Just an idea I’d been fiddling around with for some time. It was supposed to be a teeny tiny headcanon, but it got a bit longer than that along the way. Just… take it for what it is: a non-specific adoption!AU (though still a middle-earthian one), nothing more, nothing less.
It starts with light chatter at the market, casual
inquiries from this plump lady or that older wrinkly one.
The child in Kili’s arms must draw attention – flaming red
hair she has, and where did she get it?, they ask, a calloused finger tickling
the underside of her chin, the precious spot only he and Fili have the divine right
to tickle until she is able to state
otherwise. Did she get it from her mother?, they wonder out loud, and for all it’s
worth, the urge to swat those hands away is even stronger than the beer Dori brews
green eyes, they remark, all
downy faces and honeyed voices and pursed lips, and for all that is good and
sweet in this world, don’t they have linen to choose or heavy velvet to smooth
down with their bejewelled fingers? Shouldn’t they be otherwise occupied, than demanding answers he may never have?
Kili holds the baby a bit more snugly against his chest, stubbly cheek
finding her fluffy curls in a most delightful chance meeting.
“She’s one of a kind,” he tells them all, and when his girl waves her tiny fist at them and concurs with a ‘oooh, he kisses her temple with all the pride his heart can
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, as they leave nosy
matrons behind, and her tacky hand curling around his jaw is more than enough
reward for his fatherly tribulations.
It starts with light chatter and ends up as a
bedtime story; the best one Kili himself has ever heard, in fact - it could very well rival the ones Dis used to make them all drowsy with.
might as well know, Fili says softly; before she grows up and starts doubting the shape of her nose,
questioning the bow of her eyebrows and the curve of her lips, wondering why
they find no match on her parent’s faces. And since know she must, she’ll know from them.
That is how they first sit together by the hearth, a small family with two heavy hearts and one gleeful set of kicking legs; their baby girl cradled in Fili’s arms, a sweet tale flowing from his lips like a
The tale of how he and daddy stole the fire from Mahal’s
forge to put in her hair, and when clumsy daddy got them both busted – “Because
he’s silly just like that, isn’t he, your daddy?”, Fili coos, and she agrees
so readily and joyfully Kili could feel almost touched - Mahal was so impressed by their courage and so moved by their love for
her, that not only did he forgive them, but also cut two of his purest and
sparkliest emeralds for her eyes.
It doesn’t take long for the child to fall into a content sleep, and when she does, Kili’s head is already leaning on his brother’s shoulder, relief and heartbreak weighing with equal force on his chest.
“I don’t want her to be unhappy, Fili. I don’t want her
to grow up and wonder if she was raised in the wrong family.”
“I know,” Fili whispers, a flutter of lips against the
top of Kili’s head. “But she shall never need to wonder if she’s loved.”
Their hands find each other soon after, a
loose, tender tangle nestled on Fili’s thigh, and Kili can finally take heart again.
Fili will sit almost every night to tell his tale once
more, Kili knows that like he knows the back of his hand.
And maybe in time the story will expand on its own accord, as often
stories do; details will be added, some words will be changed, but their
meaning won’t shift nor waver. Maybe one day their daughter will be scolding Fili for skipping
a scene or forgetting a character, but the one thing she will never fail to
know, the one thing they’ll be sure to teach her always, is that blood doesn’t matter.
Not if you’re willing to face Mahal himself for your loved ones.