Chapter Text
Dragon-sickness. A terrible calamity to befall the line of Durin. My great-grandfather had it, my grandfather had it and now my uncle suffers from it. Will it leave its evil mark upon me as well? Upon my brother?
Erebor is ours again. Smaug is dead and Thorin is rightful King under the Mountain in more than name alone.
Bilbo has been banished and our Company is under siege by both elves and men.
The worst of it all? Our leader has begun his slow descent into madness.
Thorin is tainted by the curse of lust for gold. You can see it in his eyes. You can hear it in his words. But mostly, you can feel it in his presence. He is but a shadow of his former self, a general sense of depravity having settled over him like a thick and heavy mantle. He is corrupted by greed and does not recognize friend from foe. Look at what he did to our little burglar. The very same hobbit who risked his life time and again to save us. To save our King.
None of us quite know how to deal with this turn of events. Our loyalty has ever been to Thorin Oakenshield. As it remains, even now - despite everything. But the Company is wary of him. Some are afraid. Especially Kili. I have seen the way he flinches beneath Uncle's every harsh utterance and cold stare. He does not understand. He reveres him too much.
I wonder if any of the others are feeling a touch of the madness as well, for dwarves are known to covet gold and treasure. And the dungeon-hall is filled with the dragon's hoard - Erebor's stolen riches.
I have yet to feel its tainted stroke upon my spirit. But there is another darkness that resides there now, since we have gathered beneath the Mountain. A foul and oppressing malady that seeks to warp my soul into something wicked and unforgivable. It is only a matter of time, I know. I can sense it. Something or someone ... a trigger. An incident that will set things in motion and I fear there will be no turning back, nothing to erase the irreparable damage of its inevitable outcome. And so I wait with the taste of dread upon my tongue and the smell of desolation burning through my lungs, holding onto the last threads of hope, isolating myself for what could be our last night in this reclaimed home of ours before war tries to take it all away again on the morrow.
* * * * *
I have kept myself from him these past few days. As much as possible. A difficult feat, considering our closeness and the love I bear him. He is my brother and we are inseparable. He is the flame that burns brightest above all and I would not see it wane. Not by my hand. Wouldst that he would never have embarked on this journey with us. With me. Doom awaits us, of that I am certain. Please, let him meet his end as a warrior should, on a battlefield - broken in body. Do not let him die from a broken spirit. Do not let me deliver the killing blow.
* * * * *
It is late and still sleep eludes me, refusing to allow me a moment's peace from my treacherous thoughts. The others should be sleeping by now, other than Uncle's appointed sentries. Kili is tucked safely away from me, under Ori's care. I had asked the gentle dwarf to look after him for the night and there must have been enough desperation in my bearing, or perhaps too much fear in my voice, for he did not ask any questions as he pledged himself to protect the youngest prince. The most precious treasure of all.
I was pacing the empty room - an abandoned chamber that had been deemed salvageable enough to be used as temporary sleeping quarters - with hands clenched into fists, body tense and eyes wild, no doubt. I imagine I looked the part of a fierce animal trapped in a cage. It is how I felt, at least, while the dementia settled in, unbidden and most unwelcome. Yet expected, regardless. I felt less and less like myself with each turn at the edge of the hearth. Its flagstone was cold and no blazing flames could be found in the cavernous fireplace. I was still dressed and still armed, eager for a fight. Itching for relief. As it happened, both came to me, unexpected, as the door suddenly opened and there stood Kili, along with Bofur. And no trace of Ori.
I have never seen such a feral look on Kili before, a turbulent storm brewing in his eyes. He takes a step towards me and Bofur grabs his arm, meaning to stop him. I growl. My brother tries to shake the older dwarf's hand away but to no avail. The miner has a firm grip and before I can think things through, a dagger is flying out of my hand, effectively pinning Bofur to the door as the blade pierces through layers of wool and leather and embeds itself into the thick wood. I am on him in an instant, another dagger unsheathed and pressing into the skin of his neck. His eyes are wide with surprise, his throat working nervously against the steel that threatens him.
"Don't touch him," I spit out. "Don't you lay a hand on him." Kili tries to intervene on Bofur's behalf but I refuse to listen. I can only seethe in anger as I stare down the miner. He tries to explain. Something about Kili knocking out Ori, intent on finding me. Bofur had tried to stop him, acting on my own directives to the youngest of the 'Ri brothers. He was trying to save Kili. But it is already too late, I realize, as I watch the thin rivulets of blood blemish the skin near his jugular. A red haze gathers around the edges of my vision and my nostrils flare at the whiff of iron in the air. Blood. It is blood that I want. Blood that I need.
But not his blood.
"Fili!"
I inhale sharply at the sound of Kili's voice, forcing my hand to relax its grip on the hilt. I slowly take a step back, and then another. Bofur's fingers are at his throat, shock apparent in every feature as he surely feels the wet stickiness where a weapon held him in peril but an instant ago. His eyes shift and focus somewhere behind me, to the left. Kili, no doubt. "Get out," I hiss over a pointed dagger, its tip inches from his chest. He hesitates a moment, but I am past caring about the emotions visibly warring within him. Finally he nods, pulling out the blade that holds him trapped with a painful hiss before letting it clatter to the ground; one last look towards my brother and he slips out the way he came. I notice a dark stain smeared across the wood.
"Fili ... ?"
I close my eyes and allow the corners of my mouth to pull into a semblance of a smile. Then I slowly turn and pounce on him, grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him towards me, only to shove him against the door face first. The air is knocked out of him from the force of impact and I smile just a little more. My ears are ringing from the rushing blood as shudders of exhilaration course through my body. And that's when I know myself well and truly lost to the madness. To the lust.
Thorin can barter for the return of his damned Arkenstone and he can just as well keep it. I have captured my own prize.
A malicious grin now stretching my lips, I breathe into the soft curve of his ear.
"You should not have come."
TBC ...