So Comes Snow After Fire

11.vi

Fíli remember a lot of New Year's celebrations. Many in those early days of the settlement in Ered Luin had been nowhere near as elaborate as this, though a few of the more recent ones had been richer still. Yet none of them had felt as important as today.

This time, it really seemed to mark the beginning of something: not only a new year, but a new place, new responsibilities, a new life. Maybe now Erebor could begin feeling like the home he had left behind and—he admitted to himself—still missed. He would never have said so to his uncle, or mother, or even his brother, but it was true. He'd always unconsciously expected that arriving at the mountain, when they got here, would feel like coming home. But he'd come to realize that home was the place you knew because it had shaped you: even when it wasn't entirely lovable, you were still fond of it because it was yours, and maybe you were its.

Erebor didn't feel like his, yet. And still he'd been thinking, all night since he'd watched Thorin renewing the forges, that Erebor would be his one day. He would be the one with the sacred flame held high, offering a prayer for his people. And the thought was, well, still somewhat frightening.

Fíli had been fifteen when he had found out what it meant to be Thorin's heir, and he'd been so proud. His uncle, after his father, was the man he most admired and wanted to follow. Being heir was an honor, and Fíli had always known he wanted to give everything to fulfill that trust.

Of course he hadn't understood the immensity of that responsibility at first, but as he had grown older, he had come to understand how a king had to give himself to and for his kingdom, and how his actions had meaning for others beyond simply himself. For a prince, such duties were perhaps less pressing, yet Fíli had known, without being told, that he must learn to bear them now if he was to become the king his family needed him to be. And he'd thought, when they left Ered Luin on the quest, that he truly had accepted the fullness of his role.

But since he had felt the shadow of these ancient halls for the first time, he had discovered he really had little idea of what it meant to lead their company of fourteen, never mind a whole kingdom. In the moment he had seen his uncle and known Thorin was lost to the dragon sickness, he had understood that the rule would fall to him, and he had felt, amidst his pain and pity, how very unprepared he was to accept such a charge.

Now, thank Mahal, Fíli had regained the time to learn his duty, to grow into it as he had always done, but the duty itself had proved greater than he had ever imagined. There were still halls to be rebuilt, treaties to be reforged, and allies to be pleased. Most recently, Fíli had realized the these last few tasks fell as much to him as they did to his uncle: those who made connections to Erebor would expect to be dealing with him as king one day. And while he was proud to be given such consideration even now, it was yet another weight to carry, nearly as tangible as the heavy gold he wore today in his hair. And so Fíli sat drinking alone at the high table and feeling oddly subdued amidst this merry feast that was the year's greatest celebration.

Across the hall from him, Kíli sat among a few other musicians, demonstrating the workings of his fiddle to a fascinated Tauriel. Fíli wished he could discover Kíli's secret of happy oblivion to the pressures and expectations of others. Kíli certainly didn't seem to care that he and Tauriel had been the object of curious (and even disapproving) stares all night.

No matter what the others thought of Tauriel, surely they must recognize how courageous she was to endure such attention. Earlier, Fíli had noticed a cluster of girls giving her a very harsh, if silent, appraisal. He didn't think their censure had been anything personal—he didn't remember his brother having shown any of them particular attention back in Ered Luin. Surely it was general disdain for an outsider who had taken a place she had less right to than they. Tauriel had maintained her composure under their scrutiny, though Fíli had noticed with amusement the deliberate carelessness with which she had removed a strand of her hair from where it had caught on Kíli's shoulder, thereby reinforcing her connection to him even as she dismissed it.

Seeing Tauriel beside their own women had been rather fascinating, really. Among dwarves, the female form tended toward full curves and compact, though shapely, proportions. In contrast, Tauriel was all slender waist and long limbs—in a word, willowy. Fíli had not been sure, at first, what his brother saw there to prefer. But he understood now that her unadorned loveliness offered something no dwarf maid could. Tauriel wore no gems or metal, beyond the light pendant at her breast and a few stones on her ears, and she seemed rather to ornament her simple, elegant gown than it her. The girls who had eyed her earlier might well have thought her underdressed, but the rich jewels and costly embroidery that adorned their own beauty would only have hidden hers.

The band was finished warming up now and had launched into a lively reel. True to Kíli's teasing prediction, Tauriel did seem quite taken by his fiddling. Then again, Fíli thought, she would probably have watched him with that same look of soft adoration had he been doing sums for mining accounts, reading a book, or even brushing his hair. The two of them really were quite hopeless, but at least they were happy.

Before he could ponder too deeply into whether the same assessment applied to him, he looked up from his mug to find Tauriel smiling down on him.

"Your brother says you are a fine dancer," she said almost coquettishly.

"Aye, but probably not good enough to win you from him. Though perhaps I will try!" He downed the last of his ale and then led her back to where a few other couples had already formed a set.

Though her height made matching him a little awkward at first, Tauriel picked up the steps quickly enough, executing them with an elegance Fíli supposed had probably never yet graced this exuberant, rustic dance. Watching her, Fíli thought he saw the unstudied joy that drew his brother to her so much, and he found his own mood lightening to match hers.

They danced a second set, and then Kíli pushed in between them. "I wanted you to dance with her, not steal her," he joked, thrusting fiddle and bow into Fíli's hands.

"I'm sure you can find someone else far more worth your efforts," Tauriel called over her shoulder as Kíli whisked her away.

Fíli stepped back, clear of the dancers, and in doing so, bumped into someone.

"Beg your pardon," he said, and turned to find a young lady in a gown the color of the smoky quartz at her throat and with her white-gold hair pinned up in elaborate braids.

"Your highness," she murmured, coloring and dropping a light curtsey. "It was my fault."

Fíli was quite sure it wasn't, but he was too unwilling to stifle Sif's blossoming self-assurance to argue with her. Instead, he asked, "Are you enjoying the feast?"

"I am," she said, smiling at him then. "It's so much happier than last year's. It was rather gloomy with all of you gone." Sif looked at him with a mildly conflicted expression, as if there were more she wished to say. Finally she managed, "I'm very glad to be here; aren't you?"

Fíli hesitated for a moment before returning, "I am." He wasn't quite comfortable yet with everything that had changed in his life, but if Sif could be glad tonight, he would be, too.

"Do you dance?" he asked, nodding towards the couples on the floor. It was, perhaps, a foolish way to ask if she would join him, but he truly had never seen her dance before at any of their festivals in Ered Luin.

"Not usually," she said, as if understanding his thought. "Of course, I know how—" She was blushing deeply now, apparently afraid she might seem to refuse him. "I mean, yes, I would like to, if you want." Despite her obvious embarrassment, she kept her eyes on his.

Fíli nodded, then looked down at Kíli's fiddle and bow, which were still in his hands. "Let me just put this somewhere."