So Comes Snow After Fire

27.ii

Seated beside his brother at one of the tables in the central taproom, Fíli remembered another celebratory drink shared here two years previously, when Kíli had received Thorin's grudging permission to court Tauriel. Back then, neither he nor Kíli could possibly have guessed the conflicts those next years would bring, but Fíli could now say that the joys had outweighed the pains.

"So, you're marrying an elf tomorrow," Fíli said, setting down his mug and wiping the froth from his mustache with his sleeve, a gesture their mother would not have approved of and therefore one that seemed particularly apt for this occasion of strictly fraternal celebration. "Tell me: did you really believe you ever would, back when you were mooning over Tauriel behind Uncle's back?"

"Of course I did!" Kíli gave his brother a look of exaggerated disappointment. "There'd have been no point in trying, otherwise. And also, no!" He laughed. "It was like coming here, to the Mountain. You know as lads we always hoped we would, but when it actually happened, well, it hardly seemed real, did it?"

Fíli nodded, understanding completely.

"Did you see her tonight at dinner?" Kíli went on. "I think she actually might have been glowing, just a little." He sighed. "I'm sure I must be the luckiest dwarf ever born, to have her choose me."

Fíli shoved him teasingly. "Second luckiest."

"That's right," someone said behind them, and Fíli turned to see Sif's brother, Freyr, standing behind them with three brimming mugs of ale. "Here, shove over." And he took a seat on the bench beside his own future brother-in-law. "Congratulations to the second luckiest dwarf in Erebor," he said to Kíli.

Kíli grinned and downed the last of his ale before accepting the fresh mug from Freyr. "Are you sure I still don't have to challenge you for that distinction? I understand you've reason to consider yourself fortunate, too, today of all days."

"You mean, because you could be marrying someone else? I suppose so," he admitted with a smile. "What manner of contest do you propose to settle the question?"

"Anything but drink! I am not spending my wedding day with a hangover."

"No?" Freyr laughed, tossing the braids in his short, red-gold hair. "Your lady avenged you quite fully this previous New Year's."

"And I'm quite willing to let her remain my champion in that arena," Kíli returned. "However, if it's a contest of marksmanship—"

"Oh, no. I'm not letting you win that easily."

"Armed combat, then? Swords."

"Only if I'm allowed an axe."

"Oh, come on! You make swords; don't you know how to use one?"

"I have it," Fíli cut in. "Wrestling, like they do up in the East."

"But—" Kíli protested.

"Yes, in bear grease," Freyr added enthusiastically.

"But I'm not a wrestler!"

"Doesn't matter," Fíli returned with a grin. "Use enough grease, and if you're lucky, he won't be able to hang on to you, anyway."

"I s'pose." Kíli appeared only mildly reassured.

"Oy, Bofur," Freyr was calling across the taproom. "Any chance of getting us some bacon grease from tonight's boar?"

"I'm not drunk enough yet for this," Kíli moaned, though as he buried his face in his mug, Fíli thought he caught the hint of a smile on his brother's face.

"Drunk enough fer what?" Dwalin asked, lowering himself into a seat across the table.

"Kíli's wrestling Freyr," Fíli said cheerfully.

"You're my second," Kíli insisted, his tone mildly desperate. "I'll need someone to avenge me after Freyr's torn me limb from limb."

"Now, brother, I won't let that happen. We'll be sure there's something left of you for Tauriel tomorrow."

Kíli flushed, but before he could say anything, Dwalin spoke.

"I reckon ye'll need a second, then, too," the big warrior said to Freyr. "It's hardly sportin' if ye have to fight both o' these lads."

Freyr grinned. "Are you offering?"

"Aye."

Fíli felt his own pleased grin falter for a moment—Dwalin has half again his size— but Kíli's face broke into an expression of gleeful mischief.

"Yes, Fí, I do think it's only fair, seeing as you got me into this," Kíli said earnestly.

Fíli laughed then. "All right! But I insist on my opponent being no more sober than I."

"Fair enough, cousin," Dwalin agreed, and tipped back his mug.