half the tale.

His own experiences had given him a new appreciation for the moments that the historians forgot. Those events deemed unimportant by the scholars who chose to study such things, dismissed in favour of great battles and the speeches that followed them. There would no doubt be countless retellings of the celebration that had marked the return of Erebor's king, each more ridiculous than the last, especially with the inclusion of their elven guests. But he doubted anyone would remember him slipping away from the gathering, confident his absence would not be noticed with the festivities in full swing, to seek a moment's solitude and reflection in what was swiftly becoming one of his favourite haunts.

The view from the wall above Erebor's gate was a world away from what it had been months before. Gone was the pool of dammed water, meant to hold the war camp that had lain further down the valley at bay. Gone were the dotted gatherings of campfires, the sound of voices and metal carried on the wind. Gone was the terrible aftermath, the rows upon rows of dead and the stench of the wounded and the dying. Peace had slowly crept in to take the place of it all, nature gently wiping away the blood spilt upon its back, until nothing remained to speak of the tragedies that had unfolded in this place.

Where once the sight had brought him nothing but dread, Kíli could now take comfort in the vista laid out on the mountain's doorstep. It was a sign of healing. A sign that, no matter the suffering that had passed here, time marched ever onwards, knitting over old wounds, bringing new hope to lift the afflicted from the mire of tragedy's aftermath. He needed that faith right now as much as he had needed it then, a light to cling to, a vision of the future he could lay before others when darkness ensnared their thoughts and despair sunk its claws in deep.

Perched upon the parapet's edge, his heels drumming an irregular beat against the stone seams, he let himself revel in the tranquility. It had been a long time since he had had a chance to simply sit and think, the world flowing peaceably by, and he intended to make the most of the moment while it lasted. Below him the celebration would continue, not stopping until well after the sun began to peek over the horizon. He did not begrudge them that, they had earned the right to their revelry, but he did not feel the need to join them. His victory was a quieter triumph, one he hoped he would be able to enjoy for years to come.

"There you are," Fìli's voice interrupted his musings, his brother's uneven stride accompanied by the 'thwap' of his cane on the stone floor, and Kìli frowned briefly, wondering when Fìli had found time to retrieve it, and why he hadn't asked someone to assist him up the stairs. His brother was not likely to appreciate either enquiry, however, so he held his tongue, keeping his gaze turned outwards as Fìli crossed the space between them. "You're missing Bofur's rousing rendition of The Cat Jumped Over the Moon."

Kìli snorted, easily able to picture what such a thing would entail. He had, after all, seen it before. "A request from Elrohir?"

"Well, he did miss the original performance whilst we were in Rivendell." Coming to stand beside him, Fìli leant his forearms on the wall, taking some of the weight off his bad leg. He waited a beat, letting the gentle breeze fill the space between them, then he asked, "What's bothering you, Ki?"

"Nothing." At his brother's sharp look, he elaborated. "I really mean that, Fìli. Nothing is wrong right now. We've won. Erebor is at peace, Thorin has been crowned, and I… I think maybe I just wanted a moment to let that sink in. We've been so busy trying to make sure that everything else goes smoothly that there just hasn't been time to… to… to just be."

"I know what you mean." Fìli nodded, his words a murmur. "It's been months, and yet sometimes this still doesn't feel real. Like a dream that could end at any minute."

"I'm sure it will seem real enough once we actually have to take part in ruling Erebor," Kìli interjected lightly, unwilling to surrender his hardwon sense of peace. "All those letters to write and documents to sign. My hand is aching just thinking about it." That earned him an amused look, which he returned, before continuing in a more thoughtful vein, "In many ways, tonight is an ending, and not just for Bilbo's book."

Fìli cast him a curious look, head tilted ever so slightly to the side. "What do you mean?"

"We set out from Ered Luin to reclaim our home," Kìli reminded him, rubbing his hands together in his lap. "To take back a mountain from a dragon. It sounded simple enough to us at the time, I'm sure, and it could be argued that that journey ended when Smaug was slain. But I don't think Erebor was ours again, not truly, until today."

"You think you'll be happy, then?" Fìli enquired, his tone mild, but his words earnest. "Calling Erebor home now?"

"My family is home." Kìli shot him a wry grin. "It really doesn't matter where we live."

"Even if it means being a proper prince?" His brother challenged, and Kìli laughed.

"Even then. I think I'm starting to understand that there are worse fates."

Fìli was silent for a long moment, staring out into the night, and his words, when they came, were almost a confession. "I don't know if I can look at it the way you do. Sometimes… Sometimes this all feels like a prison, and I don't know if that will ever change. Everyone says it will just take time, but…"

"It doesn't have to be," Kìli ventured, unsure if Fìli wanted him to speak, or was simply airing his fears aloud. "And you don't have to stay, Fì. If going back to Ered Luin would help, or paying a visit to Rivendell, then that is what you should do. Erebor doesn't have to come first."

"And that is why you are not going to be king," Fìli teased him, if weakly. "Your priorities are all askew."

"I am going to be your advisor," Kìli reached across to swat his sibling lightly on the head. "And that gives me leave, oh future king, to rearrange your priorities however I please."

Fìli raised an eyebrow at him, incredulous. "I do not see that working for Balin."

"Yes, well, we both know Uncle Thorin is far too stubborn for such a strategy to be effective."

"Oh." Now he was affecting offence. "And I am more easily persuaded?"

"Of course. I will simply fill your room with boxes of apples fresh from Dale's orchards and you will be halfway to Rivendell before you can say 'burglar'."

"Apples?" Fìli groaned. "Kìli, how could you betray me like this? Throwing your lot in with my one, true nemesis."

"And here I was thinking that was stairs."

"Hey." Fìli's indignant shove nearly sent his brother tumbling right off the wall. Laughing, Kìli overcompensated, falling backwards instead to land at his elder's feet. Fìli glared down at him, imperious, and that only made him laugh harder until Fìli let out an annoyed huff and lowered himself down to sit beside his sibling. "You are an ass."

Still chuckling, Kìli reached out to pat Fìli's knee in only half mocking apology, before settling back with both his arms behind his head. His shoulder twinged slightly at the motion, but it was a passing pain, easily ignored as he let his eyes settle on the starlit sky above. Fìli was only a moment in joining him, the sigh that escaped his lips one of contentment more than sorrow, and Kìli was willing to let the silence stretch, a blanket of comfortable familiarity between them both.

He had meant what he said. Tonight was an ending. The end of the quest to reclaim Erebor, the end of so many fears; so many battles and old, untended wounds. The end of one chapter, and yet the beginning of another. The next day would dawn with Thorin as Erebor's King, with Fìli and Kìli as princes and councillors officially sworn into their new roles. There would be decisions to make, meetings to attend, alliances to cement, duties to uphold. It should have terrified him, the weight of responsibility upon his - upon their - shoulders, but he was not afraid.

The Line of Durin had survived dragon fire, had survived madness and death and treachery. Though the challenges that lay before them were great, Kìli was surprised to realise that they no longer daunted him as they once had. Something had shifted, in the moment Thorin had been crowned, or before that even, when he had placed the Arkenstone in the hands of his fallen uncle and felt the rightness of that choice. He had no doubt that there would be further mistakes going forward, choices that would gnaw away at him, reminding him of the lives he was responsible for, the duties a Son of Durin could not escape.

But he was not alone.

That which he had sacrificed to try and save had been restored to him, a reward for his faith, a lesson learned and remembered. He had been prepared to give the Arkenstone away like a worthless trinket because he was afraid of losing that which he held most dear, and in so doing he had uncovered the true Heart of the Mountain. It was not the jewel that had so bewitched Thror and Thorin after him, or the gold that ran in rivers within the treasuries of the king. No, the beating heart of the Lonely Mountain was to be found in the merrymaking taking place in the Great Hall, in the laughter ringing out from every corner, in the quiet that had settled over he and his brother, restful and content. These moments, and the bonds that forged them, were what gave Erebor life; riches that could never be measured or bought.

It had taken him a long time to realise that simple truth, to understand that that was what he was sworn to protect, as a Son of Durin, a Prince of Erebor. He would never be a ruler with the power and authority that Thorin wielded, nor did he have Fìli's sense of duty and calm steadiness, but he was beginning to realise that lack was not the failing he had always assumed it to be. The Seven may well have been right in their assertions that he would have made a poor king, caring too much for one thing and too little for the other, but he didn't need to be what they thought he should be.

He had been spared the gold sickness because he had no use for wealth. He had given the Arkenstone away because Thorin and Fìli and the Company were simply more important in his eyes. He had turned his back on his birthright to gamble instead on the slim chance his kinsmen were alive. He had sought aid from those considered to be the enemy without a second's thought. He had made so many choices that had caused others to shake their heads in scorn or despair or both. And yet… he could not regret the future those choices had brought him. A future that might never have been had he listened to the words of others. Had he chosen to believe as they did, and abandon a course of action they had deemed madness.

And it had been. He recognised that now. Not gold sickness or the dragon's curse or grief or rage, but his own kind of insanity. To trust in good fortune in lands that had long been abandoned by the same. To believe when all others beliefs had died. To dare to stand against the tide and rage at the abyss… what else was that but madness? A year ago, he had sat atop this same wall and wished that he could share in the sickness that had taken his friends from him, his family. He had known it was wrong, but he had wished it all the same, never once realising that the curse of Erebor's treasure had found no foothold in his mind because another madness had already preceded it. So he could ask himself the same question again now; Was it wrong to wish for madness? And the answer, too, would be unchanged.

Yes.

Yes, it was.

For madness had already taken him.

The madness of hope.

A/n: Nearly six years ago, in December 2012, after watching the very first Hobbit Movie, the first lines of this story were written. It has been a long, interesting, and very fun journey to reach this ending, and it has been a genuine pleasure to share it with all of you. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride, and for your support, whether through comments or follows or kudos or PMs. I appreciate every last one of them.

All the best,
TTC