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Ori's first memory of his brothers is fuzzy and golden, and all he knows for certain is that he is very young in it. He is outside, there is grass and blue sky and bright sun, and Nori is weaving him a chain of flowers, growing fingers clumsy but persistent, expression determined. Ori is sitting on Dori's lap, cradled and safe, warm and content, batting his fingers across the pages of the book Dori is trying to read. Dori doesn't get angry, only laughs, and eventually sets the book aside, jumping to his feet and taking Ori with him, spinning him around and up and down until Ori doesn't know where golden grass begins and limitless sky ends, and they are both laughing, laughing as they fall into the grass. Nori finally finishes his work, and drapes the chain across Ori's head, where it tilts, falling across one eye; Ori remembers pollen across his eyelashes and Nori's smile, Dori's smile, and his own; they are brighter than the sun, and that evening, after dinner, as they are curled together in front of the hearth and their father tells them a story where the hero finds gold and the perfect maiden finds the hero, Ori thinks that he needs nothing more than Dori and Nori and their smiles.
He doesn't have many more memories of them all together, for it is not long after that that Dori begins to spend time in the forge, and shortly after that Nori no longer wants to spend time with his baby brother. Neither of them do, for Dori has more important things to do and Nori more exciting things, and Ori soon learns that toddling after them and wanting to play only gets him shouted at, and so he stops. He doesn't really want to go to the forge with Dori anyway, for it is hot and dark and full of flames, and Nori only wants to run the streets of the little town they are settled in with a ragtag bunch of human boys and cause mischief.
Ori wants to be where it is light, and bright, and quiet, where there is no shouting or fire or the smashing of hammers or the angry yells of harassed merchants. He begins to trail his mother instead, but one afternoon he leaves the house and wanders until he comes upon an old human couple in the marketplace. Instead of food or tools or clothes their stall is stacked high with precious reams of paper, vials of ink, and delicately illuminated manuscripts. Ori remembers childish fingers tracing across his brother's book and approaches, quietly watching as the woman writes down the words dictated to her by a farmer wishing to contact his sister.
Her husband approaches him, saying nothing, and reaches out a hand. Ori considers, carefully, and takes it, and a moment later finds himself seated upon a crate beside the stall, where he can better see the woman's capable hand forming elegant letters. He soon becomes a fixture at the stall, and it is from Master Ernson and Mistress Harial that Ori learns of the magic of words, the power of language, and the beauty of writing.
He doesn't need to follow his brothers now, for he has his own skill, and as Dori grows to become a respected smith and Nori a notorious troublemaker, Ori too grows, into a scribe, careful and meticulous. Soon he is never seen without pen, ink and parchment, and he feels the distance between his brothers and he growing. Dori begins to travel, seeking work in other towns and returning with money and stories; Nori leaves one night after a fierce argument and from then on they receive word of him infrequently, in letters scrawled with sharp strokes and dull ink. Ori stays at home, for his parents need one son that has not left, and it is now often he who writes the words of farmers and labourers, for Mistress Harial's eyes are failing and Master Ernson's hands shake terribly.
They both die one long, cold winter, he only three days before her, and they are buried in the graveyard of men with little ceremony. Ori takes over their business, and does well. It is not only Dori who brings home money now, and that prides him, for his family now live better, his parents are less worn, and Dori even begins to talk to him as to an equal.
And yet, when Dori returns home after six long months away to say that Thorin Oakenshield has asked him to join him in his Quest to retake Erebor, he only laughs when Ori says he is coming as well. When they meet Nori five days down the road, something dark in his eyes when Ori asks why he keeps glancing over his shoulder at the town he rides from, he too laughs when he learns that Ori plans to come as well.
They both laugh, and then Nori tries where Dori has failed, and speaks of how such a Quest is no place for a scribe, and did Dori mention the possibility of a dragon? You surely cannot really mean to come, brother, he says, and laughs again, a laugh quick and cruel and a long distance from the laughter of that one golden memory. This is no place for you, he says, this Quest is one for fighters and heroes, and you are neither.
Ori is cut deep by this and turns to Dori for support, but Dori only hums agreement and ruminates that on such a Quest as this the youngest and the weakest are likely only to die, or be maimed, or to be a terrible burden upon the rest. Ori almost turns his pony there and then, but he looks at Nori upon his foul-tempered, shaggy little mare and Dori upon his fractious, worrying gelding and says, "We are brothers. We go together."
They shrug at this and sigh and then the three of them continue, and no more is said about the matter. That night as they make camp and Ori tends to their three ponies, avoiding the bites of one, soothing the nerves of another, and slipping his own beast an extra slither of carrot for being calm and sweet and gentle, he thinks that perhaps they respect him, perhaps they consider him more than simply their little brother.
That hope is dashed the next morning when Nori asks to see his weapon and almost falls from his pony in hysterics when Ori produces his slingshot.
"You surely cannot mean - you must jest - oh, Mahal, Dori he is serious!" Nori does in fact end up upon the ground for his mare takes advantage of his distraction to drop her shoulder and spin in pretend fear at a bush, and as Nori picks himself up, dusts himself off and swears at the animal, Ori blinks back tears and holds his head high and says, "At least I can remain upon my pony," and then they ignore each other for the rest of the day as they ride onwards. Dori rides between them and muses gloomily upon this foolish journey they are undertaking, but no-one suggests turning back.
When they arrive at Bag End and meet the rest of the company, Ori is swept up in the excitement like everyone else, brandishing his slingshot with more pride than he ever could have thought possible, his blood thrilling through him with an exhilaration he had never thought to feel. They are so glorious, this Company of fine, brave dwarves, loyal and honourable, and none more glorious than Thorin himself, shadowed by tragedy and burdened with memory, dark fire and bitter embers and glowing, glowing purpose.
That night he cannot sleep, and rises from the nest he had made of the blankets Dori carelessly tossed at him earlier to walk on whisper quiet feet through the house of the hobbit. He perhaps should not be so rude, but he has never before seen such a home and its orderliness and quiet, homely pride appeals to him. He is passing an open door when he hears whispers from within and pauses, taking a moment to identify the two talking. It is Thorin's nephews he realises, bright, confident Fíli who shines with a mellow good humour, and quick, cocky Kíli who blazes with cheer.
"Do you think Mister Baggins will join us?" He hears one of them ask; he cannot tell who, for earlier in their evening their voices had been twined together and they had hardly seemed to speak apart.
"He didn't seem very interested, but Gandalf seems to think there is something in him." There is a rustling of sheets and clothes.
"You can't blame him for being scared though," and Ori carefully inches forward until he can see past the open door, "We are going to face the dragon, after all." The two of them are close, noses only inches apart as they talk, and Ori listens only for a moment longer, long enough for Fíli to say, "And a great deal of land between us and the mountain," before he is shamefully aware that no good dwarf should eavesdrop, and creeps past. He returns to his bed and the thought of a dragon and long miles to travel make him shiver, so he inches himself and his blankets closer to Dori and falls asleep listening to him breath.
In the morning he is awoken by a rough shoving, and blinks open tired eyes to find Dori saying, "Do you have to sleep quite so close, Ori? I was half smothered this morning by you!" Ori isn't sure why he is disappointed until they are packed and gone, leaving the hobbit's house as quietly as dwarves are able, when he sees Kíli giving Fíli a leg up onto his pony and recalls quiet talk so close they must have been sharing breaths.
Ori doesn't lay a bet on whether Mister Baggins will be joining them, and ignores the roll of Nori's eyes as his brother cheerfully puts twenty pieces against 'the little coward', opinioning that Mister Baggins will not even dare to rise from bed that day. It is not long before Nori is grumpily throwing gold at the beaming faces of Fíli and Kíli, and Ori hides his smile.
Camp that night is set on the banks of a stream, with lush grass for the ponies and good views of the surroundings, though this close to the peace of the Shire none of them expect attack. Ori is surprised when he is not landed with the job of looking after the ponies; instead it is Fíli and Kíli who bear that role with good-natured grumbling. They picket the ponies close and afterwards Kíli trips Fíli into the water with badly feigned innocence. Soon enough the pair of them are both soaked to the skin and waist deep in the fast-flowing stream, water flying every which way until Thorin roars at them to act their age and stop playing.
They leave the water like happy dogs, bouncing and curling around each other, spirits irrepressible even as a breeze picks up and they start to shiver. They huddle close to the fire and soon their cheer has gathered the rest of the company in, even Bilbo and Thorin and Gandalf, so that their first night is a happy one, of song and stories and even Thorin smiles, affectionately cuffing his nephews over the head more than once; he is clearly ignorant neither of their regard for him nor of their deliberate actions to begin bringing together this very disparate group.
The next day is bright and sunny but for Ori it begins under a cloud, for Dori once again scolds him for cuddling too close in the night.
"Ori, you are hardly a child now, and it is not yet cold." Dori frowns at him and he drops his eyes, blushing and mumbling something until his elder brother has shaken his head and moved off again. Nori has hardly spoken to him since they joined the larger group, having gravitated towards Bifur, their fingers flashing in Iglishmek and their laughter a surprise to those not following, and Ori has not looked to him for comfort in years, so he is feeling small and out of place until a warm hand lands on his shoulder and he raises his eyes to find Kíli looking at him with something open and friendly in his eyes.
"Come on then, Ori," he says, "If you don't get in to breakfast quick then Fíli will have eaten your share as well as his - ow!"
The last is in response to the boot Fíli aims at his brother's leg as he comes up behind him, juggling three bowls and spoons in his hands.
"That's the last time I fight Bombur for your portion, brother," he says, and Ori finds a smile beginning on his face, a smile that only grows when Kíli retrieves a bowl from his brother and gives it to him, shoving a spoon into his hand even as Ori is looking surprised at the gesture.
"Eat up," Kíli says, already two mouthfuls into his own food, "Thorin'll have us on the road soon enough."
Ori rides that day besides the two brothers, and even as he enjoys their company something aches inside him, something he chooses not to acknowledge.
He is not surprised when both Fíli and Kíli are set to first watch that night, for though he has known them only a short time imagining one without the other seems impossible, and Ori settles himself into his bedroll with an eye on them and his other eye on his brother's. Dori is discussing something with Gandalf while Nori's clever fingers are whittling away at something. Ori has carefully planned his bedroll placement this night, waiting until everyone else had chosen spots before he had squeezed in next to Nori; he does not wish to anger Dori again, and as noises from the plain below rise through the air he carefully inches himself closer to Nori.
Not quite carefully enough however, for he accidentally wriggles against Nori's foot a little too hard and his brother raises his eyes from his whittling and glares at Ori; whatever else he might have said is lost in Bilbo's frightened words, Fíli and Kíli's joking, and Thorin's quiet rage. Fíli and Kíli shift closer as Thorin stalks away - though he cannot go far - and as Balin begins to talk, his voice soft and pained with memory, they lean against each other, faces creased with identical regret.
No-one sleeps well that night, the howls from below given life and form by history and memory, and the next morning everyone is quiet as they go through what is now becoming the routine of getting going again. Fíli and Kíli are mirrors of each other even more so than usual, eyes following their uncle's movements and expressions falling every time he slides a disappointed glare across them.
They set off in uneasy silence, and it is only when they break for a midday meal and Fíli and Kíli follow Thorin when he announces he is going to scout ahead that the mood begins to lighten. The three of them return seemingly having made some amends, and the afternoon is far more pleasant.
Their next camp is in an eerie dell, and Ori cannot fault Fíli for reaching for his swords when Balin commands him to fetch more firewood. Ori slants a look at the forbidding trees around them and is about to make some comment to Kíli about their surroundings when the dwarf in question excuses himself from their conversation and scoops up his bow, falling into step beside his brother as they vanish into the gathering dusk.
Behind him, Ori hears Nori scoff quietly, clearly meaning to be heard by no-one but the brother he is addressing. "You'd think they were still babes the way they cannot act alone."
Ori wishes to defend them - for they have been kind to him, and Ori cannot help but think that he would like company if asked to collect wood, and that ache inside him is for brothers that are close and kind and together - but he is still searching for words when Dori replies, pensively, "Dwalin says they are each other's greatest strength, and greatest weakness; I think he worries for them."
Nori is silent for a few moments and then asks, very quietly, "Did we do right in allowing Ori to accompany us? I… worry for - I fear - I am concerned he may be more out of place than I had thought."
"You old softie," Dori responds, just as quietly, and Ori barely dares move, for this is no conversation he should be hearing, "He will be fine. He's got us to look out for him." There is quiet strength and solid love in that, and Ori feels that ache within him loosen like a tight muscle given relief by warmth.
"He does," Nori affirms, and the two of them fall silent, and when Ori goes to sit with them later none of them say anything, not even as Fíli and Kíli return bearing both wood and the carcass of a small deer, so that they are warm and eat well that night. Fíli and Kíli are glowing in each other's light, curled beside each other and talking as one, and Dori, and Nori and Ori sit upon the same side of the fire and say little, Dori smoking, Nori whittling and Ori writing, but Ori snags three good pieces of meat for his brothers, and Dori drops his coat about Ori with studied casualness when it begins to grow chilly, and after the meal Nori talks Bofur into playing 'Through the Deep Dark Hills', and the three of them remember when their mother taught them the fast-paced, tongue-twisting tune, and the fire burns golden before them.
Dori and Nori and Ori cannot be said in one breath like FíliandKíli, but they are brothers, and between them there is love and tonight Ori can sit with them around a fire and think of a laughing, golden day and know that it is not as far away as he had feared.