Want to write/draw/headcanon/edit/whatever your heart desires some Fili/Kili goodness? So do we! Looks like it’s time for FiKi Week!
Our theme this year is Lost Moments: times we didn’t see in the films.
Sun, 20 June: Traveling to the Shire
Mon, 21 June: After the Stone Giants
Tues, 22 June: Staying with Beorn
Wed, 23 June: Mirkwood Prison
Thurs, 24 June: Night time in Dale/Laketown/Thereabouts
Fri, 25 June: Before the Battle
Sat, 26 June: : After the Five Armies
Please tag all associated posts with #fikiweek2021 and everything will be reblogged here on @gatheringfiki!
There aren’t rules here, guys, save that this is FiKi only - respond to the prompt in whatever way you wish, and have fun!
Carrock is an awesome feat of nature and technology. Tunnels illuminated by solar powered light strips branch off from the main entrance, spiral down and open into a vast grotto in the belly of the mountain that houses a pool of cold, cobalt blue water. The water is filtered through a contraption Beorn built himself – a sleek setup of pipes and tubes and canisters that disappear into the rock, as if the flowerstone formed around it and not the other way around.
Kíli isn’t sure how intricate the plumping actually is, but he knows it’s somehow connected to the irrigation unit in the main chamber, as well as in the designated domestic half of the cave system where Beorn converted a moderately sized doline into a bathing room with functioning showers and, more impressively, a circular, in-ground, tiled Roman bath. For drinking and cooking, Beorn accesses the filtered water through a small well in what Kíli considers the kitchen.
The water isn’t the only thing Beorn accomplished, however. Budding from the stem of each tunnel are dozens of rooms. Though most are too shallow to use, there are plenty that have been given a purpose, both in the domestic and the not-domestic half. Kíli’s jaw was sufficiently dropped last night when he and Fíli explored the not-domestic half with Beorn’s blessing (which amounted to a less severe set to Beorn’s eyebrows and a grunt).
The rooms in the non-domestic half are fitted with pink LEDs and filled with rows of hydroponic crops: assortments of fruits, vegetables and herbs – tomatoes, potatoes, leaf lettuce and peas; cucumber, cantaloupe, strawberries.
( “Strawberries, Fee! It’s been ages!” Kíli squeals around a large, dribbly bite, eyes closing in bliss as the flavor explodes on his tongue.
Across from him, Bilbo mildly mentions, “You ate all my strawberries the night you pillaged my pantry.”
“Yes,” Kíli agrees, “But, dear Bilbo, these strawberries are sweet and juicy!”
“Harrumph.”
At the head of the table, Beorn pinks beneath his scruff, “I also. Have honey.” He speaks in his halting manner, quietly and to his hands that are laced in his lap.
Kíli perks up, peers around Fíli’s broad back at Beorn with an expression of childlike delight, “Honey?”
Beorn nods once and clears his throat, “I keep. Bees.” He scratches his cheek, “As well.”
“Here we go,” Fíli chuckles just for Kíli’s ears, face broadcasting such devotion and fondness that Kíli almost forgets about honey.
Before he asks Beorn, “Can I try some?” he grabs Fíli by the hair at his nape and yanks him in for a quick, smacking kiss, “Shut up.” and then gets down to business.)
Closer to the surface, one of the tunnels is gated, the rooms within converted into pens for a retinue of farm animals the likes of which Kíli was stunned ever existed on the planet. Straw is strewn and piled for bedding, hay feeders and troughs – drained and filled by an apparatus similar to that in the grotto, however not nearly as streamlined – are mounted between the pens. Goats, rabbits, sheep and chickens are free to roam about the space as they please.
“We could stay.” Fíli says mildly, as if it’s a fleeting thought and not something that’s been weighing on his mind. Then he adds, teasing, “Beorn could do with some regular company.”
“You mean friends?”
“I mean verbal.”
Kíli snorts because it’s true. When their group stumbled out of the eagles into the dry, damning land surrounding Beorn’s mountain, Beorn and his subterranean oasis were a godsend. And then Beorn opened his mouth and what fell out of it sounded closer to the tongue of beasts than Adûnaic, consonants hawked like phlegm, though apparently, Adûnaic was what he was speaking. Beorn is definitely someone who could use a normal conversation now and then.
Unfortunately, “We can’t.” Kíli murmurs reluctantly, chin dipping to his chest.
He and Fíli are ensconced in an alcove midway up the wall of the main chamber, borrowed quilts and cushions arranged in a nest around them. Moonlight cascades through the oculus, the wheat below a sea of silver as it seems to absorb the light. Sprinklers spit and whir, the mist carried into the air by the ventilation fans and cooling the hot skin of Kíli’s face and limbs nicely.
Fíli hums in response to Kíli’s statement. Their recent hesitation toward Thorin’s leadership notwithstanding, Fíli’s as aware as Kíli of their obligation to follow him to the end.
“Fee…?”
“Yeah?”
Kíli bites his bottom lip, unsure how to phrase his question. He settles on, “The ORCS—”
“I know,” Fíli leans forward to knead Kíli’s bicep, “Later, baby, okay? We’ve done enough worrying for two lifetimes.”
“But how did they find—”
“We’re safe here.” Fíli interrupts, adamant, and it’s not a lie.
What saved them was a bloody horseshoe up their collective arse; if it weren’t for the fact that Gandalf possesses precisely the sort of ancient magic necessary to summon the eagles – magic that neither goblins nor ORCS have, Kíli, along with everyone else, would be goblin shit by now. And Kíli’s thankful for the neverending supply of divine interventions that’ve delivered them from every tight spot they’ve landed in, but eventually, he fears, something’s got to give.
Fíli sighs, always able to hear the wheels turning in Kíli’s head as if they need oiling, “Come ‘ere.”
Abruptly, he shifts, temporarily displacing Kíli as he changes his position against the wall, spreads his legs and opens his arms. Having been leaned against Fíli’s shins, Kíli topples back into the cradle of Fíli’s body, nuzzles his face into Fíli’s throat and takes Fíli by the wrists, guiding Fíli’s to embrace him around the middle.
Fíli’s right, they haven’t had a chance to relax like this since Rivendell; to simply exist in each other’s presence. At least for the moment, they aren’t driven into the shadows by fear or frustration for a rough, reassuring fuck.
A week in Beorn’s mountain is all they’re allotted, Thorin itching to return to the stars as soon as he and Gandalf finish plotting their next move. Goblin Town wasn’t really on the itinerary and now they’re dreadfully turned around. The Journey is a lost cause, probably scrapped by the goblins for whatever goblins do with parts of a ship, and the eagles were a one-way trip, the vortexes impossible to open from this side.
Whatever Thorin and Gandalf intend to do, Kíli’s certain they’ll be ready at the end of the week. Kíli closes his eyes to listen to the soft rustle of the wheatstalks. Behind him, Fíli is a lullaby, the gentle rise and fall of Fíli’s chest, Fíli’s fingers, crawled under Kíli’s thin shirt, stroke Kíli’s stomach in a soothing caress.
Maybe, when their uncle’s quest is behind them, they can come back. Of course, that’s if the ORCS don’t kill them first.
“I’ll protect you,” He thinks he hears Fíli whisper, “Swear.”
Safe and content in his brother’s arms, Kíli drifts into a dreamless sleep.
(Thank you guys so much for the loving feedback so far omg ;u; I read them all! This one was difficult to draw because they stayed separated most of the time in Mirkwood *sniffles* I’m sorry I wish they were kept in the same cell)
Other Days:
Day 1 - Traveling to the Shire (+Bonus process video)
